“You’re Gonna Get Poned, Dad!” The Day of Reckoning.

Pioneer Survivor Warriors

Pioneer Survivor Warriors

The day began with an epic game of pioneer survival war. This game somehow involves the trampoline in my backyard, assorted nerf weaponry, homemade swords, shields, plastic grappling hooks, styrofoam battle axes, origami paper ninja stars and the twelve elementary school boys who live on our street – plus a few of their friends.  The greatest weapon ever unleashed upon our neighborhood pioneer survivors was Phoenix’s homemade war hammer which he proudly toted, slung over one shoulder.  This was a solid three pound section of oak four inches in diameter attached to a three foot long stick secured by heavy duty wood screws.

One day, while my handsome hubby and I were working in our office with the window open we heard a sound which neither of us could identify.  Woosh, Woooosh, Woooosh!  We looked outdoors and saw a 4’6” soldier dressed in camo swinging the weapon of mass destruction in circles over his head.  We quickly ran outside and declared a cease fire before there were any casualties.  Hubby and I, the Co-Dictators, have since revoked the right to bear war hammers.

The game came to a screeching halt when one of the boys heard the sound of an ice cream truck in the distance.  My screen door slammed open as Caleb, ran in shouting; “Mom! Dad! Can I have nine dollars?!  There’s an ice cream truck coming!”  Talk about inflation!  I remember asking for a dollar and getting laughed at, but nine dollars takes the cake.  Lulled into a semi state of insanity and overcome with nostalgia by the tinkling sound of warped music, I gave him six bucks and a high five.  I figured he could treat his friends and play the hero.  Thirty minutes later Caleb returned home for dinner with his two brothers and a friend from school who was sleeping over.  “We got ditched!”  “The ice cream truck never came!  We waited like three hours and it never came.”  (In prepubescent time three hours means fifteen minutes).  “Is dinner ready?”  Thankfully it was.

Dinner time at the 3 Bros Flying Circus is often so funny I have to use my napkin to wipe away the tears.  Any topic is fair game at our dinner table as long as it doesn’t involve bathrooms and internal organs.  The conversation got heated when dad entered the fray.  Noah, 12-year-old son: “Did you guys see the humongous ninety-nine story tree house on Ultimate Tree Houses?” Caleb, 10-year-old son: “Yes, it was awesomely ginormous!”  Connor, 12-year-old friend sleeping over: “Dude, that’s sick!”  Micah, 7-year-old son: “oooh, I want to see it!”  Dave, 44-year-old husband: “Ninety-nine stories would be nine hundred and ninety feet.  Minimum!  That’s a skyscraper Noah, and that’s impossible.”  Me, adult, whispering to 44-year-old husband:  “Sweetie, this is a 6th-grade-boy led conversation. Exaggeration is par for the course.”  Noah, now sensing the stakes have been upped because dad has challenged his story says intensely, “It is a skyscraper dad.”  Dave, now throwing all of his chips on the table, “Let’s google it!”  Noah, feeling every bit of  his twelve years says, “Prepare to say ‘I was wrong’!”  Caleb, feeling empowered by big bro, “YOU’RE GONNA GET PONED, DAD!”

We all left the dinner table and headed for the computer with baited breath as I, the de-facto referee, typed in the words “world’s largest tree house.”  Bam!  There she was in all her glory.  Ten stories and 10,000 square feet worthy of Cartoon Network’s Cribs.  Caleb, 10-year-old son to 44-year-old dad: “Oh, what now?!”  Connor, sleepover friend to 44-year-old: “You just got served, son!”  Dave, 44-year-old husband to all the kids: “Well, technically-speaking…”

I walked away from our dinner table that night with many thoughts and questions.  1) What in the world is a pioneer survivor warrior? 2)  Why did the ice cream truck not come down to our our cul-de-sac? It would have made a fortune! 3)  How is the world’s largest tree house not condemned? (take a look at the link below and you’ll see what I mean)  4) What is the derivative of the word ‘pone’?  5) When did my kids start feeling brave enough to taunt their dad?  6)  Why doesn’t he realize that he has to BRING IT when its 1-on-4?  No technically-speaking mumbo jumbo.  Just because he’s a man of God doesn’t mean he can’t have a good old school verbal smack down with his kids!  7)  And, finally, what took me so long to embrace God’s gift of grace?  A fabulously-hilarious and often perfectly-imperfect family life with the children and husband hand picked just for me!  Take a bit of unsolicited advice from the Ringmaster, celebrate the uniqueness of your family today.

Until next time…Fly high and dazzle ’em!

~The Ringmaster

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6 thoughts on ““You’re Gonna Get Poned, Dad!” The Day of Reckoning.

  1. Awesome post! I can totally see this happening! Thanks for sharing!

    PS: the derivative of pwn (pone) is when people would try to type “own” (as in “you just got owned!”) on their computer keyboards but instead of the “o” key, they’d hit the “p” key. It became it’s own word on the internet. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pwn

      • I just think that’s the funniest story, by the way, Ms. Ringmaster! I remember getting to the age where I felt “confident” enough (often synonymous with mouthy or lacking logic enough!) to take on my parents in the way that Noah took on his dad! My dad is very logic-based like your co-dictator (a phrase I love!) so he would have a response quite like that, and my mom would have to remind him we were kids!

        Regarding the 3 bros decision to negotiate the Goss Bucks: I remember my dad teaching me how to negotiate when I was a bit younger than Micah (about 6) and how I took that as a sign that everything from what was for breakfast to what time I went to bed was no longer set in stone! I didn’t go as far as union organizing–that’s talent and skill!

        This comment is getting long, so I’ll close. I’ll def. be following this blog and recommending to friends. It’s a great one!

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