Life is never quite as interesting as when Joseph (the snake) is loose. There is just that sense of excitement whenever you remember to pause before hopping into your bed at night.

Seth bagged the $10 finders fee the first time Joseph escaped by grabbing him after he sat on the snake on the top bunk. Money really motivates Seth.

As I was blogging tonight I went to the boys room to rummage around in my sewing box for some needles for Mike's cub scout experiments for Pack Meeting tomorrow night. As I was rummaging around in their dim needs-the-other-light-bulb-replaced-room and wishing I was in bed, a long striped orange and black thing slowly spiraled up from the bowels of the box right at my nose. Aren't you proud that I only let out a small scream?

Mike & I are already planning what to do with the $10 windfall. And wondering where we'll find Joseph next time.

I have come to the depressing realization that I have passed on a bad genetic trait: a complete inability to stop reading the written word. We're addicted. Actually, it may not be genetic, but something contracted from living with me, because Mike didn't have this problem before he was married. Now he's too terrified to even start a book. When we pry them from our fingers and run, the books call us from across the house. We always mean to read just one more paragraph. . . just skim to the end of this page. . . well, go ahead and finish the book so we can get something DONE!

Once again, Seth fell victim, but with sad results!
Since it was FHE night and there was a large penalty for being late, Seth tried to wrench himself away from his book, but couldn't quite do it. At 5:15 he forced himself to check the clock, gasped, and dashed out the door.

I was running a mad race myself: get dinner ready ON TIME so Mike & I wouldn't be rushing dinner and REALLY rushing FHE, a trap that ends up with 7 of us sent to our rooms, and Julia wandering around alone.

At 5:30 I paused the race for an "out of area" call, kicking myself for stopping to talk to what must be a telemarketer: "Ma'am? Your son Seth is our paper carrier." Then, interrupting my "Sorry; he IS almost there with your paper!" he said "There's been a bad accident. Seth has smashed several teeth and is in pretty bad shape." Rushing to finish his paper route with 5 papers and only one minute left to do them in, he had dodged the FedEx truck but not the parked pickup.

I rushed to my bloody son, where he was manfully trying to repress sobs. (Or, maybe just trying to keep still the dangling nerves in his mouth). I tried to gather him up in my arms, but was overwhelmed by his size. The hanging bits of tooth had me grossed out, and the usually stoic Seth had me freaked out! I barreled down to Quick Care, trying to pass an off duty ambulance on the left as it was turning left, stormed QC and demanded that Seth see the doctor right now. I finally realized what that mom felt like felt like that ran into Nigel's clinic with her hurt son and had the police follow her seconds later. It was my SON in trouble! Now I finally know how to get quick service at quick care: be a bit hysterical with a bleeding, sobbing large boy. Not that I can ever go back with any dignity. Of course I just should have called the dentist and gone in the next morning.

That night we knelt to thank the Lord that Seth had only damaged teeth. It was Seth's turn to pray. He lisped, in his usual positive way: "We thank thee that I wathn't hurt too badly. We thank thee for thith wonderful day. Well. . . exthept for that one part"
So now we've killed or smashed out 3 out of 6 kids' front teeth. I brought Jared into the kitchen and got the camera. "Smile, Jared, and show all your front teeth! I want a before picture this time!" He was indignant, but it looks like we're seeing a trend.

Seth, post-double root canals and all tooth pieces extracted, is now covered in insanely itchy hives from a reaction to the pain meds, and is currently combating the misery by. . . reading that 1000 page book that got him into trouble in the first place. Who needs a 10 step recovery from an addiction this good, anyway?

Overheard from the kitchen, where I'm cleaning up breakfast:

"Jared, you CAN'T stand by the door waiting to go to the UCLA game. You must go to school, even today."