Winter..WHAT?

How often do the weathermen get it right? I guess a lot if you count the number of times they say "Partly to mostly sunny with a 50% chance of rain." Of course you idiots! It's either going to rain or it's not. That IS a 50% chance. Duh. But the millions used to acquire the incredible Doppler system has somehow made them feel smarter about saying that. Whatever floats your boat folks. There is a fifty percent chance that it will. It floats mine ...well, like a lead balloon.(And for you weather forecasters? That means a high pressure system carrying considerable weight is coming from the north and pushing down on you, making you sink. It's bad. 100%) But enough of that gobbeldy-gook. We got crushed with snow. CRUSHED. The crappy thing? I was alone. Cheech got stuck travelling (or NOT travelling as the case may be) AND? The truck was in the shop. But we'll begin with the fun(ny) stuff.

Birdie loves snow. She bites it, barks and runs through it and sticks her head in it to see if it's real. You can almost hear her squealing with puppy glee to be in it. Winston loathes it. He likes to piddle on it but he creates mini-avalanches that cover him and make him angry. Then he digs at the ice. Let's picture THAT for a moment: my snorty little "nekked" bald man out in the snow pooping and mad. He glowers at me and pouts. I swear I hear "I hate you" as he trots past me. Oh well, it can't go on the carpet Bubba. Sorry. I'll give you an extra cookie out of guilt.

The kids were ecstatic. They dragged out the sleds and zoomed into the street. They stole my gardening tools and built caves in the huge piles. They laughed until they had no breath left. When they finally came in, their cheeks were rosy and they sniffed a lot. I couldn't make enough hot cocoa and soup. Anything warm was devoured. They even got to play in the dark. There was so much snow that it lit up the neighborhood. It was awesome.

Where I grew up, this wasn't too big of a deal. I like snow. I love to play in it. I really don't mind shovelling it. HOWEVER, I have had more than my fill in the last eighteen hours or so.

It began early. I took my first shot at 7am on Saturday; a couple of inches but it was coming down hard. I knew what my day was going to look like. My neighbors scoffed. They giggled and pointed.

"Hope you like doing that. You'll have to do it allllll day." They pulled their coats around them and went inside.

"I know." I huffed and kept at it. Every two hours I went out and kept at it. I shoved three inches or so around every time. I cleaned the drive, the front walk, the back walk, and the Poopie palace. (Must keep an area clear for the Prince and Princess. I quickly realized they would have nowhere to "go") Yes, I shovelled grass. I did this until 7pm. I pushed snow into the street when the plows came and drifted me in. My neighbors still chided me when ever I went out.

"Hurry! Faster FASTER!" they laughed.

I waved from the comfort of my snowy ensemble. I was exhausted. When finished, I crawled into bed and conked out. The kids had to put themselves to bed. Around midnight, the charlie horses crept in, snuggling up deep within my muscles. I wanted to cry. Sleep returned, but with much begging and it was fleeting...just like the drifting snow that I dreamt about.

At 5am I got up and began again. After two hours, my drive was clear (again) as was my mailbox and car. The dogs had a run that resembled something those Zshu Zshu Hamster things would LOVE to play in. I walked out to the main road and looked. What a mess; under all the fluffy snow was ice. I scooted home and did the best thing in the world: I went back to bed. I was sure my neighbors saw me.

They were just getting started. The snow was wet and heavy now.
"Ah yes, you thought I was so funny out here all day yesterday. I didn't see the humor then but I do now. (giggle and point) I'm going to go back to bed. Did I mention that? Enjoy the two feet we got." Trite? Yes, but if you know me, you know I like it.

Good news? Cheech is only two hours behind. He should be home before ten tonight. I'm glad.

Hope you all fared well if you got hit by this muck. Regardless, thanks for visiting. I have a good one coming toward the end of the week. We'll chat soon I hope.

Believe

I fought for it last year. I gave it everything I had. Remember? We trekked outside with sleigh bells in the cold and jingled around the house so they'd hear "him".

This year, I failed. I have really been rushing around this holiday season (who hasn't? We had three weeks from Thanksgiving!). I've been making the wreaths and garland for the new house and making trips to get the furniture delivered as well as the lights/decorations up. I've also tried to balance lessons, shopping, and chores for the "school house" as the kids say. We've really been zooming around but enjoying (most of ) it. We got to ice skate on the lake. We've already enjoyed about four inches of snow. I really can't/shouldn't complain but I'll admit I didn't see it coming.

I was wrapping gifts for the office Christmas party as well as getting packages ready to ship. I had completely forgotten to mail off my folks' gifts in all this hullabaloo. Maddie sat quietly as I clipped, trimmed, taped and "bowed" the goodies.

"Do you think Santa will find us this year at the lake house?"

The record skipped. "Pardon?"

"Santa."

I laughed. "Do you believe in Santa?"

She stood and met my gaze dead on (She's growing at an alarming rate, you know). She all but clapped my ears, nodding her head and mine with each syllable: "Yes. I. DO."

Her eyes were almost hard. She was daring me.

"Honey?"

"Mom...."

"Who is the Tooth Fairy?"

"You."

"Who is the Easter Bunny?"

I heard her breath slink from between two pouty "tween" lips. "you." she said a little more softly. But she picked up speed and vigor with: "It's all about the spirit of Christmas. Santa is part of the spirit and if you believe he'll never die and all the children in the world will be able to have a nice Christmas! FOREVER! You HAVE to believe."

"Maddie...."

"You Mommy. It's you and Daddy."

My lip quivered a little. I was sad. She's growing up too quickly. There are times like these when I panic and want to scream:

"Wait WAIT I didn't get to see enough of those innocent, wondrous wide-eyed smiles when Santa's differently wrapped gifts were opened. WAIT I want to tell "Twas the Night Before Christmas" once more and see those little faces nod and guess where the reindeer were during Christmas Eve. I want to hear the squeals from my babies that "SANTA CAME! no matter how early. I want more videos and pictures with the jolly fat man across my mantle. Wait for me. I need one more....a little more....

Time."

"Yes. Sweetie."

"But the letters from Santa were slanted the other way. You write differently than he does."

I smiled at her cleverness; my little forensic investigator. "I didn't want you to know."

"Who eats the carrots we put out for Rudolph and everyone?"

"I take bites out of them and throw them all over the carpet after the dogs go to bed."

"Who eats the cookies and drinks the milk?"

We looked at each other and smiled. "Daddy." we said together and laughed.

"Mommy?" she wiped a tear from her cheek. Was she screaming "wait" too? Did I rush her?
"I don't want Ben to know yet. Please don't tell him."

I was a little too choked up to say anything so I gave a sideways smile and nodded vigorously.

"Mommy?"

I looked up and saw a brightness in her face...

"Can I be Santa?"

"You already are. Every time you give a gift or wish someone a Merry Christmas, you're passing on the spirit. Santa is part of the Christmas spirit and "

"If you believe...." she trailed in...We finished together: mother and daughter. Beautiful moment. Beautiful holiday.

We both smiled. The excitement she was getting at being able to surprise her brother and share in "top secret Christmas operations" was almost as good as the surprise she's going to get under the tree this year....

From Santa of course, wrapped a little differently than the rest.

Ahhh yes, it brings a tear to my eye to proof this. I've been hoarding it for a couple of days, being stingy. But I really thought it was too precious not to publish.

As always, thank you for spending some time with me.

Queen for a day

I've heard that the pain of birthing a child is unexplainable and although severe; is a forgotten because of the loving bond created with your baby. How sweet and wonderful.

What the Hell is dental pain? Besides a slicked up sled of Novocaine racing down a steep hill of terror speckled with all the shrieking, shrill, nerve ripping, eye popping negative tactile experiences one could feel as they skid into a hot,smoking pit of despair...really...what is it?

I have an aversion to needles and the dentist is why I carry it (not so proudly). I well up at the thought of an injection and usually become sweaty and queasy with visions of skinny sharp objects poking through my flesh and shoving liquid into my body. When I was young, I had to have a TON of work done. This is back when the office was a little less concerned about patients' comfort. Don't get me wrong, they tried; but they didn't listen. The first incident was when during a Novocaine shot the person struck my nerve. Literally. I felt this jolt of metal prodding bones in my jaw and stirring up my gums. I jumped out of the chair and yanked the bib right off, tossing the gauze and sucky tube to the floor. "DAMMIT!" I screamed through plinking tears. I was barely in the double digits. Ah, but they soothed me, coaxed me and had gotten enough in me that I numbed and they continued.

I don't ever forget when I get hurt.

I continued on with my life. I laughed and loved. I got checkups but was so diligent, and attentive that I never needed work done. Prevention is worth a pound of cure or one needle. Then one day that sheppards' hook/razor that they oh-so-skillfully-shave your teeth with found a pinhole cavity. That is a tiny invasion, a flaw.

"We will need to fix that." I heard.

"Whoa. Nope." I began to remove my bib.

"It weel onlee tek a meenut." She smiled under white villainous mask. There was a puff of mint.

The floor tilted and I felt nausea pinch my boobs together from the inside. I began to sweat.

"I need to be numb."

"Eet weel onlee tek a meenut." she said again.

"Numb." and I eyed her. "N-U-M-B"

"Seet dahn Meesus." and she wrapped her lyin arms around my head and a tech hovered over me with that vile sucking serpent. "Raise yor hahnd when you feel pen. I weel stup and we weel numb you. Yes?"

I was a fool. My cheeks burned. I tasted salt. My scalp felt as if each hair were trying to run away. "Yis" I echoed.

The games began. My teeth got hot. Then I felt it; that pain. That shooting mind scratching maddening pain. I raised my hand so quickly it looked like a Third Reich salute. It happened.

The tech leaned in, took my hand and folded it across my body. She kind of pinned me to the chair. There was no Novocaine. Nor would there be any. Heat crept up under my eye and I swear the drill was severing the nerves under there. Convinced that if I survived and was permitted up, it would fall out, and roll away into some dusty forgotten corner, the twin eye began to leak; sad at the potential loss of its sibling. At twenty five, tears soaked my collar. My heels dug the cover off the airplane chair in which I was being tortured.

"Hot. Huts. SOP. PEEZ!" I begged over the grinding and gurgling. To no avail. At one point, she turned off the water. Now they were grinding bone like masons and tile. My body was rigid. I saw stars of brilliant white zooming behind my eyelids. I don't remember the rest. It was the worst horror movie I ever lived. I never forgave.

I never forgot.

So earlier this week, I sat gingerly in the chair. I haven't slept in a couple of nights. I have had horrible nightmares that I am strapped in and as they drill in my face, my insides are pulled out: like when they drill wood and the pulp has to leak out somewhere? That's me. That's my body...Oh God. I can't do this. I want to be sick. I dig at my palms and fight the tears I know are coming.

My hygienist came out and patted my shoulder. "Relax. It will be okay. I promise. She won't hurt you." and smiled. She knows how I feel. Once we joked about it.

I was so afraid I couldn't close my eyes. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I fiddled with my iPod. What salvation could Apple provide me? I hoped it could save my sanity.

The dentist arrived and began to tell me things about the procedure I didn't care to know. She tucked gauze that looked like miniature bedrolls into my face and set up shop. My back was hot and prickly.

"Ahh skayed" I said solemnly.

"I see that. I won't hurt you. If you feel pain, raise your hand...."

The words fell away. The tears brimmed over. "This is it..." I sadly thought.

"Are you alright?" she touched my shoulder.

"Yeah." I muttered. My voice hitched.

She came at me with one of the biggest needles Fisher Price makes. My shoulders wrenched up around my ears. My lungs stopped working. My toes curled up inside my shoes. My butt cheeks were so damn tight, I coulda shit a diamond. A couple of sobs escaped me. She patted my shoulder and said gently.

"You need a minute. I'll give you a minute. I'll come back."

I fought for control. I beat myself up in my head. Jumpin Jehosephat! I'm going to be forty one day in the not too distant future and I'm crying like a baby in this sage green airplane chair. Get a firetrucking grip. Are you nuckin futs woman? No...just afraid. Everyone came back. I sighed and let the demons invade my soul.

I didn't feel a thing.

The drill began to race around my tooth at speeds that would shame Jimmy Johnson and the entire NASCAR society. I got a twinkling, a pulling sensation. My hand shot up. "God help ME!" my mind shouted.

And this is the amazing part. She stopped. She pulled every tube, stick, tiny sleeping bag rolled up gauze out of my face and looked me in the eye.

"Do you hurt?"

I shook my head. That was it. She shot me up again...some more...I STILL didn't feel that horrible thing. I went deeper into un-feeling. I laid back. She wasn't going to hurt me. I was going to survive this. No demons. No Hellfire. I kept cranking up my iPod until my eardrums threatened to leave me via bursting and liquefying down my neck. I kept it up. I shouted the words to the songs in my head over the screaming drill with my eyes locked shut.

She pulled away and tapped me. I paused my "distractor" from Apple and slowly opened my eyes, preparing to accept some wretched carnage. I smelled the smoke of burning hot bone. My bone. My tooth.

"You're done. We just have to fit your temporary crown."

I nodded. My butt, exhausted from mining, began to relax after just shy of two hours. My toes began to explore my socks playfully.

"Hey Gang! Nice to feel you back. In the words of Barry Manilow: "Looks Like We MAAAAAADE iiiiiiiit!"

"You did a great job, you know. I know it was tough. Thank you."

"You dee-unt hut me. Tank YOU." I tried to smile but I just flopped my lip like a horse.

"It won't be like this next time."

"Ahll get dare. Wait . Nex -ime?"

"Yes. We found another filling that has crumbled and we need to re drill it."
"Numb?"

"Yes. If you want that. I will do it."

"Yes. I want hat." my lips felt huge. I wasn't exactly certain if my tongue even fit in my mouth anymore.

And I shakily wandered down the hall to make my appointment.
Beauty comes with a price. Today? I suffered more by my own hand than that of the dentist. But my crown fits perfectly. My smile is still a little lopsided, but it's there. I am reigning queen of the dentist chair. Today.


Hope your day was a little less harrowing than mine. Thanks for stopping by, your company made me feel better.

Opening Lines

"I'm all right. It's no big thing. No need to worry."

How's that grab you for opening words to a phone conversation? Especially as a parent.

I can't complain, I've had my share or MADE my share. There was the day that I fell out of the pharmacy (down a single step that I'd conquered for more than a dozen years) and proceeded to knock over a stack of about twenty plastic totes AND pull down an entire photo display (peg board, film, flashbulbs..the works) landing in a crumpled pile next to the copier in front of my customers. I jumped up like a Muppet (actually I went down like one too..with arms flailing and my mouth hung open in surprise...It was DANDY!) and hopped back into the pharmacy. Between peels of laughter, someone DID ask if I was hurt. I could merely answer the truth: "Only hurt my pride." But about two days later, it appeared that I had tried to stop a caning (or been a victim of one). There were thick black and deep purple bruising stripes on my legs from where the totes fell against me. There were small "fingertip" marks where the hardware on the pegboard poked my skin. Want to hear the best thing? For the two weeks of my vacation, I had to sit on beautiful Venezuelan beaches in my bikini looking like I'd been whipped by the ropes that held the cruise ship I came in on. FABULOUS. That conversation began "I'm okay...."

My children (5 and 3 at the time)were washing their toy car in the hot summer sun. I dashed around front to grab the mail and by the time I reached the side yard on the way back (this took about twenty seconds) there was screaming; painful terrified screaming. When I reached the kids I found them bloody and clinging together on the step with the hose plashing sympathetically next to them. I didn't know who was hurt or where. I tried to remain calm, rinsing them off as gently as I could to see. Apparently while playing car wash, Ben had decided that it was time for the big rinse. He took the bucket and wanting to simulate a huge wave/splash, he swung it, clocking his sister just above the eye splitting it open. What a gusher. So I made her hold a paper towel while we ventured into the grocery store. Now mind you, Boo had hugged Maddie when she got hurt so BOTH kids had blood streaks. As we picked out our band aids, a woman cut in front of us. I said just loud enough for her to hear:

"Hang on kids...you can pick your band aids out in a minute. (they whimpered)...I know...just wait your turn please."
The woman turned to glare but almost passed out. I smiled tightly and shrugged as I reached passed her and said:

"Yeah, I think we'll need the big box of Winnie the Poohs and some Spidermans. Ya think? Maybe some butterflies..."

We hobbled to the register (thank the LORD it was self checkout)and zoomed home. I got that butterfly on great...no stitches and there is a teensy scar but you have to know where to look. THAT call began as "It looks a lot worse than it is..."

My favorite was my husband's:

"You see those flashing lights up ahead?" (we had to travel similar routes to work at the time. He was about 10 minutes ahead of me.) "Yeah, well, you need to stop. It's me. I've had an accident."

Let's permit that one to sink in. Did I mention he was on a motorcycle? Hmmmm. So I skid up and begin to pick up his crunched helmet. I see him sitting dazed at the side of the road. A woman approaches me. She's been crying. I hand her a tissue. "It was an accident. Everyone will be okay. Cars can be replaced. " I said.

"Let's not tell any insurance companies. 'Kay?" She sniffles. I leave her with her snotty tissue watching my husband being loaded into an ambulance like an Easy Bake oven. She was lucky we didn't need another one. I wanted to clean her clock.

But then we have last night.

A trip to Home Depot for some wood for the new bar. ( for the "saloon" in "Promises"...it's going to be nothing short of fabulous. Cheech will build, I will stain. I can't wait to show it to you!) He'd been gone for quite a while. I was on my cell with a girlfriend when he beeped in. I switched over.

"You don't need to come to the hospital. It's not that bad."

All I could think was that the car was totalled and my boys were hurt. My mouth went dry. I leaned on the counter. "You better tell me what happened or I'm comin for ya." I said in my best but most terrified John Wayne voice.

"I have a little splinter." he laughed, almost embarrassed.
I waited."I was moving wood and I got a splinter. I went to pull it out but my whole hand moved and that is when I realized it went....(yep)...all the way through."

He'd been skewered. Holy crap. He'd made a Cheech-kabob. After much reassurance, I let him stay by himself. Boo wanted stay with his dad. They went to the ER.

I thought it was great when the nurse asked my son "Why didn't you just pull it out?" This was while she was jabbing a Novocaine needle into his flesh to remove the angry over sized toothpick from Cheech's hand.

Boo never missed a beat: "I just told him to rub some dirt on it. "

She apparently never saw or enjoyed the Peyton Manning commercial. It's a standard reference in our home.

Perhaps THAT will be the next phone call:

"I rubbed some dirt on it; buuuuut....."

Just sharing a little excitement and a small laugh. Thanks for visiting. Have a safe, injury free day. :)

Breaking

The gang all sat together and stared numbly at the television. Ricky changed the channel to a game show where all the people screamed and smacked a buzzer. What was a Whammie anyway? Whatever it was, they didn’t want one. They wanted Big Money. It made him smile that these people were so willing to act like idiots for cash.

Steve clucked disapprovingly and Donna sighed. Too bad, so sad. They didn’t take the initiative, so it was their loss.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

“There aren’t any.”

“This is the age of cable. There are hundreds of stations.”

“With nothing on them.”

“C’mon Ricky. Change it. This is stupid.”

“So are you.”

“I know you are but what am I?” Donna huffed and sat back.

“Quit it.” Said Steve. “Put on the news. I want to see. I need to practice and improve.” He cleared his throat and slicked his hair.

“Blahdeblah blah BLAHHHH.” Ricky echoed sticking his tongue out almost waggling it to his chin for effect.

“You’re gross.” Donna wrinkled her nose and turned away.

“I know you are but what am I?” Ricky sneered.

“E-NOUGH” Steve clapped his hands and clicked the remote. The news flicked on and the pretty, void Kylie was feigning concern and shock as she talked about yet another murder. There had been a string of them. The bodies had been butchered; frozen and discarded in obvious but multiple places. All of these things made the investigation extremely difficult. The officers were literally piecing bodies together: a hand, someone else’s foot,… Although working around the clock, the police couldn’t get any solid evidence, had no strong leads. The city was gripped in fear. Good one Anchor-wanna-be- Kylie. Good one.

“I have to get ready for work.” Steve said quietly.

“I could do that.” Ricky chirped.

“Get ready for work? You need a job first.” Donna laughed and snorted. The noise of it seemed to pierce Steve’s brain. He winced and shot her a look.

“I could do Steve’s job.” Ricky smiled. “The camera loves me. I could be in charge of the news.”

“Ricky, you have to go to school. You need a degree. You need….”

“I did go. Remember? We all went.” He kept grinning. “I want to work at YOUR job.”

“No.” Steve said flatly.

“Why not?”

“Just…no.”

“This just in….” Ricky held his ear and made a ticking noise. Donna giggled behind her hand. “A suspect HAS been found in the string of brutal murders in this sleepy city…….”

“Ricky, cut it out.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Ricky? Are you there? What can you tell us Ricky? What do you know?” Donna now joined in and spoke to her thumb. They all stared at Steve waiting for him to play along. He sat still and stared at a Whammie on tv. They looked like the Taz from those cartoons Ricky liked to watch. Stupid. He’d rather have the cash too.

“We go live to the basement of this hum-drum man. We may be able to crack this case.”

“I’m going to go.” Steve mumbled beginning to shift in his seat.

“Don’t be such a poop. You never stay when it starts to get REALLY good.” Ricky chided. “I could be bigger than you.”

“Shut up Ricky.”

“I could help you break it wiiiide open.” He leaned back, puffing his chest out. “Yep. Let’s go down to the basement.”

“Hurry up. I have to go. Is this like when you called the FBI and said you’d just robbed a bank?”
“I did.”

“Ricky, you took all the Monopoly money out of the box.”

“That’s the bank.”

“I was the banker! I WAS robbed. I was willing to give a statement!” Donna chimed in.

“You’re so childish.”

“I know you are…”

“Shut UP and let’s get this over with.” Steve stood and smoothed the front of his shirt. He shook his head letting his patience out with an exhale.

The basement was unfinished and bare. It had jagged corners and smelled of old dirt and mold. Steve held his breath and shook off the creepiness. Down here the shadows were just a little bit darker. He hated it down here. He never came; always bribing Ricky to do it when necessary.

“Turn on a light.” Donna whispered.

“In a minute. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” Ricky snickered and shuffled over to the corner.

“TAH DAH!” he barked triumphantly; ripping open the dingy old freezer and yanking the string to a naked bulb. The shadows danced along the walls; stretching and shrinking as if to peek and then hide from the horror in the rickety meat box.

Bodies lay inside; in pieces, in bags. Ricky leaned against the freezer. “So? Pretty good lead for ya huh Steve? I got some pictures here. If ya wanna take em along. ”

“No. This isn’t true. I don’t want to see this.” Steve clapped his hands over his eyes.

Donna and Ricky began to gafaw. Ricky tucked the pictures into Steve’s shirt pocket and patted his chest.

“All for you Steve. Now you’ll get that big break you’re always talking about! An Exclusive!” and Ricky began to murmur to Steven. All he could do was gawk at the syrupy red bags.

Donna snorted “Good one. GOOOD one! You da MAN!” and they high fived. Her laugh was loud and squeaky.

Steven’s stomach curled in on itself. His mouth was full of salt and spit. Sweating and pale, he staggered up the steps, swiped his keys from the table and dashed to the car. Slamming it into gear he zoomed out of the drive and down the street trying desparately to outrun the images he’d seen.

“Excluuuuusive” he heard Ricky sing. Tears pricked his eyes. “No.” he shouted at the steering wheel banging his fists.

“You’re late.”Steven’s boss gruffed as he whizzed by.

“I’m sorry.” He rushed to the bathroom and vomited.

Ricky’s words tickled his ear: “Write a note, play it out. Turn me into a modern day Ripper. Do whatever you like. I’ll play along with you. We’ll be a famous pair….”

“You’re sick.”Steven clipped.

“You’re a weak little girl.”

“Heyyyyyy!” Donna pouted.

“Shut up Donna” they chimed over top of her. She slouched back.

“It’s wrong. You’re wrong” Steven closed his eyes and tried to focus on work.

“MAKE UP GET IN HERE! Steven is late! We’ve only got a few….”

“You’ll do it my way.” Ricky growled

“No.”

“You always end up doing it my way.” Ricky said quietly

“Not this time.”

“Always..”

Steven stared into the mirror at his own face. The voices continued to chatter inside his skull. As hard as he tried, his shoulders fell and he began to scrawl on some paper. He laughed to himself and nodded whispering what Ricky told him he’d say. He quickly took his place on set at the desk.

When asked what his story was for the six o’clock news, the up and coming anchor smoothed the sloppy note in front of him.

“I have breaking news in the recent and brutal slayings.” The camera light went out and they went to break. Steven covered his paper like a child during a test. Underneath were Ricky’s photos. Steven looked at them and laughed; a little too loud and shrill; almost feminine.

“Shut up Donna. Don’t ruin this for me. Stay out of the way.” Steven hissed from behind his eyes.

“Yeah, Don. Stay back.” Ricky warned.

“Breaking….breaking….breaking.” he giggled and waited for his moment to shine.