For Spring Break, John and I decided to surprise the children with a trip to Orlando, Florida. Ambitiously, we wanted to keep the destination a secret until we actually arrived outside of the gate of the first theme park. We knew that it was an unlikely scenario as our three offspring are very perceptive, sort of like an adolescent CSI team who can sniff out a hidden box of Cheese Nips or discover an imminent trip to the dentist despite concerted attempts at concealment.

Who knew that it would be so easy to deceive them, to fool these little children in the same way we used to years ago when we told white lies about the bedtime hour when they couldn’t tell time. (“I know it’s still daylight outside, but my watch says that it’s 8:00. It’s reeeallly late.” And then John and I would watch the 7 o’clock news in blissful quiet.)

The story (lie) told to our trusting trio was that we were going to go to the beach for a couple of days over the break. We loaded up in the car for the 8-hour drive, explaining that we would break up the trip with an overnight stay in a hotel in Florida. All went well as we unloaded later that night, checked into our hotel and woke early the next morning for the supposed last leg of our trip to the beach.

Heads buried in game devices, none of the three noticed the overwhelming number of signs that screamed all things Orlando. Neon lights announcing the approach of our first destination, Universal Studios, were also missed as Mario took precedence over the revealing surroundings.

As we entered the parking garage, my husband said that we were making a quick stop for coffee. No one said much as handheld games were paused and we exited the car.

The juvenile version of CSI did not think it odd as we traveled on moving sidewalks for several hundred yards. Intuition was not perked as they saw for the first time signs pointing towards encroaching theme parks. My oldest investigator, Chase, even rolled his eyes as I complained to my husband the inconvenience we were all experiencing just for a jolt of caffeine.

As we made our way to the entrance of Islands of Adventure, one of two theme parks located in Universal, Chandler, our nine year old, finally commented, “This place looks awesome! Can you get us some tickets so that we can come back someday?”
It was then that we told them of our deception, relishing in their squeals as they jumped up and down with joy.

Soon after, they handed in their CSI badges, accepting with reluctance that their parents had finally trumped their keen, investigative skills. Not only did it provide us both with enormous parental satisfaction, but restored lost hope that we might once again mislead them about the hour of bedtime.

Joni is the mother of three, the wife of just one, and a willing passenger on the wild, roller coaster known as motherhood. Sometimes it is thrilling and other times her stomach could hurl, but she wouldn’t miss one second of the ride. She and her family reside in Georgia. To read more by Joni, visit her blog at www.jonisjoy.blogspot.com

Patients used to bring my husband pound cakes as tokens of appreciation. Lately, they have been bringing him moonshine.

There isn’t much that surprises my spouse when behind closed doors of the exam room. But, for the first time in his fifteen years of practice, the gift offering of illegal liquor stumped him for a few moments.

“I made it myself,” the proud patient joyfully explained as he handed over the homemade booze in canning jars decorated with dainty fruit. “Go on and taste it, Doc. You’ll love it.”

Not wanting to offend the well-meaning patient, but wanting to avoid ingesting possible impurities even more, my spouse slowly undid the top of the jar to take an appreciative whiff of the man’s bootlegging talents. John inhaled both jars, one labeled “P” for peach-flavored and the other “W” for white lightening.

And after the smell taste was finished, all of the hairs in my husband’s nose dropped to the ground.

John’s grandfather was a country doctor many years ago, during a time when freshly laid eggs could be exchanged for stitching a freshly cut lip. Canned preserves offered on many visits when Georgia peaches were more abundant than the state dollar. Patients never arrived empty-handed, whether it was produce or livestock, payment or gift, acts of goodwill and kindness that kept the small town Doc in business.

The ingenuity of the patient has not wavered, even some thirty years later, as testified by the distilled liquid given in the office. While a little unconventional – and a whole lot illegal – the thoughtful gesture behind the moonshine was appreciated just the same.

And the inside of my husband’s nose looks all the better for it.

Joni is the mother of three, the wife of just one, and a willing passenger on the wild, roller coaster known as motherhood. Sometimes it is thrilling and other times her stomach could hurl, but she wouldn’t miss one second of the ride. She and her family reside in Georgia. To read more by Joni, visit her blog at www.jonisjoy.blogspot.com.

Inspiration can come from a variety of places. Marvel of God’s handiwork and creativity in nature, appreciation for architectural elements in various complex structures or admiration of detailed brush strokes in a painting are all examples one might ponder when looking to be inspired.

When in conversation with my oldest son, Chase, about the costume he would create for the middle school contest, I suggested that he consider his surroundings to generate some ideas. We were driving home from school as I pontificated about the ingenuity and imagination one can find if pausing to look at the environment for inspiration.

I pulled into our driveway – still using the excessive words with which my children are accustomed – when Chase excitedly exclaimed, “I got it! I know exactly what I’m gonna be for the contest!” pointing enthusiastically to the unfortunate object that stimulated his outburst.

A Port O’ Potty.

Prominently placed in our front yard for the past twelve weeks, it has held enormous interest for my three children. This breeding bastion of bacteria has been off limits to my crew, but attracts a fascination each time they witness someone using the facilities.

Once, Chase and his friend J, watched a worker enter the stall, and the two quietly crept to the outside door. They knocked on the door hard and then ran, arms and legs pumping faster as the heated profanity that emerged from the stall frightened them more than initially considered when planning the prank.
They didn’t do it again.

Chase joyfully prepared all week for the contest, spray-painting a wardrobe box yellow and adding all of the many extras that would correctly identify his creation.

My husband and I curtailed many of the typical eleven year old boy suggestions made – dropping tootsie rolls as he walked in the parade or allowing toilet paper to hang out the back of the costume – in an effort to maintain some sense of decency and decorum. An oxymoron that I assure you has not escaped either of us.

Much to our relief, the teachers at Chase’s school appreciated the potty humor, congratulating him on the originality of his costume. Chase had a great time during the event, except for one minor detail that he found frustrating. His friends kept knocking on the door of his creation, and then running off before he could open it.

Payback, in my opinion, and that of the unsuspecting worker, very much deserved.

Joni is the mother of three, the wife of just one, and a willing passenger on the wild, roller coaster known as motherhood. Sometimes it is thrilling and other times her stomach could hurl, but she wouldn’t miss one second of the ride. She and her family reside in Georgia. To read more by Joni, visit her blog at www.jonisjoy.blogspot.com.