Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

When I said I won't censor myself just because my family members occasionally read Home Fires, I lied. Yesterday I gave a bunch of half truths to make myself feel better about what summers were really like growing up. Becka was right, I got dirt on that guy I talked about yesterday. And Spring's comment about PK Bar? Yeah, unfortunately I know of that place all too well. So now I'm going to set yesterday's record straight and we can get on to today's post.

PK Bar is where PK spends most of his days hitting the sauce. He starts with beer at 8 a.m. and moves on to the hard stuff at noon. PK always said, "You can't drink all day if you don't start bright and early."

While I'm shooting for honesty, I guess I should let you all know he is a crack monkey who works the streets of Chicago. He not only sells crack, he is also a client, which is why his teeth are all missing.

About 30 years ago, PK ran into my dad. Pops was trying to score a hooker on Rush Street because he and Mom were fighting and she had cut him off. As my dad waved his 12 bucks at the lady of the night, PK stopped him and said, "There's better ways to spend your money dude!"

Once PK got my dad hooked on crack, the two played chemist. They built one of the first meth labs in the country. Those summers that we visited with PK, well, the only lake we actually spent any time at was Lake Michigan, where PK made us dump the toxic waste left over from cooking up the goods.

During those hot summers, we Lane kids worked like sweatshop kids mixing meth and dumping barrels.

And as mentioned yesterday, PK did feed us. That part was true. Of course, the guy was so lit most of the time, he called himself a vegetarian.

When I asked him why he was eating a bloody rare porterhouse, he said, "Because I'm hungry, dumb ass!"

I cried a little and said, "But sir, I thought you were a vegetarian."

He said, "I am! I only smoke shit that grows."

So there you have it folks. PK really wasn't my daddy's friend, just his dealer and partner in crime.


The above information is 100% bullshit. PK just needed a little shit blown his way for saying he isn't family and can't be made fun of here at Home Fires.
*********************************************************************

Happy birthday wishes go out to my girl K. You want to read some hot stories that will make your Spidey senses tingle? Go read K and tell her happy birthday while you're there.

Lois waves all crazy like. Hi K! Happy birthday!

*********************************************************************
Call Me

Letting go is so hard. My son is going to be 13 in a few short weeks. A real live teenager. I'm scared but happy for him. He is beyond ready to be a teenager. He's always been one of those kids who was ahead of his time with a very grownup sense of humor and a passion for everything he believes in. He's always been so sweet, funny and loving and I guess I worry about some of the horror stories you hear about teens.

For now, however, he isn't a teen. He is still my little guy. Did you know that some people call kids his age tweens? It's the stupid newfangled way to say the kid isn't quite a teen. He is in between. In between what? Growing up and making his mother a nervous wreck?

The first opportunity to "let him go" happened yesterday. He is on a two-day trip with his class. Leading up to the trip, I, in an evil, selfish way, hoped he would misbehave enough for me to cancel his plans. How wrong is that? Anyhow, he not only behaved but kept his grades up, which is one of our ongoing struggles. So how could I not let him go? I couldn't.

The trip included four museum stops in Chicago, a hotel stay and a day at Six Flags Great America.

My biggest concern was the fact that he was spending the night in a hotel. He said he was sharing a room with his teacher and four boys from his class. It made me feel better knowing his teacher Mr. Thunder would be in the same room because Lane 1 sleep walks. It was nice knowing that there was going to be an adult in the room to keep an ear on him.

What else worried me was that Mr. Thunder was going to be sleeping in the same room because Lane 1 talks, yells and cusses in his sleep. I had this crazy vision of Lane 1 shouting out in his sleep, "Hey fucker!" or something equally off the wall, because with that boy, you just never know.

So nervous and happy about the teacher sharing his room, I had no choice. The boy needs to grow up and I, as a mom, need to let go. (Big icky horse pill to swallow!)

I let my son take my cell phone on his trip. I didn't tell him to check in or call me. I just showed him where the clock was and how to set the alarm because their plans included breaking off in small groups and meeting back at scheduled times. I programmed his teacher's cell number into the number one memory spot and our home number into the second. Just in case.

My phone rang at 10:15 a.m. yesterday. It was Lane 1 calling from my cell phone. His bus made it to Chicago.

"Hi Mom. It's me. Just wanted you to know we got here. Can I let John and Austin use your cell to check in?"

"Sure. You having fun yet?"

"Cool Ma, thanks. Love ya bye."

"I (click) love..."

12:05 p.m. phone rings. "Hey Ma? It's me Lane. (not Lane 1, just Lane) Um, so hey, just wanted to tell you we've left the planetarium and are at the Museum Of Science And Industry now. It was cool over there. We chased some seagulls in the parking lot and I shared my apple with one but I couldn't take a bite after it did 'cuz I was totally grossed out. Okay mom, so I'll talk to ya later."

"I love you son. Thanks for calling."

(Kids yelling "dude" in the background) "K Ma, bye."

1:28 p.m. phone rings. "H.. (cell cutting in and out) field.. so... hear... k.. you.. (phone dies)

I think he was saying "hi" and telling me that they were at "The Field Museum" and he might have even said "I love you" before he lost his signal. Or he might have been trying to tell me that he is in the field where Stranger Danger left him, which is why he has no reception and was saying he loved me because he doesn't think he will ever see me again. OH MY GOD! Hurry honey! Call Mommy back!

3:05 p.m. missed his call because I was picking his sister up from school.

4:00 p.m. phone rings. "Ma. Hey! We are stuck in traffic."

"Are you guys having fun on the bus?"

"No! It's hot and smells like nasty old bus and Brianna keeps trying to put makeup on me."

"So. Let her. You'd look great in drag."

(I hear him tell the girl what I said. She giggles. He courtesy laughs.) "I'll talk to ya soon Mom." (click)

5:02 p.m. phone rings. "We made it to the hotel finally."

"Oh good. Traffic was icky huh?" (Why do I say things like "icky" to him still?)

"Yeah and I got a headache. Brianna talked and sang the whole way. I thought letting her put makeup on me would shut her up for a while. It didn't. So now all I need is a feather boa and some earplugs. She said I look sweet in drag."

"Did you really let her put makeup on you?"

"Haha! Um, no. But she really wanted to."

"Awe, you should have let her."

"Riiight! K, see ya Ma." (click)

9:30 p.m. phone rings. "Ma?"

"Hey buddy! How you doing?"

"Mr. Thunder says it's time for us to wind down and get some rest."

"Yeah, you have a busy day tomorrow. Thanks for calling to say goodnight. I miss you."

"Me too. So hey, can I let Austin call his mom to say goodnight from your phone?"

"Sure. Thanks for asking."

"You'd kill me if I didn't ask."

"True."

"K, so (he whispers into the phone) good night. Sleep tight. I won't see you in the morning light. But don't worry 'cuz, I'll be all right. (back to normal tone) Is it cool if I spoon with Austin tonight Mom?" (Sound of boys cracking up and saying, "Gross dude! That's nasty!")

Wanting to cry and laugh at the same time I said, "You sleep tight too and give that Austin kid a big ol' smooch for me. I love you. Sweet dreams."

(I am happy to report we both made it through the night.)