letsscaremom
Let's Scare Mom
The official blog of the author of Let's Scare Mom, Rob Wood.
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My Daddy Can't Come Home Tonight
Having been busy creating the stories for the Wyatt Wonders series I felt guilty when my 5 year old granddaughter Rylee Jane asked if I would write something for her. Her father is currently on his third deployment to a nasty place around the globe and she is now old enough to understand and actually miss him very much. I wrote this for Rylee and her dad.
My Daddy Can’t Come Home Tonight
For Rylee Jane
My daddy is my hero…
but he can’t come home tonight.
He’s far away in a foreign land…
protecting what is right.
You see, my daddy’s in the Army
and America he serves.
He flies an Apache helicopter.
Mommy says that takes strong nerves.
I miss my Daddy very much…
sometimes I cry and sob.
But, I understand protecting freedom
is a very important job.
I know my Mommy misses him
and my little brother too.
Sometimes I hear her say her prayers
and ask God to see us through.
My Daddy says he loves our flag…
that it stands for liberty.
He says many men have sacrificed
to keep it flying free.
I’m proud of all our soldiers
and the uniforms they wear.
Dad says many folks sleep safe at night
thanks to the burdens that they bear.
Every night before I sleep
I say my special prayer.
To keep my daddy free from harm
and safe from the dangers there.
God, would you please watch over him
and be sure to let him know,
that I love him very much
and that he is my Hero.
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Why Don't Fireflies Need Batteries?
Number Four in the "Wyatt Wonders…Series"
"Why Don't Fireflies Need Batteries?"
There’s a question that has puzzled me
and I’d really like to know…
do fireflies need batteries
to make their taillights glow?
Like the stars up in the sky…
their tails light up the night.
I’m very curious just to know…
what makes them shine so bright?
Some people call them lightning bugs
with their sparkling flare down under.
I love to watch the flash they make…
but I’ve never heard them thunder.
My favorite thing on summer nights
is to chase these little bugs
and try to snatch them from the air
and put them in glass jugs.
My sister likes to chase them too…
so much to her delight.
It’s very fun to play and see
how many we snare each night?
We play a game and count our bugs
to see who gets the most.
The winner gets a special prize
and claims the right to boast.
I catch the bugs with my bare hand…
Little Sis prefers a net.
And when it‘s time to count our bugs
we see who wins the bet.
Is it magic in the fireflies
that makes their tails shine bright?
Or is it just mother nature’s way
of brightening up the night?
I used to be afraid of them.
I thought their tails were hot.
Then one night I touched one’s tail
and found that it was not.
Their light blinks on then fades away
all through their merry flight.
Chasing them is my favorite part…
of any summer night.
Our grandma gave us little cages
to put our glow worms in.
We catch as many as we can
Then set them free again.
It makes me happy to let them go
and see them fly away.
In my heart it feels so good
to play the game that way.
If we always set them free
when this game we play…
there always will be fireflies
to catch another day.
I like to hold these little bugs.
I think of them as friends.
They bring me so much happiness…
I hope summer never ends.
So, I ask you once again…
what makes their taillights glow?
If it’s not batteries that makes them shine
what is it…I’d like to know?
Fireflies tails have always flashed…
throughout recorded history.
But just what makes their behinds shine…
to me remains a mystery.
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Why Don't Kids Have Tails?
The third little ditty in my "Wyatt Wonders...?" series of children's books.
Why Don’t Kids Have Tails?
Rob Wood
My parents told me that all kids are mammals…
in one big family with tigers and camels.
Mom says I’m related to possums and skunks…
and seals and lemurs and little chipmunks.
Beavers, hippos, gorillas and rabbits…
They are all mammals with different habits.
Elephants, weasels and even the shrew…
Aardvarks and manatees are all mammals too!
Horses and rhinos and seals are our cousins.
The list of mammals must be dozens and dozens.
Mom says that mammals have traits that we share…
One of which is… that we all can grow hair.
Some swim in water, some live in trees,
Some live in burrows, some fly like the breeze.
Some walk on four legs like deer and raccoons.
Some walk on two legs like me and Baboons.
My dad says mammals are born and not hatched.
That’s one of the many ways mammals are matched.
All mammal mommies make milk for their young…
and all mammals eat… with teeth and a tongue.
Mom says all mammals are born with a heart…
and it pumps warm blood and mammals are smart.
“Dolphins are not fish” were my daddy’s words.
He then told me that… “And bats are not birds.”
Some mammals are wild and some live on farms.
Some sleep in the jungle and some sleep in barns.
I have so many questions as I lie in my bed…
with all of these animals stuck in my head.
If I’m really related to all of these creatures…
then why don’t we all… have the same features?
If I’m in a family with dogs, cats and whales…
then why in the world don’t all kids have tails?
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New Book Cover
Rob Thouless has done a wonderful job capturing the spirit of the characters in my new #childrensbook "Why Don't Horses Wear Pajamas?" scheduled for release next month. This #newbook is the first of a series that includes "Why Don't Worms Have Heads?" and Why Don't Kids Have Tails?" out early next year.
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Why Don't Worms Have Heads?
It was with great anticipation that I took my four year old grandson Wyatt out to one of my secret fishing holes recently. I had every intention of passing along some of my well honed and time tested fishing skills to my young progeny. Much to my disappointment, he appeared to be far more interested in playing with the night-crawlers than he was in absorbing the finer points of the craft. As I watched his bobber plunge deep beneath the surface for the third time I yelled out, "Wyatt, grab your pole. You've got a big one on your line." Rather than leaping into action, he sat cross legged on the bank staring at the eight inch crawler dangling from his finger tips. Ignoring my call to action, he asked very thoughtfully, "Grandpa, why don't worms have heads?" I couldn't help but laugh. That boy has a way of asking questions, the subject matter of which would never cross my mind. That question served as the catalyst for the second bedtime story we would conjure up together.
Why Don’t Worms Have Heads?
Why don’t earthworms have a head?
Where is their mouth to keep them fed?
Which end is the front… which end is the tail?
Is it a girl… or is it a male?
Is a worm happy or is a worm sad?
Is a worm grumpy or is a worm mad?
Without a face it’s so hard to tell,
Is the worm healthy… does it feel well?
Does a worm have a brain so it can think?
Without any eyes… worms sure cannot wink?
How do worms see without any eyes?
Is everything just one big surprise?
Worms can’t tell red from yellow or green.
They can’t see if you’re nice or you're mean.
Without eyes, worms can’t make tears…
and cry when scary things give them fears.
I wonder what noises an earthworm hears.
It must be quiet without any ears.
Without a mouth… how do they drink?
Worms must get thirsty…is what I think.
Without lips worms can’t make words…
and scare away the hungry birds.
How do they smell without a nose?
Worms can’t tell roses from stinky-toes.
When I hold worms… they always wiggle.
It tickles my hand and makes me giggle.
What do earthworms do for fun?
Without any legs… they sure cannot run.
Worms crawl on their bellies… just like a snake.
But, even snakes have heads… for goodness sake.
I ask myself as I lie in my bed…
Why in the world don’t worms have a head?
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From Chapter 13
c.1959…“At the age of ten and unaccompanied by my parents, my first flight on a TWA Lockheed Constellation was pretty darned bumpy. I found it strangely exhilarating and just closed my eyes and imagined I was my father flying his B-24 through heavy flak over Nazi Germany.”
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Storytelling
It’s not the story-line that makes for good reading…but the storyteller. I believe Mark Twain could have filled out a credit application and made it a page turner. RW
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Character
Adversity and hardship are cornerstones of character development. How can you recognize true happiness or appreciate the good in life if you have never dealt with discomfort, misfortune, and sorrow? It’s like a child learning the difference between hot and cold. RW
www.LetsScareMom.com
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Arguing
I’ve never put much stock in the act of arguing. Most folks I’ve encountered, who are accomplished at the craft, refuse to let the truth stand in the way of winning the debate…so what’s the point. RW
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Going Green
When I was growing up in the 1950s “going green” was something you did on St. Patty’s Day. “Spam”was a weekly staple on the family menu. A “mouse” was a rodent that would startle Mom as it scurried across the kitchen floor. A “blackberry” was an ingredient in a pie or jam. A “cookie” was something your grandmother baked. A “tweet”was the noise a songbird made. “Pin it” was what you did when your zipper jumped the track. “Going viral” meant you were coming down with the Asian flu. “Kindle” was something you did to start a fire. A “smart phone” had a rotary dial and no party line, and an “iPad” was a sterile cotton patch you taped over an injured eye. The closest thing to “Facebook”was the annual school yearbook, and a “friend” was someone you were close to and physically spent time with.
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Good Friends
A “good friend” is much like your teeth.
You have a limited number of them to last you an entire lifetime.
You can survive without them, but having them makes life much more enjoyable.
If you don’t take good care of them, you could lose them forever.
― RW
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Treehouse Curriculum
I understand that there are a million reasons why kids today don’t spend as much time outdoors as children did when I was coming up. Many of the reasons for this are perfectly legitimate but I suspect that something goes missing in the development process when fun and games involves an injection molded plastic object fitted with a microchip. While the television had made its way into most American homes by the mid-1950s, the boob-tube didn’t get turned on at our house until after supper and it was dark outside. The possible exception was Saturday mornings when a wonderful menu of kids programing was streamed nonstop on all three channels right up till noon. In any case the majority of my leisure time as a child was spent outdoors and I cherish those adventures.
There were so many things to do outside and every day was a new learning experience. Certain fundamental skills were acquired and honed under the open sky that simply couldn’t have taken place indoors. For instance, I think every child should spend at least one whole summer involved in a “treehouse curriculum.” If memory serves me, it was required training in the 1950s. The experience takes place in an informal classroom and offers a wide range of courses in essential educational subject matter.
The first lesson in “treehouse curriculum” involves the selection process of the proper tree. Now, this may sound like a no-brainer but… not so fast. Yes, everybody knows that a treehouse requires a tree with limbs stout enough to bear the weight of the new domicile and having a somewhat horizontal pitch to the branches is desirable…duh! Less obvious are lessons I learned the hard way like; don’t attempt to construct a dwelling in a locust thorn tree or avoid trees hosting large grey hornet’s nests. It is also in the best interest of treehouse engineers to avoid offending any birds nesting in your tree of choice. I once spent an entire summer vacation dodging an offended mother Robin and my mom was attacked regularly while trying to hang the wash on our clothesline.
The second cool thing about “treehouse curriculum” is; it is usually the first opportunity a youngster has to use hand tools…sort of an unsupervised crash course in the industrial arts. My first thumb smashing came in a tree while learning the difference between a ballpeen and a claw hammer…the latter being highly preferable for driving 10 penny nails. I also proved beyond any reasonable doubt that a hand saw is an instrument intended for use with two hands, while standing on solid ground, as opposed to hanging by one arm from a limb.
The whole design process fertilizes the creative regions of a young and active mind. Roof or open air? Windows or no windows? How many doors to install was an interesting proposition as unrestrained and rapid escape was considered essential. I was able to successfully demonstrate that trap doors in the floor off a treehouse are a bad idea. Architectural options for access into and exit from an airborne condo were fodder for considerable experimentation and the ability to deny entry to unauthorized personnel was paramount. Safety seemed to rank fairly low in terms of design considerations.
I would have to say that my time spent outdoors building treehouses in the 1950s was as impactful to my development as the things I learned in school. Given the proclivity of boys of that era to jump into “treehouse curriculum” at an early age, I often wondered why they waited until junior high to offer shop class. Building bird houses in eighth grade is a blatant example of too little, too late…in my opinion.
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Top Dog
I’ve always felt that participation in sports is a constructive cog in the wheel of childhood development…boy or girl. The summer of 1995 was rock’ in along much to my satisfaction in that regard. Buck, Jake and Calli, my three offspring still under the roof at the time, were all involved in summer sporting activities. The boys were lifting weights and running in preparation for the mid-August commencement of football. Calli, at nine years of age and the youngest, was playing soccer, softball and occasionally she would squeeze in a round of golf (in my undervalued opinion, her best sport). All of the talk around the dinner table, and for that matter around town, was of the upcoming football season. Lewisville was coming off a 5-A Texas State Championship and many in the community were expecting a repeat performance. Life was good!
With Buck returning as the starting left cornerback for the Fighting Farmers, I wasn’t particularly surprised when I received a call from Jeff Calaway, the sports writer for the local paper. He called to schedule an appointment to interview and photograph, as he worded it, “Your superstar”. I proudly informed Buck and his siblings, as well as a few friends and neighbors, that Jeff and the staff photographer would be calling on us the following Friday morning.
Our household was buzzing with excitement in anticipation the big day. Buck purchased a new shirt just for the special occasion. It bore his uniform number (28) and the logo of the school mascot (some guy who looked like he might be missing a few shingles, wearing bibbed overalls and brandishing a pitch fork…a Fighting Farmer???). The lawn was freshly mowed, the house was spic and span and sweet anticipation filled the air.
To my surprise, around 8:30 on the appointed morning, an assortment of friends and neighbors just happened to stop by to say hello. There were eight or nine guys from the football team, four of Jake's pals and even my business partner showed up on our doorstep. I herded everybody into the house as I didn’t want a crowd on the front lawn when Clark Kent and Lois Lane arrived to get their scoop. Promptly at 9:00, right on schedule, the doorbell announced our special guest’s arrival.
With Buck seated on the couch surrounded by his teammates, I proudly opened the front door and invited the pundits to come inside. The reporter and his shutter-bug were wearing expressions of surprise as they were greeted by what looked more like a town hall meeting than an intimate interview. Buck interrupted an awkward silence by standing up and extending his hand and introducing himself with an air of confident pluck. Looking a bit confused, the reporter returned the handshake while scanning around the room and asking, “Is there a Calli Wood here? We’re here to speak with her about her unassisted triple play.” You could have heard a pin drop. A tiny toe-head elbowed her way between two dinosaur looking offensive linemen and stepped forward offering, “I’m Calli Wood…that’s me.” I learned something very important about my daughter that day …she doesn’t stand in any boy’s shadow.
There was a feature article and color picture of Calli that appeared in the Sunday sports section as well as a teaser blurb at the top of the front page. The story of that day’s events has been relived many times over the years, much to Buck’s chagrin. He did manage to get his picture in the paper several times before the season was over but from that point forward both of Calli’s older brothers avoided any conversation attempting to identify the best athlete in the family.
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Family Business
Wyatt bounced back with, “Can we write a book together about why horses don’t wear pajamas?”
I thought to myself, That might be a fun little project and a good way to spend some quality time together. We marched back to the house and after a careful inspection for ticks, we sat down with a notebook and engaged in what I expected to be a futile but well intended attempt to co-author a short book. To my surprise, here’s what “WE” came up with:
Why Don’t Horses Wear Pajamas?
By Wyatt James Wood and Grandpa
Why don’t horses wear pajamas?
Why don’t puppies, ducks or Llamas?
Why don’t tigers wear a shirt?
Like my mommy wears a skirt.
Dogs go outside and don’t wear coats,
so do chickens, sheep and goats.
I’ve never seen a cow wear socks…
never pigs or bright peacocks.
When it’s cold I wear my mittens.
I’ve never seen them worn by kittens.
My grandpa wears a cowboy hat.
It would sure look funny on a cat.
My mother says to wear my hat…
I’ve never seen a giraffe do that.
It looks like penguins should wear a tie.
It looks like penguins should learn to fly.
It looks like a tux that penguins wear.
But it just turns out to be their hair.
We went to the zoo and I saw a bear…
But he wasn’t wearing underwear.
Why don’t Hippos wear rubber boots?
Why don’t fish wear swimming suits?
Why don’t horses wear pajamas?
I guess I’ll have to ask their mommas.
What a special afternoon we had matching animals, articles of clothing and rhymes. Yes, many of the lines were his…with a little help. I learned a valuable lesson that day: Never underestimate the mind of a four year old. I’m seriously considering signing the boy to a long term contract to help me with my writing. RW
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A Blast From The Past
I was going through a box of old pictures the other day looking for some 1950s photos to post in the photo album on my website. I came across something very interesting and rather thought provoking. This relic had somehow survived the years and had been salvaged from my grade school wallet. It was an official Civil Defense Preparedness card.
Wow, that unshackled some serious flashbacks. As you can see, the headline on the card reads:
When The Warning Sounds A Steady Blast of 3 to 5 Minutes This Means Attack Probable-Take Action As Directed By Local Government.
Now…that’s a statement that will get the attention of a pre-pubescent young man and keep him up at night wondering—exactly who and what is the Local Government? Is the city council, the mayor or the governor in charge? I’ve only got three minutes to decide.
The second glaring headline on the card:
Warbling Tone or Short Blasts For 3 Minutes Means Attack Imminent-Take Cover Immediately In Best Available Shelter.
This seems a little confusing and certainly is presented in the wrong order for optimum survival opportunities. If you made it through three minutes of steady blast and weren’t glow-in-the-dark ash, why should it take another 3 minutes of warbling, short, ear-piercing blasts to convince you that your ass was grass?
Why postpone things for another 3 minutes by turning it over to the local government, when no local government in the history of mankind has accomplished anything in 3 minutes? I like the sound of taking cover a hell of a lot better than relying on a bunch of clowns arguing over who’s in charge.
I had all but forgotten my recurrent childhood dreams of Nikita Khrushchev’s chubby index finger reaching for the large red button that would launch a torrent of Soviet death comets. This subject was number one on the hit parade of hot topics of conversation at school, home and sometimes even at Sunday school in the 1950s.
Maybe things today aren’t quite as out of control as we think they are?
RW
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Today's Podcast - Bittersweet Memories
Today I posted the podcast of Chapter Five…Poets Club and I did so in the shadow of some bitter-sweet memories, with heavy emphasis on the “bitter” part. I’m not sure that I have yet come to grips with my beloved Mort the Karate Pig being selected by my father as the guest of honor at the Poets Club Luau and Pig Roast. I really liked that pig even if he did only have three good legs. Mort was exceptionally friendly for a pig, and in the end, I guess being easy to catch was his downfall.
I learned a valuable lesson that day: Don’t get too attached to ranch animals that have the potential to end up on the family dinner table. I suspect most kids today don’t find themselves faced with that kind of dilemma. I know my grandchildren darned sure won’t eat anything that didn’t come wrapped in cellophane and has a barcode on it. They’re quite capable of summoning the authorities on their iPhones if they suspected someone of taking a chicken to the chopping block much less dispatching a doe eyed swine. Oh well, that was the way of life at Rancho Roberto in the 1950s. I miss it…sometimes!
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The Origins of Let's Scare Mom
Well… tomorrow’s the big day. My first REAL book, Let’s Scare Mom, is scheduled for release on Amazon and Smashwords at midnight tonight. LSM is a book that was almost never written. In late 2011, I decided to record some of my childhood adventures to pass along to my grandchildren (before Old Man Time or Merlot washed them out to sea, never to return). The result was a small book of short stories, which I called The 5 Greatest Spankings of All Time and self-published in 2012 through Amazon. Wow, some of my more affectionate family members actually referred to me as an “author”— I liked the ring of that!
To great surprise, that little book was embraced by a relatively small, yet enthusiastic, group of new readers well outside the family circle. This modest success, in no small part, was due to the Amazon marketing platform and a wonderful site for readers… Goodreads.com. I was (and still am) honestly flattered by the favorable reactions I received from folks I didn’t even know. One message I heard repeatedly, while gloating in my unforeseen accomplishment, was “I would like to see you expand your stories into an entire memoir. Spankings is too short…we want to hear more.”
I gave the prospect of such an endeavor considerable thought. I finally arrived at the decision— Why not make a run at it? I had a good time putting together the first book… and writing is something I actually enjoy. It sure beats sitting around in my spare time opening mail from AARP, hearing aid marketers and The Scooter Store.
So, that is how Let’s Scare Mom came to be. It was a very gratifying journey and I hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoyed walking around in my childhood shoes one last time.
-RW
#letsscaremom#robwood#amazon#goodreads#smashwords#memoir#indiebook#indieauthor#5greatestspankingsofalltime#family#1950s
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