My Morning

Conversations with Motormouth

Motormouth: Mom, I'm tired of this old PSP. I need a new one!
Me: (taking a deep breath) That is an incredibly spoiled, selfish sounding thing to say. Your's works fine, but if you have $130 feel free to buy another one. In the mean time, if it would help, I can take your's so you don't have to suffer playing an "old" one.

......

Motormouth: I have questions. What was that guy's name again? Where was he shot? Why?
Me: (another deep breath) Osama Bin Laden.
Motormouth: He was eeeeevil. In your face Bin Laden.
Me: NO! Don't be like that. Yes. He was very evil, but we should never be happy that someone is dead. You don't have to be sad, but don't be happy either.
Motormouth: So, where was he shot and why?
Me: Pakistan. In the Middle East. He was killed because he planned an organized the death of thousands on 9/11. And you just can't do that. America protects it's people whenever possible.
Motormouth: No, I meant WHERE was he shot?
Me: yeah, I know. I'm not getting into that with you because it doesn't matter. Dead is dead. You can't take it back.
...............
Motormouth: Oh, I forgot to tell you. The carpet in the basement is all wet. I noticed a couple of days ago but didn't tell you because I needed to play with my Legos.
Me: (taking a deep breath and praying I can hold it until I pass out) THAT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU DON'T TELL SOMEONE.
..........................................
Me: Where is your jacket, the bus will be here.
Motormouth: I dunno.
Me: it's not on the coat hook. Yesterday you came home and left your shoes and jacket on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. I told you to come pick them up and put them where they belong. Where do you think that is?
Motormouth: I really don't know!!
Me (still holding my breath, because it's working so well for me right now) Go. Check. Your. Room.
Motormouth: It's not in here.
Me: your bus is here.....Wait! Don't go out yet! (turning to grab a long sleeve sports jersey off the clean laundry stack. *BANG* front door slams shut and he runs outside and jumps on the bus. It's 43 degrees.)


I would just like to say that his jacket was spread out right in front of his door in his room. He must have been standing on it when he went in to look. The basement carpet is indeed wet and I don't know where it's coming from. Oh, and G just left for a couple days.

Or, maybe I’m just witnessing the first stages of dementia.

Grandma arrived two days ago and I have only seen her allowed out of the basement for meals. She is otherwise held hostage down there and made to sort through gigantic tubs of Legos to find the piece that Motormouth needs next. Seriously. His job is to show her a picture of the missing pieces, and assembly. All the heavy lifting, sitting on the floor and sifting through a gazillion Lego bricks belongs to Grandma. I'm pretty sure she is sorting them at night to find all the crazy tiny accessory pieces instead of sleeping, just so there are some ready to go when the Lego Nazi, er, precious angel wakes up in the morning. Meanwhile, Motormouth has attended a birthday party AND played for a few hours on the waterslide in the backyard. He even takes trampoline breaks. Where’s Grandma? Still sorting. You know what it sounds like when you rifle through a gigantic tub of molded plastic? A rock polisher. Guess who is trying to sleep through that noise? Yep. That would be Grandpa. Who apparently can sleep through the apocalypse judging by the racket emanating from the basement, which, coincidently, is where the spare room is located. Did I mention that the basement isn’t quite finished yet? Yeah. There’s no door to the guest room. Still, he manages to get some shut eye in, but only while Monkey is asleep. Since Motormouth has Grandma all locked up, Monkey seeks out his Papa, and he doesn’t let a silly thing like sleep get in his way. I’m pretty sure that if I had chose to wake my father by getting a running start and cannon-balling him that I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale. Monkey gets rewarded by Papa tickling him. Papa gets rewarded with knees, elbows and feet to the head. Nice.
So, what’s the deal? Does becoming a Grandparent make this stuff seem awesome? I keep hearing that being a grandparent is your reward for being a parent, that it is some kind of prize you win if you can manage to see your kids through adulthood. Or is it just that after being a parent for a couple decades, it makes you so crazy that this stuff SEEMS great? I’m just not seeing the appeal. If this is what is going to await me after parenthood, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.

My Dad is pretty awesome too.

My Grandmother passed away.
She was 85.
The love of her life died 15 years prior.
Her health has been declining steadily.
If that all wasn't enough to prepare me, my dear, sweet, Grandma has been telling me for the past DECADE that she is READY. NOW. and that she can't wait to go and too bad for whoever isn't happy for her when her time comes.
She was awesome.

So, I was more or less prepared. G was prepared. Not only for her death, but for everything that comes after. My particular grieving process, my family's drama, the fact that we are going to laugh more than cry, the ridiculous things we will find to fight about...all of it. He was there 15 years ago when my Great Grandmother and my Grandfather passed two weeks apart. And for some reason he didn't run. (he's awesome too, maybe it will rub off) I'm grateful. Motormouth was a little prepared, we've been talking to him about Nana's failing health for some time now. The only person that wasn't prepared was Monkey. He doesn't grasp the concept. Which would be fine, except that whether he grasps it or not, he is still subjected to hordes of slightly familiar and completely unfamiliar people, new places and lots of hanging around. In other words, the worst case scenario possible. The showing was okay. He was very sweet and told Nana goodbye, then shushed me for talking while she was sleeping. He hung out with his cousins watching movies and playing games in the basement of the funeral home and was handling most all of it pretty well. The funeral itself was a slightly different story (we aren't even going to get into the nightmare of attempting to meet the extended family for lunch the day after...it was so awful it drove me to tears). Monkey told Nana goodbye again, and he sat in the church pew quite well for a couple of minutes...and then started to unravel. I immediately came to the conclusion that we should have asked for a reserved "family" pew in the back of the church, but this moment of clarity came too late, and everyone that attended got to witness the following show:

Monkey standing, turning around and sitting about 20 times, asking to go home about 10 times. Spontaneously grabbing my cousin James while announcing "tickle, tickle, tickle!!....oh, you're not Papa!!" Apparently my father was the only one who was supposed to be wearing a dark suit jacket. Monkey standing up and turning around in the pew, putting his hands on his hips, looking very sad and saying "I'm sorry, I didn't know! but I gave it to the Peach, because he's got.....HAIR" (we got this particular reenactment of the Veggie Tales Silly Song "Where is my hairbrush" twice.... Twice) One trip to the bathroom, multiple requests to be "all done", oh, and my very favorite, the entire time he was climbing up my body so he could rub my head and put his hands over my face. This particular move is something that is calming to him. He likes hands on his face and feeling the top of his mohawk. It's comforting. Somehow, it has become MORE comforting to do it to me. I can't get him to stop. It makes me freak out and start screaming- inside my head. By the time the service is over I am one step shy of being stark raving mad.

I bump into my dad outside the church and tell him I wish we had sat in the back so we weren't such a spectacle. My dad replies that we were fine. I point out that he was in front of us and had no idea what was going on in my little circus show. Dad looks at me and says "I didn't need to see. I already know that Monkey was doing the best that he could, so therefore I know that it was fine"

The awesomeness doesn't fall far from the tree.
I hope it doesn't skip a generation.

We're not white trash- we're worldly.

I look up as Motormouth is coming back inside the house from playing in the backyard, and realize that he is wearing a tee-shirt and boxer briefs. When questioned, Motormouth explains his choice to strip down was heat induced. I don't care how hot it is, you don't take your pants off and go out in public. You are a boy, take off your shirt for crying out loud.
So now I'm ticked because I didn't notice that he went outside looking like that. I started to panic a little that this isn't some little boy reasoning, and that there is some deep-seeded, genetic trait that caused this white trash behavior. I would like to pretend that it couldn't possibly be from my genes...I'm mean, doesn't everyone try to pin the blame on their spouse when they see undesirable traits in their kids? Or is it just me? It's probably just me. I'm petty and small. Unfortunately for me, my theory of being haplessly married into a clan of barbarians that would enthusiastically embrace underwear as outerwear was quickly and thoroughly shot down when SSG G came home and was absolutely appalled at the idea of his son outside in his skivvies. His lecture included not only the fact that the practice was not tolerated in THIS house, but not tolerated by law either. Ouch. So the blame comes back around to me.
If the cops are called, I'm blaming his exposure to European culture early in life.

You can't make this stuff up...I guess you could, but really, why on earth would you?

It's dinnertime, and the boys have sat down to eat. Motormouth starts yelling at Monkey to stop doing something and Monkey starts tattling in that universal, sing-song tattle voice that every parent loves.

Me, talking over the yelling: Both of you stop it and eat!!

Motormouth: But Monkey was going to put up the middle finger! He can't do that!!

Me: He was not. Monkey doesn't even know what the middle finger is.

Motormouth: You could show him.

Me: NOBODY'S showing him.

Motormouth: I can't show him, I don't know what the middle finger MEANS!!

I would suggest it even if your oven isn't filled with burnt cheese.

SSG G's parents came over for Easter dinner today. We cleaned the house (most of it anyway) and the oven and planned out the menu. G decided to attempt his dad's scalloped potatoes and called him for the recipe, bought his supplies and got it all ready this morning before church. I was also prepping food to be cooked later and was in charge of finding dishes to bake everything in. Because of the amount of food needing to be in the oven at the same time, we decided to make the ham on the grill (it was delicious, in case you were wondering) I would like to take this moment to point out that I offered G no less than three pans to make his potatoes in and he picked out the smallest of the three. I watch him layer the ingredients and try not to say anything. When he's cooking I leave him to it. But even he commented on how he had to stack everything really high in the casserole dish....needless to say his parents had only been in the house about 20 minutes before the kitchen filled with smoke due to milk, flour and cheese that boiled over and into the bottom of the oven. Hee hee heee. In case anyone was wondering, you can make green bean casserole and scalloped potatoes on the grill and they turn out pretty good. I would suggest it even if your oven isn't filled with burnt cheese. I'm so not cleaning that oven again.

It's amazing how quickly you get replaced.

Motormouth: Is Daddy home yet?

Me: Not yet, he might not be home before you go to bed.

Motormouth: That's just great! I really need him!

Me: Anything I can help you with?

Motormouth: no. I think I am getting sick. and I think only Daddy can help me.

Me: Besides the medicine, cough drops, juice, water and encouragement to rest I am giving you?

Motormouth: I think Daddy will know how to make me better. I want him.

I get it kid. I am clearly not balancing work, school, and all things that pertain to you as well as you would like. That being said, I am pretty sure I am still considered your primary caregiver. It would serve you well not to upset me.

I can assure you, the post office did not.

My mom found an amazing sale on Playmobil stuff in Florida, so instead of mailing Monkey some birthday money, she bought birthday and Christmas gifts and mailed them to me. She ended up stuffing the birthday gifts into the Christmas gift box to save on shipping. She called and gave me detailed instructions that I couldn't open the box in front of the boys because she couldn't wrap the Christmas gift because the birthday gifts were inside. I promised to remember. My mother knows me well and assumed that I would indeed NOT remember this important detail. She wrote further instructions on the box. The mailman delivers the 2'x3' box wrapped in plain brown paper and brings it to the door. "The box says to open this when you are alone" he smirks at me, waggling his eyebrows.

Faaaaaantastic.

I call my mom to let her know I did indeed get the package and the mailman was kind enough to read me her "open alone" instructions. "oh, good. I was worried after I wrote that on there that the post office would think that I was a terrorist."

Breathe easy ladies, that Mother of the Year award is still up for grabs.

As a mom, I worry about not doing a good enough job. This week as I started school and picked up a couple of extra shifts at work, I have worried that things are going to start falling through the cracks, that I have taken on too much and I am not up for the challenge. It only took one phone call with my mother-in-law to realize that my fears have come true.

MIL- I just wanted to go over the menu for this weekend. I was going to buy a cupcake mix for the boys. Is that okay?

Me- um. sure. that would be great.

MIL- Well....I know you aren't going to be there Monday, so should the boys eat them Sunday?

Me- (why would I care........???) I guess it doesn't really matter, whenever you want.

MIL- So.......(probably wondering why her daughter in law is insane) I guess we should celebrate Monkey's birthday on Sunday so you can be there.

Me-................................oh my God.

Ask a stupid question....

Monkey comes out of his bedroom this morning and sees me in the living room.

Monkey: (all happy) Mommy!! (runs to give me a big hug) Mommy! I so happy to see you!!

Motormouth: what if she wasn't really your mommy?

Me: Motormouth! Be nice. How would you like it if someone told you I wasn't really YOUR mommy?

Motormouth: (no hesitation) Then could I go live with Grandma! Oohhh! could Grandma be my Mom? Can she???

He came back for a second helping

While living in Germany I ran into an Army wife that made mashed potatoes with mayonnaise in them to make them creamier. Sounds gross, but is actually pretty good. She confided in me that her husband was horrified at the thought of eating potatoes that way and so she has snuck the offending ingredient into the recipe ever since. I thought that was good advise, and started quietly putting mayo into our potatoes. This has worked really well for us, since the boys can't eat any form of dairy, and we only ever have vanilla flavored soy milk in the house, I use the GF/CF mayo as a milk substitute. Sgt. G caught me the last time.

Sgt. G: Oh my God. What are you doing?

Me: um....cooking? you should go back into the living room now.

Sgt. G: you can't be putting that into the potatoes, it's disgusting!!

Me: would it make you feel better if I told you have eaten these potatoes several times already and you never noticed before?

Sgt. G: (fingers in his ears) LaLaLaLaLa!!

Me: oh yeah? I learned this from a wife in Germany, we moved back stateside 5 YEARS ago.

Sgt. G: you have seriously put that into my potatoes before.

Me: (looking slightly guilty) Not EVERY time.

Just leave the seat up. You win. I admit defeat and you win.

On the days I work in the morning, I usually try to squeeze in a nap while the kids are in school. The dog usually wakes me up by barking like crazy 2 feet from my face because Motormouth is coming through the door....so I am already a ray of sunshine while trying to deal with Motormouth's incessant chattering and questions. Motormouth came in clutching some Red Vines and asked to trade for some candy that he can actually eat (let me say right here how amazing I think this kid is that he will hold candy that he isn't supposed to eat all the way home on the bus while all the other kids are eating theirs because he knows he isn't supposed to eat it- how many 9 year olds would do that? He gets so much credit for that, but apparently, that credit does not transfer) He makes a trade, I eat the Red Vines and tell him to wash his hands before he eats his candy. He goes to the bathroom and washes his hands and wanders off. I then go in to use the bathroom after him.....and somehow manage to channel my mother. In my defense for the following exchange...this would be the third time in as many days that his father and I have talked to him about this.

Me: (from the toilet) ARGH!!! MOTORMOUTH!! DID YOU GO POTTY WITH THE SEAT DOWN?????

Motormouth: Whoops

Me: Do you realize that when you do that you get pee all over the seat and so then Mommy sits in it???

Motormouth:.....................heeheeSORRY!!

Me: (practically whispering) I'll give you a head start.

Motormouth: What?

Me: Go. Now. Run. Now. Away.

More Grandma Love

Motormouth has to do a biography on someone he thinks is interesting. Guess who that would be?
So he calls Grandma to 'interview' her over the phone (he reads the questions, I write the answers)
The last part of the interview was just writing down some interesting stuff that you learned about your special person. I tell Motormouth to ask if Grandma had any special pets or anything like that (mostly because I wanted to hear my mom squirm her way through the story of her kicking a turtle). Mom walks right into it and tells Motormouth that she had a turtle for a few days. The rule in her house growing up was that if you could get an animal to follow you home, you could keep it as a pet.

Motormouth: So, you had a turtle follow you home? it must have taken a really long time, grandma, they are really slow.

Grandma: well, it did take a long time, turtles just kind of hide in their shell around people (yup, especially when you are kicking them) so I would pick him up and carry him a little, and then I would put him down and....well........nudge him with my foot a little......until I got him home.

Motormouth: (completely oblivious to the point) So you got to keep him?

Grandma: for a few days, I think my mom knew he didn't actually follow me home.

Motormouth: yeah, mom's know EVERYTHING.

Grandma: Usually.

I guess it is good that he didn't catch that Grandma kicked that poor turtle home, it might have given him ideas. It did fuel his theory that every mom is cooler than his mom. Whatever critters he catches, have to stay outside.

I don't live up to the Grandma Standard, and he loves another.

Driving in the car last night with the kids, Motormouth and I start discussing Valentines Day.

Motormouth: I have to make something special for all my teachers.

Me: That is.....6 people (counting student teachers, parapros, assitants). Can we just buy them something special?

Motormouth: I wanted to sew them little hearts that look like those hearts with words on them.

Me: Yeah, no. Mommy doesn't sew.

Motormouth: I can. Grandma taught me....grandma would help me sew something.

Me: Well, grandma isn't here. Sorry mommy isn't as great as grandma.

Motormouth: (sighing) that's okay. You are good at some stuff too.

Me: Gee. Thanks.

Motormouth: I have to make Anneke a special card. I love her. I have to write I love you in her card.

Me: Can't you just write that you like her a lot?

Motormouth: No. Because I love her.

Me: What happened to Malaysia?

Motormouth: Mom, she moved to Texas a long time ago....I can't wait forever.

Me: Can't you just love mommy? I'm not ready for you to love some other girl. You are nine.

Motormouth: Mom, you can't stop love.

Me: oh.

No good deed goes unpunished

My poor mother-in-law. Bless her heart, this poor woman. Not only does she have to deal with me on a regular basis, but her heartfelt gestures seem to come back to bite her.
Monkey had a 24 hour flu bug at the beginning of last week. I managed to come down with it in the wee hours Saturday morning (I mean, REALLY, why is it ALWAYS 2 a.m.?). Sgt. G remembered mid-morning that his parents were in town that day and were going to come over to visit at some point. I am feeling like spit warmed over, and between Monkey and my essay paper fiasco, I haven't picked up anything in this house or cleaned it all week. I suggest that either G calls his parents and tells them not to come, or get cleaning....he made the call. My mother-in-law immediately says she will come get the kids and take them home with her. Isn't that nice? So nice that I can't just say yes like a normal person. NO, I have to insist that it is okay, I mean, it isn't like I haven't ran this household while sick on my own before (Sgt. G had to work all afternoon and evening on Sat, and was leaving Sunday morning for Ft. Knox), we will be fine, thanks anyway...I mean, how delirious am I? Just say Yes, thank you! And then shut up. Thankfully she is undeterred and makes arrangements to come and take the kids to a germ free zone. I am glad she did, Sgt. G got the flu while at work (still had to stay, but that is a whole other issue) so he wouldn't have been much help anyway. I wake up feeling refreshed, and overly ambitious. I think I will not only turn in my final draft of the essay due today, but also turn in the rough draft of the next essay I have to write that is due on Tuesday. I will also do my other homework in advance, and sanitize this house....sounds great right? It is amazing what 20 hours of sleep will do for a person. Then my mother-in-law calls. Seems Motormouth came down with the flu while at her house. I guess he was so sick that she ended up sleeping with him last night...so for her efforts she will likely get her turn with this lovely bug by the end of the week. She would like to bring him home a little early. Can't say as I blame her.

Pointless recount of my day.

Okay, so yesterday I am just not having a great day. Tried to make some phone calls in the morning but ended up leaving messages...tried to take a nap in the afternoon, but ended up having people returning my phone calls from the morning. That and a very strange recorded call about not wanting to saddle my family with expensive funeral costs...(what do I care, I'm dead.) Monkey got home and it turns out he didn't have a very good day either. He only earned one star out of the four he needs to get to play the Wii, so he was upset. In addition to only earning the one, I guess he decided to crawl under a table during his Speech time. When threatened with star removal, he came out kicking. Then biting. His principal had to come down and get him for a little trip down to the office. Within 15 minutes Monkey was asleep on a beanbag chair in the office (So THAT'S where my nap went!) So Monkey wins the bad day competition, because it only got worse for him when he got home and had to deal with an upset Momma. Not only do you lose Wii privledges, but all your handheld games too. Sucks to be you, you shouldn't try to bite people. At least Motormouth had a better day...no 6th grader physically assaulting his teacher like on Tuesday, so his week is improving. Then we had to go to the store to try to find Monkey's cereal, they have been out of it for almost 2 weeks now, and guess what? They still are. But I promised we would get some popcorn and the boys could watch a movie in Motormouth's room when we got home. At the store there was fighting over who holds Mommy's hand, who stands on the end of the cart, who gets to touch the grapefruit and who gets to be the monitor of who touches the grapefruit (guess what???? Mommy handles both those jobs just fine, thanks), who gets to carry the popcorn through the store, who unloads the cart, who checks the Coinstar machine for Canadian change......aaarrrggghhhhh. If they are driving me nuts they can't be pleasant for anyone else, so I renege on our previously agreed upon trip to Blockbuster and go straight home. Poor babies, have to watch one of the 150 movies you already own. When's dinner? when's dinner? When's dinner? (better question What's dinner What's dinner?) I banish them with popcorn bowls to the other room. Why does Monkey get more popcorn than I do? (I love him more, that's why) Monkey is climbing onto my top bunk. He is turning my light on/off. Monkey doesn't have quite enough language to tattle quite as well, so he just keeps coming in and saying "Moooommmmm....HE, Motormouth!!" I finally give up and stuff my ear buds in and crank up my Zune. A little Clapton should help....except I can still hear them. "uh oh...Mommy put her earplugs in, that means she doesn't want to hear us anymore. I am in charge now Monkey" "Okay!!!" This is slightly disturbing for me, but they both seem happy with the arrangement, so I guess I don't care. They leave me alone long enough for me to scrounge up some dinner and get myself remembering why I wanted to have kids in the first place. Oh that's right! I need someone to pay for my expensive funeral arrangements.

And this is why they invented gift cards

So, my mother-in-law bought me Mamma Mia for Christmas. Now, I actually do like a good musical, but this one just didn't interest me, probably due to the Abba music. Back when I was working at a bank, one of the girls would play one of their greatist hits albums, oh, about 3 times a week. It's the Abba channel, all day every day. Needless to say, if I ever did enjoy their music (not likely) all the enjoyment would have been ground out of me during that time. So, what to do with this movie....I have to admit, I toyed with the idea of trying to take it back to various stores, see if I could exchange it for something else, but I ultimately decided that would be rude. I knew that she would eventually ask me if I watched it, and I have been trying really hard lately not to tell even the littlest lies. So, the day after Christmas Sgt.G had taken the neighbor kid hunting, and after a couple of hours I gave up and put it in. Unfortunately for Sgt. G, he came home about 10 minutes into the movie."What the hell is that noise?" he asks from the other room.
Me: Mamma Mia
Sgt. G: You are actually going to watch that? Do you have to do it now? I don't think it is appropriate for your young sons to be in the house while you are watching it. (let's keep in mind that we just watched Paint Your Wagon with Motormouth last week and had to skirt around the issues of prostitution and bigamy)
Me: you mean you, and you weren't here when it started.
Sgt. G: oh good, so is it almost finished?
Me: Uh, maybe (so much for not telling those lies, right?)
an hour later...."my ears are bleeding"
Me: Hey, why should I suffer alone?
Sgt. G: if you don't like it, why are you watching it?
I then launch into my explination for watching the movie, to which Sgt. G thinks I am crazy. He thinks I should just smile and nod if she ever remembers to ask. I still think that is a little rude. I can just imagine her out shopping for me, wondering what to get, trying to find a good sale....I know it is a lot of work, I used to do all that myself, and I don't want to seem ungrateful (regardless of what she thinks, I do try to be a good daughter-in-law) So, what is the proper protocol here? If she bought me clothes and they didn't fit, it would be acceptable to exchange, right? I could even probably call her for the gift receipt in that situation. So, I am wondering what everyone else's memorable cringe-worthy gifts were, and if they sucked it up, or did something about it? Feel free to change names to protect feelings.

Wait a minute, was that an option?

My inlaws came over (minus one sister in law and boyfriend- car issues) yesterday for dinner (that would be lunch for all you city folk) and we had a nice, fairly stressfree day. At least I think it was stressfree, I tend to be sort of oblivious to underlying tension if it doesn't directly involve me or scream in my face, so I think everything went okay....Anywhoo, I had been a little nervous for a number of reasons; our house is sort of small, I realized that I have never actually had Sgt. G's family over to our house (living out of state has it's perks), there are always ancient family issues just waiting to rear their ugly heads (someday I will have to tell you the story of the Red Potato Fight that I inadvertantly started a few years ago, and to this day I dare not mention red potatoes in mixed company) and the one Christmas that we hosted MY family for Christmas still makes Sgt. G and I shudder, just to name a few. So, as my mother-in-law is fussing around my kitchen (I am under no illusion that I am going to be part of the preparations here, I gave up my kitchen to her long ago) she makes the comment that she had thought about picking up some wine for dinner. Wait, What? We have never drank much around the inlaws, but since we have moved back, we have started. My brother-in-law and I had a very fun Labor Day this past summer, it was another tense weekend and he had a great time keeping hard lemonades in my hand. But, I don't think I have EVER seen Sgt. G's mom drink. I didn't even know it was an option.