Out of the frying pan...

If my dear, sweet, young son doesn't make it to the end of the school year alive, it's not my fault--he brought it upon himself.

Mark won this little guy at a trip to Dave & Buster's last weekend. 

It's an alarm clock that looks like a big hunk of bacon. It shakes and dances, and sings a whole song about bacon, with some pretty complex lyrics, such as:

Get your butt up outta bed

It's time to get shakin'

Start your day off right 

With two pounds of bacon.

It's crispy, it's crunchy

You know it tastes great

So get that butt up 

or you might be late.

So get your legs a-movin' 

and get your arms a-shakin'

It's time to wake up 

and smell the bacon

Smell, smell

Smell the bacon

(sizzling sounds)

How do I know the words so well? Because Mark laid in bed, singing along with the song. When he finally got up, it wasn't to get dressed and/or eat his breakfast--it was to play the song 17 more times in a row.

"Make your bed," I reminded him the 37th time he played it.

"The bed is fine!" he replied. "Smell the bacon!"

"Brush your teeth," I told him.

"Bacon, bacon, ba-a-a-a-a-acon!" he rapped back.

"It's 7:50," I told, a little less patiently. Class was starting. 

"I'm putting on my shoes," he answered. I sighed. He has Converse high tops, and it takes him seven minutes to lace them up.

I finally gave up, and started working. This, of course, was when Mark decided he was ready. 

"Let's go!" he called out. "Are you ready?"

"Did you brush your teeth yet?" I asked.

He sighed loudly. "It doesn't matter! Are you ready to go or not?"

I bit my tongue--hard--telling myself not to answer, because nothing out of my mouth would be Supernanny-approved. But the withering look I shot him worked pretty well. 

"Fine," he grunted, then stomped off to pretend he was brushing his teeth. He stopped by his room one last time to hit the alarm and dance to the bacon song.

Finally, he dragged himself out to the car. Before I could unlock the doors, he grabbed the handle and shook it five times to annoy me. I got inside, and he shook the handle seven more times. I waited until he'd stopped, then moved my hand toward the lock. He shook the handle one last time. I just sat there, wondering if it was too early to substitute wine for my morning coffee.

During that two-second respite, Mark gave up, and started walking to school. I unlocked the door, and ordered him into the car. He ignored me, and I thought we were finally gonna have a show-down. But he abruptly turned, climbed in to the back seat, and rolled down the window.

I turned into the street, but noticed Mark was sitting very close to me.

"Is your seatbelt on?" I asked. 

He flopped back into his seat, and in his snottiest voice ever, brilliantly observed that, "It. Doesn't. Matter." I immediately pulled the car to the curb and waited, silently, until he sighed again, and clicked the belt in. 

"Just go!" he commanded. "Geez. This is how you make me late every day."

And that, my friends, is when I finally lost it. I laughed, loudly, continuously, until we got to school. 

"It's not that funny," Mark grumbled.

"Oh, yes," I answered. "Yes, it really is." And then I laughed again.

He rolled down both sets of back seat windows and slammed the door on the way out, just to be a jerk. But it didn't matter--I was no longer angry, or willing to be baited into a fight. 

"Have a good day!" I called out to him through the open window, but he just stormed off.

And I laughed again. Because I swear, humor (intentional or not) is the only thing that saved that kid's bacon today.