Thursday, March 21, 2013

Radiator -- Robbery

Back to the encyclopedia entries, with today's post being brought to you by the letter R.


I grew up in a house with radiators, and sometimes in the winter I feel really nostalgic for them. Here are just a few of reasons why.

The short one below our front picture window was perfect for sitting on to warm your butt while watching snow fall on the street outside. Or to lean against with a good book.

The tall one beside the coat hooks was the best place to lay your wet gloves, scarves, and hats to dry. When you put them on again, they would be toasty warm.

And, the one in my bedroom made the most comforting gurgling noises as I fell asleep at night.

I like lots of different types of music, but I have a special love for rap music. I'm not really sure why, but it just appeals to me. If you were to just meet me, you might not guess this, primarily because I'm thirty-three years old, I wear a lot of cardigans, I bake pies, and I'm an English teacher with a special love for grammar. Also, I don't use profanity. Although, I do make an exception when I'm singing a rap song--it just breaks the flow if I try to skip over them. You know what I mean, right? And, I really don't like edited versions of rap songs.

Once for Easter, my Mom put the Snoop Dogg album, Paid Tha Cost to Be Da Bo$$ CD in my Easter basket (because nothing says Jesus is Risen like the songs "Suited and Booted" and "Paper'd Up"). Unfortunately, it was the edited version. But, it was the thought that counted.

When I was pregnant for Sophie, Lil Wayne's Tha Carter III album came out and I listened to it all the time when I was driving in my car. After Sophie was born, she would sometimes get fussy in the evenings, so my Mom suggested that I play some of the music I listened to while pregnant for her. And, sure enough, only a few seconds into "Mrs. Officer" and she was calm and quiet. But, then again, who can resist the sweet crooning of Bobby Valentino. I mean, really?

After Sophie was several months old, I think my husband became slightly alarmed by my musical choices. One afternoon, while we were all hanging around the house listening to many harmless, non-rap songs shuffling through my ipod, I went into the basement to get some laundry out of the dryer. Of course, in the five minutes I was out of the room, Ice Cube's "It Was a Good Day" came on. I returned to Pete looking less than amused.

"You can't listen to this stuff around Sophie anymore. She's starting to pick up on language and will be talking soon. You don't want her first sentence to be 'Today I didn't even have to use my A.K.' or worse, do you?"

"But this song isn't that bad," I replied, sheepishly.

"So, you're saying three F words are acceptable, but five is crossing the line?"

Point taken, point taken. This will have to become Mommy's little secret.


Years ago, if someone would have asked me what I would do if someone broke into my house, I most certainly would have said something like, "Hide in a closet." What surprised me, though, was when I actually was in this situation while home alone one spring morning, I did nothing of the sort. In fact, I stared the robber down, assessed the odds of him shooting me, and then charged after him. At first, he didn't do anything but stare back at me, I think, in disbelief. Then he started to run. And, I chased him. In my pajamas. With bare feet. While five months pregnant. Screaming at the top of my lungs. Down two blocks, up an alley, and through someone's yard.

Finally, my senses returned to me, and I stopped. Seeing as I had no real plan as to what I would do if I actually caught up to him, it was the best option. But, I learned something that morning. I'm tougher than I thought I was. Hmmm, someone should write a rap song about me.

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