This little beauty goes to the highest bidder.

For I will no longer be requiring its services.

The sun rises, the sun sets, and all things come full circle.  Like sands through the hourglass, so are the Days of My Scouting Career.  My friends and fellow faithfuls:  it is over.  Just like that.  No fawning or fanfare, no tearful goodbyes.  Three years of selfless service, and without so much as a Watermelon Applause (you know the one where you spit at the end?) they’ve stripped me of my rank and kicked me out the Den Meeting Door.  (We’ll see.  You think I’m above crashing the next Pack Meeting?  I’ll be the hoodied stranger in the back with a whoopie cushion and silly string.  Nobody puts Jenny in the corner.)

But in the meantime, I need to sell this shirt.

And if you’re not impressed already, consider the detailed patchwork upon each sleeve.  Peeled and stuck on by hand, no less.  (True to the scout motto, I always Do My Best.)

I don’t mean to brag, but do you see what that circular patch says?  Pack Committee Chair.  As in, Chairwoman.  As in, The Boss.  Yeah baby.

And if 173 isn’t exactly your troop number, don’t worry; a fat green sharpie will work miracles.  As will squirt guns and ho-hos anytime you haven’t planned an activity.  Not that I would know.

Consider one final feature before you make your decision:  the vented tails.

Look a little closer.

Do you know what these little vents are for?  To wear the shirt untucked.  I am not kidding.  I thought I was gloriously rebelling against tucking in the shirt until another leader mentioned that the shirt was designed with the vents to provide more comfort when moving around, since a woman’s scout shirt isn’t meant to be tucked in.

Are you listening, husband? The shirt isn’t meant to be tucked in!  That little slice of info has rocked our marriage, but Derrick stands firm in his dogmatic Tuck-In Policy.  As with all matters of import in our marriage, I have flatly ignored him.  But now that I have the BSA’s tailors on my side, I’d say that untucking the shirt is practically written in the law of the pack.

And as such, I solemnly relinquish this shirt, with all its accompanying responsibilities and privileges, to the next Cub Scout Committee Chairperson of Blue Mountain Council Troop 173.  May you wear it wisely; may you wear it well.  And, oh yeah, I’m charging forty bucks for it.  (I got it for thirty, but need to adjust for the cost of patches and labor.  Not to mention the character that was built while wearing it.)  Enjoy the status, enjoy the vents. Cash only, please.

I came across this on BuzzFeed the other day.  I don’t have much patience for online reading, but this is a perfect way to start your weekend.

What’s the creepiest thing your kid has ever said to you?

As is his tradition every June, Derrick begged us not to buy him anything for Father’s Day.  This year, we finally decided to apease him.  So for Fathers Day 2013, it was all about the gullet.  And it was geeoood.

We started with breakfast in bed, courtesy Ethan and Mom.  That was some killer french toast Ethan dipped and flipped, if we do say so ourselves.  And he folded that upright napkin by himself.  Honest.

Watching his father eat, Ethan decided that “breakfast in bed is cool,” and asked for a turn.

His majesty was pleased.  And yes, I ended up serving him.  (I know…I know.)

Rachael wanted to make dinner for Dad as her gift, so after church she whipped up some Thai Cashew Chicken.  Talk about geeood.

Megan’s gift was dessert.  She’d made it and kept it hidden at Grandma’s, so we headed over there after dinner to wish Grandpa a Happy Fathers Day and sample her fare.  Just look at what this eleven-year old concocted for the crew:

And no, my friends, that is not the main dish!  It is a cupcake-brownie “burger” with frosting “lettuce” and “mustard”; sugar cookie “fries” with pink frosting “ketchup”, and tracing paper on which she printed a design to create the look of a restaurant wrapper.  She did the entire thing by herself (I only purchased ingredients) and it came out just like the photo on Pinterest.  We were seriously impressed.  And it tasted delicious–moist, sweet, and yummy.  This wasn’t just a peacock dessert that looked good.  It was good.  Or should I say:  geeoood.

Meg worked all day Saturday on her surprise.  All. Day.

Father was happy with the spoils, but we cannot decide if his reaction (see freaky smile above) was reward or punishment for our efforts.  Charming or creepy–what do you say?

Here’s what we say:  Happy Father’s Day to the most charming, creepy, brilliant and ridiculous man we all love.  Thank you for being the silly to our serious and the frosting to our fries.  We love you a million cheeseburgers.

and p.s.  I didn’t even plan this, but  look to the far right of this photo for bonus footage from Grandma Cindy.  Wow.  That combined with Derrick’s expression qualifies this for my next facebook cover photo.  You can’t make this stuff up.