So yesterday I told you all about the last round of presents with the kids—the rest of their Christmas presents, and Monkey’s birthday presents, which should be enough presentage (totally a word) to hold us for many months. That, combined with having the kids back home again, should’ve rendered Saturday the perfect day.
But none of that was what I was REALLY looking forward to. No. I mean, it was good to finally have the kids home, and all, but the part I was excited about was not that first night home and the cake and the presents.
Sunday morning we had pancakes. No, that’s not the exciting part. Pancakes is normally a Saturday morning thing, but had to make up for missing it for a few weeks, you know. So yesterday we were rebels and had a big pancake breakfast.
I have to back up for a minute.
I think I’ve mentioned before that thanks to Otto, the kids have become huge fans of Mythbusters. We sit down together as a family to watch it every week, and I’d be hard pressed to tell you who gets the biggest kick out of it. I always knew that somehow the children and their new stepfather would be able to bond and find common ground through the spiritual practice of watching crazy people blow things up. Ahem.
Anyway, I don’t know if you read Steve over at The Sneeze, but about a month ago he posted this entry about Mythbuster Adam Savage being seen wearing a shirt Steve created. Steve referred to Savage in this post as “friend of The Sneeze Adam Savage.”
Well, Steve and I have emailed a few times in the past, mostly me gushing like a crazed fan and him responding “Oh, um, that’s nice” and before I knew it, I found myself penning him a quick note. In the interest of clarity I shall only paraphrase our exchanges, but my original email went something like this:
Hey Steve, I don’t know if you remember me, but I read your post today and because I have no filter and my whole family really loves Mythbusters, I have to ask: Are you and Adam Savage really pals?
Steve was kind enough to respond along the lines of:
Oh, yeah, actually we are. I interviewed him a while back and we hit it off and now we’re total BFFs. [Ed. note: I'm sure Steve is too manly to have said it that way. But this is my retelling and I'm sure that's what he meant.] In fact, I’m headed up to M5 next week to hang out with him. I am a total rockstar. [Ed. note: He didn't claim to be a rockstar. He's a HUMBLE rockstar.]
At that point—because I am calm, cool and collected and also TOTALLY SHAMELESS—I lost my mind and began channeling my inner crazed fangirl, all while realizing that I was totally overstepping, but UNABLE TO STOP MYSELF. I mailed back something like:
OMG! You know the Mythbusters! I love the Mythbusters! My children love the Mythbusters! My husband loves the Mythbusters! If we had a dog, HE WOULD LOVE THE MYTHBUSTERS, TOO! And you KNOW them! And are going there! And OMG I know how this sounds but if you’re really friends with Adam Savage I know how geeky and presumptuous this is but OMG my kids would DIE to have his autograph. I would make a donation to the charity of your choice if you got Adam Savage’s autograph for my children, and possibly bear you a child, except for the part where you’re married and I’m married and also I don’t have a uterus. Whatever. OMG MYTHBUSTERS!
At this point, Steve probably should’ve called the police. But INSTEAD, because he is a ROCKSTAR (and also the father of small children, so perhaps he understood what I was trying to do for my kids, despite my general social ineptitude), he wrote back:
Sure, no problem. You don’t have to donate anything. Tell me your kids’ names and give me a mailing address.
Here I paused to get “I LOVE YOU, STEVE!” tattooed onto my ass. Then I of course sent a reply:
STEVE! You are THE AWESOME! OMG my kids are going to FLIP. And I am totally going to win at present-giving. They’re going to go nuts. Which I know is hard to picture since I have been such a paragon of sanity throughout this exchange.
Their names are Monkey and Chickadee. I cannot thank you enough for this, you totally rock. Here’s my mailing address. And a picture of my new tattoo. And my ear, as a token of my gratitude. I tried to wipe it off as best I could. [Ed. note: You cannot actually email body parts.]
I think Steve sent me one more email after that, something like:
Sure, no problem. Please stop mailing me. My wife is starting to get scared.
(Dear Steve’s Wife: I’m sorry! I was just excited!)
Time passed, and I didn’t hear from Steve. I began to wonder if he was just placating me because in my emails to him I sound more or less like crazy on uppers. So I finally sent him a quick note:
Hey Steve, did you make it to the Mythbusters set this week…? I’m not trying to be a weirdo stalker but I just realized I hadn’t heard from you.
Because Steve is a SUPAH ROCKSTAR, he mailed me back from his CAR. I suspect he was playing air guitar with the other hand. (I sure hope someone else was driving.)
I’m in the car on my way up there right now.
Apparently I’d had the week wrong, and then felt like a total schmuck for getting antsy. Oh well. Steve has already seen me grovel, so what’s a bit of paranoia on top of that? GO BIG OR GO HOME, I always say. Usually in the middle of a meltdown. Anyway.
The next morning I had another email from the sainted Steve:
I got them last night before we left the shop.
To which I replied:
OMG! SQUEEEEE! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! YOU ROCK!
Time passed and it was time to leave on our vacation. The autographs hadn’t yet arrived. I shot Steve a quick email to let him know our mail was being held for a bit while we would be away, and that I was RILLY RILLY EXCITED to see the autographs (I’m sure he hadn’t gleaned that at all, from our previous exchanges), and to please not think I had gotten it and not said anything, because I would definitely follow up with a exclamation-point-filled missive as soon as I opened it.
Steve, no doubt, read that mail and called into the other room, “It’s okay, honey! That crazy woman is going on vacation for a couple of weeks!”
Last Friday we had two weeks of mail delivered, and as I sat on the floor of our office sorting it into piles for me, for Otto, and for the trash, a largish mailer caught my eye. I immediately knew what it must be. I ripped it open and inside were two 5 x 7 photos of the Mythbusters.
Both of them were signed by both Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman.
One says “Monkey — Stay curious!” and the other says “Chickadee — Don’t try this at home!”
I may have cheered out loud. I may also have run a victory lap around the office, and then tripped on some mail. Who knows.
I dug around and found a couple of 5 x 7 picture frames and framed ‘em up, while Otto and I talked about how stoked the kids were going to be. I also sent Steve a note:
They’re here! They’re here! They’re PERFECT! I WIN! The kids are going to lose their minds!
Can I do anything for you in return, other than gush about you on my blog, which I totally will?
That’s great. Please stop emailing me now. [Ed. note: He didn't say that. He is too polite.] You don’t have to do anything for me. (but i’m not one to turn away free gushing.)
So, hey, I have permission. GO READ THE SNEEZE BECAUSE STEVE IS AWESOME. I mean, I knew he was awesome long ago, but now I also know that he is patient, not easily spooked by weird people, and extremely generous. I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it until the restraining order demands otherwise: You rock, Steve.
ANYWAY. All of that is to say: Yesterday morning, we had pancakes.
Otto made the pancakes while I cooked some bacon. (Mmmmm… bacon.) The kids were playing upstairs. I put the bacon on a plate while Otto put the last batch of pancakes onto the big stack he’d made, and then we carefully set the Mythbusters photos on the kids’ plates before calling them into the kitchen.
“PANCAKES!” I hollered up the stairs.
Monkey came barreling down the stairs while Chickadee continued calling “just a minute.” (Yes, everything is exactly back to normal.) I stood at the foot of the stairs squeezing Monkey (“Ow, too tight. Wait. Do it AGAIN!”) while calling for her to hurry up. Finally she appeared, and we went into the kitchen together.
“Hey!” said Monkey, rounding the corner on his plate. “We have… pictures of the Mythbusters.” He peered at the frame quizzically. Chickadee ran to look at hers, and they quickly compared to verify that they had the same picture.
I couldn’t understand why they weren’t MORE EXCITED. Then I realized that the frames were facing the window, and there was probably a bit of glare, and that the pictures had been signed on a dark background with a black pen.
“Hey, guys, what do the pictures SAY?” Both of them immediately bent closer.
Chickadee’s face burst into a huge grin. Monkey gasped.
“How do they know my NAME?” he asked.
“Is this REALLY from the Mythbusters?” asked Chickadee, sure that there was some catch.
And then I was able to tell the children the beautiful story, a story involving a kind man who has always gone to great lengths to entertain but who, upon a bit of begging from a regular mom such as myself, also went out of his way to make a couple of kids happy. I also apologized for not having them in time for Christmas, but I don’t think they heard me. They were too busy gazing lovingly into Adam and Jamie’s faces.
I thought they were going to have to eat their pancakes with the pictures clutched to their chests. Finally we were able to persuade them to put them down.
They were taken to the kids’ dressers after breakfast. Last night we settled in to watch an episode of Mythbusters we’d taped, and suddenly the children disappeared. Moments later, they were back… with their pictures. Which they set up on the coffee table in front of the television. So that Jamie and Adam could watch themselves.
Sure, there were clothes, there were toys, there were books for Christmas. But I suspect in the annals of family history, 2007 will go down as the year the kids got their very own Mythbusters for Christmas.
Thanks again, Steve. I just realized that I’ve completely screwed myself because there will be NO TOPPING THIS, ever, but I think it was worth it.