The Entitled Millennial

I’m just going to appologize to Millennials right now.

I’m sorry.

I’m about to generalize your generation. Stereotype. I know it’s not all of you, but it certainly is some of you. Hell, even a few of my Generation Xers have the same mentality. We all win. We all deserve everything we want simply because we want it. We will all be successful millionaires. I know it’s not all of you, but I know one of you lives in my house.

Lets start with hats. The basic ball hat with a brim and a logo of your choosing. Functional. Decorative. It can speak for the kind of person you are. I’m a sporty kind of person and show my support for the O’s (damn you Blue Jays for beating us last night). Some show their support for hockey or football, Adidas or Puma, Pokemon or fidget spinners. You can roll the brim a little or you can roll it a lot. Or you can keep as it flat as Tom Brady’s football. I, personally, think it looks a bit ridiculous and I have to restrain myself from bending brims to their proper shape. I show the same self restraint when I see pants that hang too low. I refrain from pulling them up and putting a belt on them. You can imagine my shock when my 10 year old showed me his new Pokemon hat that his grandmother bought him and the brim was straighter than an uncooked spaghetti noodle. I rolled it. He had a conniption and stormed off and straightened it again. His mother came home from work and had the same reaction. He wears it rolled now. Just like it’s supposed to be. Want a Millennial? Let him wear it straight.

Okay… so straight brimmed hats really aren’t that big of a deal. Sure they look foolish to us Gen Xers, but it certainly won’t change the world. You know what will? Millennials who expect to get exactly what they want simply because they want it. A job, millions of dollars, more money for doing less work, a participation award. Or as we call it in this house, “The Gimmies”. He wants wants wants but won’t do do do. We’ve never put up with that attitude here, yet it runs rampant in the first born. This attitude can change the world more than a flat brimmed hat could ever dream of changing. The world is still a good place despite all that is being reported in the media. However, if the trend of gimmie gimmie gimmie instead of give give give continues, the world will change as fast as the climate. You can’t deny that.

We’ve been trying to demonstrate this giving attitude. I give blood and I take the boys with me to see it. I explain to them that every donation could help up to three people. We take them out to the community clean up to beautify our town. I mow the neighbor’s yard because she can’t. DW volunteers on the park committee and during election time. We both will shovel the neighbor’s driveway. Yet the attitude of entitlement continues.

I certainly don’t confuse this Millennial attitude with not caring. Sure, he may not care that his garbage can’t find the garbage can in the house. He may not care that the clean clothes I just washed and folded are now thrown across his bedroom floor. He may not care that he did a poor job on the chore I asked him to do. Half assing it would be an improvement. He may not care that his brim is too straight.

However, he cares deeply for others. I’ve witnessed him helping autistic children keep their belongings together on field trips. I’ve heard from parents and teachers that he helps the children with special needs exit the building during fire drills and the alarms are overwhelming. I’ve seen him be a bus buddy, making sure his assigned 5 year old first timer makes it to the right classroom when they get to school. He makes sure they get off at the right stop when they come home. He’s even fessed up to breaking a toy that another child was blamed for breaking.

It’s clearly not his compassion that needs exercise, it’s his entitlement. Entitlement far outweighs responsibility. If we can make the latter more important than the former, we can make the world an even better place. It’s a hard lesson to teach and an even harder lesson to learn.

Roll that brim, pull up your pants, and follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

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10 #ParentingWin Tweets I found

We all love when we win as parents. Whether you figured out you could use the pizza cutter to cut up pancakes or your kids’ favorite song is a classic, the #ParentingWin can’t be denied. Here are ten rather amusing tweet randomly selected from Twitter.

1. A clever tip I plan on using

2. When your kid is rocking out…

3. What does the turtle say?

4. When mom makes it best…

5. A just in case talent…

6. When you find a more efficient way to play…

7. The best games…

8. Wasn’t me!

9. How you know your kid is a good person…

10. How to catch a quick nap…

You can follow me on Twitter and Facebook. I’m sure you’ll find some #ParentingWins there!

Dropping the Average Age of the Church Choir

I thought I would write about how I sunburned my scalp today because the sun is a bastard. I mowed this morning and went to the park this afternoon, all without a hat. Bad mistake when you’re bald. It’s wasn’t warm today, so I never gave a hat a thought. 

I thought I would write about the history of Victoria Day, which is today here in Canadaland. It’s why there was no school today, too. However, I don’t want to sound like Professor Flitwick, so I refain from the boring history lesson. 

I thought I would write about how one TV/phone/internet company wanted us to switch to them and they offered a really good price to do so. So we did. Then our current provider called us to ask if price was the only reason we were switching. When DW told them, “Yes,” they offered to drop our rate to the competitors rate AND add in few extra channels. HBO. Some movie channels. We’ve all played that game, though.

I thought about doing the Grr to Great post that Eli- the Coach Daddy did, and I will, just not today. 

I want to share with you something that makes us parents proud – our kids willingly going to church. We aren’t overly religious people. We just attend church every Sunday. We don’t go ’round preaching the Word of God, or anything. We’re just trying to stay outta Hell. 

One Sunday, many weeks ago, as we entered church, DW told Bang to go pick a seat for us. He chose the very front row. You know, the pew reserved for those who show up late. Fortunately, we were off to the side and not dead center. It was where he could see best, though. DW and I were instructed by the littlest one to not sit with him. We were to sit behind him. 

Well, excuse me, Mr. Too Cool For Mom And Dad.

Weeks of this go by. Then it comes time for First Communion and where does Bang sit that morning? Front and center because he wanted to sit near the first communion kids. We allowed him because, thankfully, no one else minded. 

He has sat there every Sunday since. His brother and parents still sit in “their spot” (think Sheldon Cooper) while Bang goes to sit front and center by himself. At our church the words to the songs are projected on to the wall behind the choir. Bang would read the words and sing his little heart out over there in front of the choir, which consists mostly of retired women and couple men. They loved him – sitting in a pew by himself, singing away, ocassionally glancing over at his parents to see if we were watching him. I’m pretty sure he was flirting them, too. 

Then last week after church he asked us if he could sit with the choir! We said sure, as long as it was okay with them. Yesterday, he took his usual seat front and center. Once he saw the choir congregate he made his move. He came back to us to ask our permission. I’m guessing the choir ladies had said sure, as long it was okay with mom and dad. He went back to them and took his seat with choir, looking out at the congregation, beaming. One of the ladies handed him a hymnal and showed him the words and he sang and sang and sang. Some of the songs he knew by heart from having sung them so many times already and didn’t need the big book of songs. He’s already looking forward next Sunday.

It made us proud to see him up there singing. Hopefully, we’ve showed him anything is possible if he just tries. 

What made us just as proud as him singing with the choir was him reading the words to the songs. 

What have your children done to make you proud?
You can make me proud by following me on Facebook and Twitter…

To the Boy in Walmart

Dear Brayden,

You have solidified my faith in humanity. I still believe the world is a good place regardless of all that is happening throughout. You, sir, have scored a point for the good guys. Your honesty, your integrity, your desire to do the right thing has set you apart from so many others.

When Wanda* called me from Walmart this evening after we had just been there, I was a bit nervous at first. Then she asked me if had a son. I do. And I was still a bit nervous. Did she see him do something he should not have? He had wandered away from me for a minute. Then she asked if he had lost anything there this morning or this afternoon.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

I wasn’t aware that he had but I told her I would ask him. So I stepped outside and hollered to Crash*. Then I had to tell Wanda from Walmart that he’d be right here, he had to climb down out of the tree first.

Finally, he came to me and I asked him he had left anything in Walmart. He couldn’t remember losing anything. Wanda asked his name and how to spell it. I told her and she asked if he lost a little red zipper purse (though we call it a wallet). In it was $25. I asked Crash about it and he said it should be in the basket where it’s always kept. He went to look, but of course it wasn’t there.

It was in Walmart.

Wanda told me she made a donation on either behalf of herself or Walmart (I can’t remember which) for your honesty. Wanda told us you are 11 years old. She also gave us your name and number so that my son could call your son and thank him. Which he did. Unfortunately, he didn’t get to connect directly, but instead left a message thanking him.

Your parents are perfecting this thing called parenting. They have themselves a young man who understands honesty. Who not only understands the difference between right and wrong but can follow through with it. Walmart thanks you. I thank you. My son thanks you.

The world is still a good place and you have scored a point for the good guys.

Sincerely,

A Hopeful Parent

*Names have been changed.

Go Ask Your Father: Goose, First People, Anuses, and Staying Up Late

The sun! The heat! The grass is growing fast than the boys, which I didn’t think was possible. The weather is here, wish you were beautiful. (Thank for that line Jimmy Buffet) I just realized you can change the meaning of that statement with a simple coma. Wish you were, beautiful.

Bang is here crushing my candy. He beat a level for me, as he commonly does.
Me: Thanks for beating that level for me, bud.
Bang: You’re obviously welcome. I am the master, you know.

1. What’s a baby goose called?

A baby oyster is a spat. A baby kangaroo is a joey. A baby jellyfish is an ephyna. A baby pigeon is a squab. A baby spider is a spiderling. A baby alpaca is a cria. Many animals are pups or calves or chicks. A baby goose, though? That’s a gosling. Like the Ryan some females tend to drool over like I drool over a cheeseburger. It’s an old word, apparently. It’s from the Old Norse gǽslingr, from gás ‘goose’ + -ling. You know something else that is Old Norse? Thor, the God of Thunder.

a baby goose

not a baby goose

 

 

 

 

 

2. Who were the first people on Earth?

Depends on who you ask. If you ask Ken Ham the Christian Fundamentalist, Adam and Eve were the first people. He also believes the Earth was created 6,000 years ago. However, if you ask Bill Nye the Science Guy (BILL BILL BILL) the Earth is four and half billion years old and the first humans evolved from apes and human evolved around 2.8 million years ago. But that’s arguable among scientists. Just because it looks human doesn’t necessarily make it human. Did it use tools? How did it get food? How smart was it. I know some people who still haven’t quite finished evolving from their neanderthal status.

3. What’s an anus*?

Here’s how it happened. We were watching a video on YouTube and a family was at a science museum. They were looking at planets. The dad says, “There’s yer-anus.” His son then asks, “My anus?” And then Bang asks his question. The simple answer? It’s the hole your poop comes out. The long answer? It’s the end of your digestive tract. Food leaves your small intestines (10′ long) and enters your large intestines (5′ long). This is comprised of the ascending colon, the transverse colon, the descending colon and the sigmoid colon. From there it’s stored in the rectum until it’s ready for expulsion. Whether you’re ready or not.

*also called – one eyed pirate, the stink eye, a poop chute, President…

4. Can I stay up late?

If you have wee ones you have heard this question many times, no doubt. If you read Go Ask Your Father you have read this question before. Tonight, Crash is at a friend’s house for a sleepover. It’ll be the first time he’s gone farther from Nanny’s for a sleepover without his parents. So it’s just Bang and his parents playing Candy Crush. (I’m only at level 439. DW is at 560) Since it’s now 8:00 pm and he’s still awake, the answer is yes. Plus the Orioles play the Blue Jays in Baltimore so that game is on T.V. Will I be up late? Yes, yes I will.

If you’re up late, click here to check out (and follow!) my Facebook page. Then come back and click here to check out (and follow!) me on Twitter.

Am I My Child’s Servant?

The scene: 7 am in the morning, breakfast time. Dad is in the kitchen. 9 year old is in the living room.

Dad: [Hollering from the kitchen] What do you want for breakfast?
9 yo: [Hollering from the living room] A bagel.
Dad: Come on out and make it.
9 yo: Can you make it?
Dad: No.
9 yo: UGH! [stomps on floor]

Am I my child’s servant? I’d like to think I’m not. When it’s pancake morning, I’m more than happy to make them because I’ve seen the resulting mess. That, and I don’t yet trust the 9 year old to use the stove.

We’re working on it, though.

But a bagel? He can make that. And no, I’m not going to pour his milk for him, either. I’m afraid if I were to tend to his every wish I’d soon be wiping his arse and picking his nose for him.

Eww. Gross.

Isn’t that what people think happened to the Millennials? They were coddled and babied and had everything done for them so now they can’t boil water. I’ve heard stories (and I’d like to think they’re just stories, but they’re probably not) about parents attending their child’s job interview. About parents calling university professors to get their child’s grade changed. About Millennials who eat out because they can’t cook.

I apologise to those Millennials this does not apply to.

We’ve been working on independence. Mostly in the morning getting ready for school and in the evening getting ready for bed. His ADD doesn’t really help the situation, but knowing why he’s having so much trouble is a step toward helping him better. Prior to helping him he needed constant supervision to keep him on track. He couldn’t get into pajamas and brush his teeth without being distracted by his brother, or books, or his toenails. So I would stand outside his bedroom door and give constant verbal reminders on what he should be doing.

I’m afraid of what might happen should this continue into his teen years or even later. Should I just resolve the fact that he’ll be living with us forever? Perhaps long enough that I’ll be so old I can’t cook my supper. Maybe by then he’ll have it figured out and will be able to take care of his elderly parents in their final years. Perhaps if we can get him a good job he’ll be able pay for the house and the groceries and the hover cars.

So  we are creating an independent individual today so that he can make his own bagel. If he can make his own bagel he won’t be hungry in school. If he’s not hungry in school he’ll be able to focus better. If he focuses better he’ll learn more. If he learns more he’ll get into university. If he gets into university he’ll get a good job. If he gets a good job he’ll be able to afford to feed himself. If he can feed himself he can make his own bagel.

And wipe his own arse.

Go Ask Your Father: Trains, Clouds, Supper, and Stars

How do steam trains work?
Like most little boys, and even some big boys, trains are amazing pieces of machinery. Bang came to me to the other day wanting me to look up videos of coal furnaces on steam trains. He wanted to see the coal burning. There were more than enough of such videos on YouTube to satisfy a five year old. Naturally, while watching the coal burn he wondered how it made the steam train chug.

That’s a busy gify. Upon closer inspection you can follow the chain reaction. We’ll start with that bright orange space in the back. The fire. That’s what Bang was originally fascinated by. The heat from the fire is carried through the boiler – the long, horizontal, yellow section. The heated pipes boil the water which rises into the dome at the top. As more and more steam rises it also rises in pressure. The pressurised steam then travels down to the piston. The piston opens alternating sides of a chamber. This alternation moves a larger piston which is connected to a shaft that turns the wheels. It’s this step that give the steam train its signature chugga chugga chugga. The steam is then released from the chimney.

Why are clouds white?
I didn’t really have an answer for this one, right away. I was stumped and had to admit that I didn’t exactly know. I know fog is white, too. But if water is clear, air is clear, why are clouds white? It turns out it’s because of the size of the droplets of water clouds are made of and how sunlight reacts when it goes through said large drops. Do you know what a micron is? It’s 1,000th of millimeter. A droplet of water in a cloud measure about 10 microns. This is HUGE compared to the rays of light passing through it. Like a hotdog down a hallway huge. The light gets scattered, but because the drop are so huge all the light gets scattered equally. When you mix all the colors you get white. So clouds are white because light is white.

What’s for supper?
Seriously? I don’t know. Unless I’m in the mood to make spaghetti/lasagna sauce, I sometimes don’t know what’s for supper until about hangry o’clock. This morning I ask Crash what he wanted for supper and he said McDonalds. I said, “Nope, I’m cooking.” So he suggested shepherds pie. Unfortunately, we just had something similar last night so I made him pick again. He offered pork roast but I had to shoot that down because we’re cooking for DW’s mom’s birthday on Sunday and we might be having that then. The fourth try was tacos. We had taco Tuesday on Friday. Picky eater Bang doesn’t eat tacos. He requested scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. I put on my short order cook hat and we all got what we wanted. Yummm…

Where are stars?
In DW’s eyes. There’s some on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, too. There are also billions of them in the sky and this is what Bang was referring to as he gazed out of his bedroom window at bedtime this evening. All of the stars you see are in our very own galaxy, The Milky Way. Looking at the night sky, distant galaxies will be confused for a single star. There’s only one star in our solar system – the sun. The nearest star to our sun is called Alpha Centuri. This is actually a 3 star system even though it looks like a single star in the sky. It takes light travelling at 186,000 miles per second four and half years to get here. If it were to suddenly explode we wouldn’t know it until 2021. For the stars even farther away, we see even older light. To compare, the galaxies photographed in Hubble’s Deep Field photo are roughly 13 billion years old (which is also the shelf life of Twinkies). Earth is only 4.5 billion years old so those distant galaxies are 3 times older than our planet! Incredible!

On Thin Ice

When in Canada…
Since we’re frozen what seems more of the year than we are thawed, we make use of that slippery stuff. Hockey season starts in the fall. It’s already started. Therefore, our local hockey rink is already flooded and frozen. 

The boys have been asking to go ice skating. Two years ago Crash sort of learned to skate. He can stay vertical (mostly) and move forward (mostly) and turn (mostly). He didn’t go at all last year. I figured he’d have to learn all over again. I was afraid it wasn’t like riding a bike…

Bang has been skating before, too. DW and I took him once last winter while Crash was at school. It was a “Mom and Tot” skate. This dad went. 

We got him all bundled up in snow clothes. Falling on ice hurts so we wanted to give him as much padding as possible. Snow pants. Snow coat. Mittens. Helmet. Skates. We have a skate trainer, too. Basically, just an L shaped piece of tubing to give support to those with Bambi legs. Well, he hit the ice just like Bambi and went down. I picked him up and helped him get his feet under him. Down he went again like a drunk at closing time. After that he was done. He refused to even stand up again. I carried him off the ice. He lasted 10 minutes.

You can now understand our tentativeness to take him skating again this year after the debacle of last year. However, after hearing his brother’s excitement it was difficult to say no. But you can’t go skating without ice skates and the boys feet had grown 19 sizes since we last went.

Skates for Bang: $10
Skates for Crash:$40
Skate sharpening: $5 per pair
Admission to public skate: $5 per family

Spending a full hour skating: Priceless

By the end of the hour Bang was running skating. It looked like running, though. He fell many, many times. He’d laugh it off, get back up, and motor on. He used the skate trainer. He used tall pylon (think road construction cone). He used nothing. 

With 10 minutes left, a security guard joined us on the ice. I thought he was coming to tell us that Bang wasn’t allowed to use the skate trainer (it’s happened before). I was wrong.

He was coming to kick DW off the ice.

Once upon a time she was a rink rat, but DW hasn’t skated for a jillion gazillion years. Since the last ice age, probably. Not trusting herself on skates, she remained in shoes. The nice security man was coming on the ice (ironically, in his shoes) to tell DW she couldn’t be on the ice in shoes, she needed skates. Apparently it was for saftey and insurance reasons. So off the ice she went for  a 10 minute shoe penalty. 

When the buzzer sounded for us to get off the ice to make way for the zambonie both boys were disappointed. They weren’t ready to leave. So I guess it was a success. Guess we’ll be going back more often. 

Sure beats vegging out in front of the TV or on some form of electronic device.

Crash and Bang being Canadian.

The First Day

I gave you fair warning yesterday…

Yesterday was our last day of summer. It passed much like the rest of the summer in it’s slow yet too fast kind of way.

Today was not a sleep in, lazy day. On the contrary, it was quite the opposite of a sleepy, lazy day.

5:50 am – Crash woke to use the bathroom then went back to bed to read for a bit. Too excited to sleep, I was later told.
6:00 am – Fitbit buzzed me awake. F***ing Fitbit.
6:10 am- Crash, DW and myself head downstairs to start the day.
6:15 am- Crash eats. DW makes her smoothie and eats. I start making lunches.
6:45 am – I wake up Bang. Bang says his “jitter glitter”* didn’t work. It must have because it’s all over his face. DW makes signs for the boys to hold for “First Day Pictures”
7:00- Feed Bang and pray Bang eats the first thing prepared for him.
7:10- Thank you God for answering my prayer!
7:15- Make sure boys dress as nice as one can knowing the day’s temps will climb to 30 (86F) and a heat index of 38 (100) but not so comfortable they resemble a hobo or Pigpen.
7:30- Brush teeth to prevent fur coats and dragon breath.
7:45- Load backpacks with lunches, indoor shoes and water bottles.
7:46- Wait 14 minutes until it’s time to go to the bus stop

14 minutes later….
8:00- get “First Day Photos” taken by momarazzi.
8:05- Go to the bus stop and see friends you’ve been playing with all summer, except now you’re all getting ready to ride the cheesebox
8:15- Get on the Big Yellow Taxi
*race Yellow Dragon Wagon to school*
8:30- See Crash and Bang off to class. Basically get told to leave by the 5 year old.
8:40- Drop DW off at work and go home.
8:40-1:30- Enjoy the peace and quiet of being home alone. Get more cleaning done in one morning than normally gets done in a week while playing music unusually loud.
2:45- Watch boys get off the Boneshaker and get videoed and photoed by dadarazzi.
2:46- Ask a gazillion and two questions about their day.
2:47- Get answered with “I don’t remember”

Repeat 194 more times (minus the First Day Photo shoot)
*Jitter glitter is glitter Bang received from his teacher yesterday. It was to help calm nerves for a restful sleep the night before the first day of “big kid school”

My favorite from today

Crash wants to be…

Bang wants to be…

“I’m in class, you can leave now”

You can find the list of Taboo Words on my sidebar.
To read more posts without the Taboo Word (he) or to join the challenge just click the blue frog…

To add the blue frog to your post get the InLinkz code.

Go Ask Your Father: Hermit Crabs, Gas, McDonalds, and Clouds

As you know by now, Crash has been playing baseball all summer. Mosquito is what his level is called here. I’m used to calling it little league. Anyway, from his very first game on July 3rd he’s been wanting to pitch. So several times week, sometimes all seven days, I would practice with him in the backyard. I’d measure 44 feet, set down a Frizbee for homeplate and we’d walk through the steps on how to do it. Then he’d start throwing. In the beginning it was rough going. There were more pass balls than caught balls. Not because I can’t catch, either. His pitches would sail over my head. They would sail to the far right and to the far left like he was doing the “dizzy bat” before throwing.

Over the weeks we kept practicing. His pitches started becoming more catchable. We watched a few “how to” videos on YouTube and after a couple more week of practicing he started throwing an equal number of strikes and balls. Mind you, we were using a shovel stuck in the ground for a batter.

Fast forward to the last game of the season last Tursday and he has yet to pitch in a game. Then there were two outs and runner on third in the final inning and his coach makes a switch! Needless to say he was excited. Really excited. He was the personification of happy.

The first batter he faced, he walked. The second batter he faced, he walked. He now had bases loaded and two outs. Can you guess what happened? He struck the third batter out! His teammates were great in supporting him and congratulating him. He was on top of the world.

So were his parents. You can watch him throw to his last batter here.

1. What do hermit crabs look like without their shell?

DW asked this one one day at the beach. The beach we like to visit is touted as having the warmest water in Nova Scotia. There are hermit crabs scurrying all over. We, the boys included, like to dive for them. Our marine hermits can live up to 30 years if they are fortunate enough to remain in their watery habitat and not become supper for a hungry predator. However, in captivity, they usually only survive a few months. They breathe through gills, too. Their shell is to protect their soft, vulnarable abdomen and will sometimes fight to steal another hermit’s shell. If you’re looking for a good book about a hermit crab’s shell, Eric Carle has one called, A House for Hermit Crab.

Do lawnmowers use car gas?

On our way to pick up DW from work, I stopped to fill up a gas can for the lawnmower. Nosey-hole Bang wondered why I was putting it in the can and not in the truck like I usually do. So I told him it was for the lawnmower. Hence the question. Before the mower even uses gas, you need to start it by getting the flywheel spinning (the pull cord). The flywheel has magnets on it that create a magnetic field once it’s spinning. This magnetic field creates electricity that sent to the spark plug. Most mowers have four strokes which is about a gazillion fewer than my golf game. The first stroke is the intake stroke. Here is where the gas is used as this stroke pulls in gas and air (I only emit gas). The second stroke is the compression stroke which is where the piston compresses said gas and air, like when I squeeze my cheeks to keep the gas in. Then the spark plug ignites and the air and gas mixture combusts creating the power stroke (I’ve never ignited my gas) (yet). The exhaust stroke releases the combustion gasses. Exactly how my exhausts exists (sometimes silent but deadly).

Can we go to McDonalds?

Sometimes when you’re having a bad day a simple indulgence can make it all right again. This was the case with Bang yesterday. His day overall was good. But just before supper he slipped on a slide and hurt himself. He was okay, but it hurt and there were tears. I told him to get in the truck, we were going to get supper. He didn’t even need to put shoes on (that in itself started to make his hurt go away). Afterward, he was the personification of happy…

How do the clouds move so fast?

Because I was a fourth grade teacher, I know all about clouds. Mostly. Everything from stratus to nimbus and cumulonimbus (basically, they’re classed by elevation). Even to how they form. Ever make a cloud in a bottle? Just put some warm water in a clear bottle then drop a lit match into it and screw the top on real tight real quick. Squeeze the bottle good and tight. This creates high pressure inside the bottle. When you release it the pressure inside drops and a cloud is formed. The match was create smoke particles for the water to cling to. Naturally, that cloud ain’t goin’ nowhere. But the ones in the sky move by the force of the wind. The jetstream is 5-7 miles high and rushes along at speeds up to 150-200 mph. Some of that energy is transferred to various elevations and the clouds will either rocket along like a boy on his bike down hill or mosey along like DW’s driving.