I picked out Parker’s clothes last night for him to wear to school today. He came downstairs wearing them and said, “I look like a DJ.” I’m not sure if that was a compliment or a complaint.
I got my hair done today, which is often my favorite day of the month (well, technically every 5 weeks.) I get terrible reception in the salon, and usually it drives me crazy that I can’t get on Facebook while I’m there. Instead I read my kindle and got pampered.
Meanwhile, Facebook started sending me emails and messages begging me to post something, like a clingy ex-girlfriend. After all this time, did you really think I had simply FORGOTTEN to post? Silence means there’s nothing to say, get it Facebook, ya stalker?
1:33 am? Really? Was it last call at the bar and you didn’t want to go home without one last try?
And now tonight I came to the end of Candy Crush. Again. I may have to take up knitting. Or drinking.
I decided to fill my night by building a bookcase. I’m kinda impressed with myself about now.
I think the time equivalent for how long it took to put together is like 4 status updates and 15 games of Candy Crush. Yes, that’s how I measure time now.
When I got home from the grocery store tonight I had the following conversation with my husband-
Me: There were an inordinate amount of people wearing camouflage clothing at the store.
He: How could you tell?
I won’t tell you how long it took me for my brain to understand how funny that was. Let’s just say he’d already left the room by the time I got it and started laughing. They say you lose millions of brain cells with every kid. I have 4. (Kids not brain cells- although I do wonder sometimes…) You do the math. Seriously, you do the math, because I can’t do it anymore.
He went into the other room to do work on the computer while I made dinner and Zoe did her homework at the kitchen table.
Soon I heard him talking/kind of singing to himself.
J: No. I don’t want your number. No. I don’t wanna give you mine.
Me: (singing) And no, I don’t wanna meet you nowhere. No, don’t want none of your time.
Zoe: (singing)I don’t want no scrubs. A scrub is a guy who can’t get no love from me.
Me: (singing) Hanging out the passenger side of his best friend’s ride, trying to holler at me.
J: (singing from the living room) noooooo scruuuubs.
Me: I’m pretty sure this is the first time a family has ever done a multi-room round of “Scrubs.”
Zoe: What IS a scrub?
Me: (singing) A scrub is a guy who thinks he’s fly. He’s also known as a buster. Always talkin’ ‘bout what he wants and just sits on his broke ass.
Zoe: That doesn’t help.
Me: A scrub is a loser.
Zoe: Oh. That makes sense.
Her homework for tonight was to write a “How-to” paragraph. She had a difficult time coming up with a topic, and didn’t care for any of my suggestions.
Me: What about “How to make a bed?”
Zoe: I can’t write on that.
Zoe: Because the maids make my bed.
Me: First of all, you should be making your own bed daily and not waiting for the housecleaners to do it every other week. Secondly, I cannot believe those words just came out of your mouth.
Zoe: Well it’s true.
I think I need to rethink some of my parenting strategies.
We spent the rest of the evening looking for northern lights through the rain clouds (no luck) and watching Lego Bigfoot videos like this Lego Bigfoot wedding video:
I never claimed we were a normal family.
My husband: What were those two eels from “The Little Mermaid” called?
Me: Flotsam and Jetsam
My husband: I think that’s what I’m going to call your boobs from now on.
I don’t even want to know what he saw that inspired that statement.
At least he didn’t compare me to Ursula
I took Sydney to the Mediterranean Kitchen today. Confession- it was my second time this week eating Shawarma. I may need a Shawarma intervention. Earlier this week I went to a place called” The Shawarma King” where a nice man named Mohammed made my food. I believe he was the aforementioned “Shawarma King,” but I didn’t have the nerve to ask him.
I now have garlic seeping out my pores. I don’t think there is enough mouthwash in this house to dissipate my breath.
Jeff told me the smell is so strong on my skin, my hair and my breath, if he closed his eyes and I started belly dancing and making jingling sounds, he’d swear he was in the Middle East.
Today we got a sneak preview visit to the new community pool in my mom’s town. Because she works for the school district, she got special passes. We drove through a heavy thunder storm to get there and Parker said, “Good thing it’s indoor, or the pool would be cancelled.”
As we drove through the valley, we noticed dozens and dozens of snow geese hanging out on the fields. We drove across the river over the bridge and Zoe shouted, “Bald eagle!”
Parker looked and said, “It has brown on the bottom and a white head! It IS a bald eagle!”
Zoe: “And what’s that over there?”
Me: “I think it’s a nest.”
Zoe: “Oh, you’re right. It is a nest.”
Parker: Yes, it’s a nest, Zoe. Good Zoe, you’re learning.
Me: How do you, at the age of 8 years old, have such a highly developed ability to be condescending?
Parker: I just do.
I blame his father.
After the pool (which was very cool, by the way) we picked up fried chicken (Heaven Sent, formerly Ezell’s. As Parker said, “It’s my favorite kind of turkey!”) and headed home to watch the Seahawks play the New Orleans Saints.
It was one of the times when being off Facebook was extra difficult. I asked my husband to go and see what everyone was saying about the game.
“Well, I see a lot of ‘Go Hawks!’ but not a lot else. Oh and some lady posted a picture of her bright green tennis shoes with a caption ‘Oh yeah. Let’s keep this party going!’”
I knew who that was. It was my mother and her lucky Seahawk shoes.
It’s only crazy if it doesn’t work, right?
In honor of the Hawks’ brilliant defeat of the Saints, I made bread pudding smothered in rum sauce. To my friends who are New Orleans fans- your team didn’t play well, but your food is delicious!
A week and a half remains of my fast. I’ve passed the halfway point, yet it still seems interminable.
I went to bed last night to the smell of Sydney making curry for her friend. I decided that I will continue my trend of trying new foods by making a visit to the Indian restaurant down the street. I am praying that it won’t destroy my intestines.
Sydney reheated her curry from last night, just as we had finally eliminated the smell from the house. I’m not sure, but the smells emanating from my house lately may be a violation of the HOA rules.
Tonight, my husband casually dropped this into our conversation-
J: What do you think of me wearing vests?
Me: What kind of vests? Three piece suit vests? Sweater vests?
J: Any kind of vest. I’m thinking of becoming the “vest guy.”
Me: You already were the “vest guy.” That was after your “Tommy Bahama Guy” phase.
J: I’m thinking of bringing it back. I might even add fishing vests into the mix.
Seriously, I’m doing this for his own good.
Today I took Nathan to his quarterly appointment with the endocrinologist. He’s hit 5’5 and we are hoping for 3 more inches of growth. Considering how far off the bottom of the growth chart he was when he was first diagnosed as growth hormone deficient at the age of 2, 5’5 feels like a miracle.
When we came out of Children’s Hospital I gave my ticket to the valet who handed it back to me and pointed through the lot to where my car was parked. Thankfully they don’t allow tipping because he would SO not get one.
As we came closer to my car, I caught a glimpse of this beauty:
Upon further inspection, I realized I was looking at a car completely devoted to hydroplane racing. Hydroplane racing is something I think about one day a year- Seafair Sunday. The rest of the year I forget it exists. But this guy- he lives it 365.
I would think every time he got behind the wheel of his car he’d feel like he was in a race… that he’s losing. Badly.
After the appointment we went to Dick’s drive in. For those who don’t know, Dick’s is the place where the cool hang out. The swass like to play and the rich flaunt clout.
Before you start questioning my sanity, check this out:
Dick’s is a local fast food icon, where you can get great burgers and fries for not a lot of money. It’s a walk up, so we ate it in the car. I tried not to make eye contact with the guy in the car next to me as I shoved fries slathered in tartar sauce into my face. It’s all part of the experience.
When we got home, Sydney was in the kitchen beginning “operation curry- day 3.” I’m really never getting this smell out of my house.
Tonight was the second episode of “The Bachelor.” Parker posted up on the end of my bed with his head resting on his hand. Sometimes I wonder what goes through his head when he watches this show.
Jeff: You know what’s better than Juan Pablo?
Jeff: Two Pablo.
Me: You’re so wrong for that.
Jeff: You know, I just realized what my watch collection is missing.
Me: A Pacman watch?
Jeff: Yes! How did you know?
Me: What else could it be?
Jeff: I had one when I was a kid. It had a joystick on top, but it broke.
Me: I think mine only had buttons.
Jeff: Buttons would be way better. I’m gonna look it up and see if I can get one.
Me: I’d like to point out the mind-meld that just took place here. It’s like we share a brain or something.
Jeff: Yeah. It’s kind of scary. Hey, do you know what the Bachelor calls his house?
Me: No, what?
Jeff: Juan pueblo.
Me: You’re killing me.
This morning I met my friend Lisa for coffee. We met up at 1030 and didn’t leave the coffee shop until 1. When I got there she said, “I’d like to know why my son is here and not in class.” I looked over, and sure enough, her 20 year old son was sitting at a table with his headphones in.
“Oh last week I asked Sydney the same question. It turns out they don’t have class on Tuesdays anymore.”
“Interesting. I wonder where he’s been going .”
Kids these days. Sydney was gone at a church retreat last month and forgot to mention it to me. I posted on her Facebook page at 1AM asking her where she was and Lisa responded that she was probably at the retreat. If they weren’t such good kids, we’d wring their necks.
Her son came over to where we were seated and stood, towering over us. We looked down at his feet and he said, “Yeah, so I have two different shoes on today.”
She said, “I see that. How exactly did that happen?”
“Well, I wasn’t really looking, and I just slipped them on. “
We’ve all done that once or twice. I told her I can’t count the number of times I have discovered my shirt was on backwards or inside out. Or both. She told me she spent a whole day wearing one brown boot and one black boot before she realized. She said, “The crazy thing is they were two different heights. I hobbled around the whole day and it never occurred to me why I was uneven.”
I always love my time with Lisa. She’s funny and smart and insightful. She’s the real deal, and there aren’t many like that out there, so I’m grateful for her. And she puts up with my babbling.
I’m glad that my Social Media fast created more urgency for face to face encounters, because that 2 1/2 hours with Lisa was better than scrolling on Facebook any day.