Tuesday, August 25, 2015

He's got game.

So this weekend Chris was playing tennis with, as he described her, "a very attractive doctor."  On a slick forehand slice, his follow through was so ferocious that he whacked himself right on the head.  Today he has a sizable lump and another in a wonderful streak of embarrassing himself in front of women.

Like the time Chris, a married father of two at the time, got flirtatious with the enterprise rent-a-car lady and slapped himself so hard he knocked his glasses off.

The ladies don't have high standards, but they tend to become less interested the more you slap your own glasses off your face.

Just something I've noticed.

This is why I don't worry about Chris cheating on me. I have absolute confidence that if he ever even thought about it he would drool on himself and then trip.  And not the stumbling kind of trip, but the kind where you go all the way down.

Sunday, August 23, 2015


So one thing that's fun is making Sam do stuff for football cards.

For the low low price of $8 worth of football cards, I got Sam to empty the dishwasher, move a dresser, clear and wipe the dining room table, carry the laundry upstairs, put the laundry away, clean the toilet, tidy the hallway, pick up the random debris in the yard and sweep the walkways.

This is so much better than:

A) doing it myself
B) forcing him to do it
C) living in filth

I don't expect it will work forever, but it was fun today.


Also, today we were talking about my friend Michelle's urban backyard chickens. I say that to emphasize that my children are not farm children, as they are urban backyard children.

I'd mentioned these chickens before, including the time period where Michelle was pretty convinced that one of the chicks was going to be a rooster.

"Did they have to get rid of the chicken that was weawwy a rooster?" Owen asks.

"No, actually that turned out to be a chicken - just an androgynous sort of chicken," I tell them.

"Does that mean boneless?" Lilly wonders.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

One shoe, two shoes

"Mom, so you know, my shoes are broken."

"Which ones, Lilly?"

"Both of them are broken."

"No, I mean what do they look like?

"They look broken."

"But which ones are broken?"

"BOTH of them."

"Lord Jesus help me."

Monday, August 17, 2015

Balanced diet

So my dad's all laid up at home with a bum hip. Or, rather, a new-fangled hip.  So, in efforts to entertain him, I'm attempting to write more frequently. At least until he can walk again.

Chris and I were working in the kitchen tonight. It's great to have a life partner, isn't it?  We work together and get stuff done and it's great.

I put some leftovers in various sizes of Lilly's lunch containers. Then I started scrubbing some pans.

Chris was collecting garbage, and then I saw him grab Lilly's lunch bag.

Sweet.  We're both contributing here, in an equal, helpful, fashion. I have already packed some fruit salad containers and he's going to put together the other pieces . . . huh.

That's weird. He packed that lunch, like, ninja-fast.

Well, he does that. That's why Lilly is always, "so, did Dad pack my lunch?" in a suspicious voice.

He's a fast guy, he'll throw anything in there, it's cool, who cares what's in her lunch.  She'll eat it or not.  Whatever.

But I can't help it:

"So, you know those containers on the counter were all full of fruit salad, right?"

He sighs, heavily, and with much irritation, as he pulls her lunch bag out of the fridge and unpacks the four separate containers of fruit salad.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Go fish injustice

This is my kids playing go fish:

"Do you have a seven?"

"No, Go Fish! Do you have a four?"


Much laughter, good times had by all.

But, oh how swiftly the tides of fate turn.

"Do you have a five?"

"No!  Wait.  Yes I do.  Why would you ask for that?  Fine. Here, have the five. Do you have a two?"

"The hell?  You're going to ask me for a two just like that?  Just like, coincidentally, I have one and you just happen to ask for one?  You know what, just take the goddamned two.  I hope you're happy.  Do you have a six?"

"Are you being serious with me right now?  How fucking dare you?  You are dead to me. Take the six and choke on it and die. I don't know how you sleep at night.  Do you have an eight?"

"Do you miss your soul after you've sold it to the devil?  We are no longer family, you soulless bastard.  Some day, you are going to wake up alone, strung out on the high of Go Fish, and you're going to miss your family, but it's going to be too late because the pain you're causing today is irreparable. Enjoy your eight. I hope it can take care of you in your old age. Do you have a five?

"No.  And even if I did have one, I wouldn't use it to feed the fire standing between you and certain death by freezing."

"You cheating whorebag.  Give me the fucking five or I'll tell mom."

"I don't have any fives because you already ripped them from my trembling hands two turns ago, you idiot asswipe."

"You know what? It's cool, though. You have to go through life being the ugly one, so keep your fucking five. You deserve it."

Ok, that's more the spirit of the conversation then the letter.

Really it's like this,

"Do you have a five?"

"Yes, but that is not fair. Do you have a six?"

"That's not fair! Yes!  Do you have a two?"

"It isn't fair to ask for my two!  You know I have a two because I asked you for one four turns ago, and now you asking me! Do you have a nine?"

"No fair!"

They keep using this phrase, and I do not think it means what they think it means.