Bribery

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.


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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.

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."

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.

Go fish injustice

This is my kids playing go fish:

"Do you have a seven?"

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

"Nope!"

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.

Sleeping with Chris

This post is rated PG.

So I've been sharing a bed with Chris for a long time now. Chris's anniversary flower note said it was over 4000 nights and I'm just going to trust his math. 

It's taken me some time, but I'm now pretty much an expert in sleeping with Chris. I will share my knowledge with you just in case you ever end up sharing a room. 

He will wake you up with a tightly secure hug, whispering, "shhhhhhh.  It's okay.  It's okay. Shhhhhh."  You will blearily think, " I . . . had a nightmare? Thanks for helping out, buddy.  I'm so soothed I don't even remember having a scary dream."  Don't buy it. It's bullshit. You weren't having a nightmare.  You were just sleeping. 

He will get up on his hands and knees and try to push you out of the bed, claiming you are squashing a child. You are not squashing a child. There's only one person in this bed who would squash a child, asleep or awake, and it's not you.  Also, there is not even a child in the bed. Also, generally speaking, if he is up on all fours, no good will come of it. The second you sense him thrashing and heaving his way up, just accept the fact that you are about to deal with some absurd bullshit. 

He will steal all the covers. And then get hot and throw them on the ground. He will then wake you up and ask you where the blankets are.  

He will clomp his teeth together so loudly and with such vigor that you will fear breakage.  Don't be concerned.  He has Hippo teeth. 

He will absolutely leave you for dead when a child comes into the room. The child could be wailing, on her third trip in, and your best case scenario is he MIGHT clomp his teeth some.

When you are tired and trying to fall asleep, he will wait until you are thisclose to asleep and then tell you that if you give out your gmail address with an extra dot in it than you can easily filter for junk mail. He will repeat until ptsd sets in and your body says, "forget it, then. No sleep for you."  Then he will fall peacefully and cheerfully asleep. 

At this point I'm so good at sleeping with Chris that I could teach a four credit hour class in it. Unfortunately, it's just another skill I have that means nothing to anybody else. Still, he's not the worst roommate ever. He is warm, and he has no way of knowing if you are lying when you say it's his turn to get up. 

Space trash

Owen is sooooooooo lonely without Sam.

He popped into my room tonight.

"Hey mom," he smiles, winking at me.

He knows he's not supposed to be out of bed, but he thinks a smile and a wink-nudge will make it okay.

It does.

We chat about many many things.

"Do you remember going to Horizon, Owen?"

"Of course I do. I remember the first day I went there."

Liar. You don't even remember your birthdate.

"Oh you do?  That was a long time ago!" [indulgent smile]

"Yeah, I got in to a little bit of trouble for my voice being too loud. I didn't know my voice was too loud because it was the same voice that I had been using at my other school.  I know now that even kindergarteners sometimes have voices that were too loud, but I didn't know that then and I felt sad for breaking rules I didn't understand."

Oh. Well then. Maybe he does remember.

We then talked for a bit about packing lunch vs. hot lunch. Packing lunch has the benefit of healthy foods he probably likes, but hot lunch has chocolate milk.

I think you know which one wins.

"But, mom, you know what my least favorite thing about hot lunch is?"

"What?"

"The foam plates."

He then starts shuttering while he describes the foam plates they serve lunch on, and the sound the plates make as they slide against each other. He clearly wants to peel his skin off just talking about it. He even dry heaved a little bit.

See, Owen, but this is why you keep pinging on aspergers scales.

"Do you want to know the worst kind of foam?"

"Absolutely."

"Star foam.  Star foam is the worst and don't ever bring it in this house."

We should also still use bibs.

I was reading an old blog post recently and I figured out that we put the toddler rail back up on Lilly's bed well over a year ago and we have absolutely no intention of taking it down.  We tried that, it was awful, never trying it again.

Some day, when she's 12, she'll have her first non- family sleepover with some overly mature bitchy 8th grader that she's fallen in with, and that girl is going to make SO much fun of her and Lilly is going to come to us, furious.

"Look," we'll say, "you were a sweet girl, but dumb like a hamster in the middle of the night. We need sleep."

She'll say it caused little Skyler or Blaire or Everly or whatever her hipster name was to ostrasize her at school, but I never liked that kid, so I'm not bothered.