#owen

I picked the boys up from tumbling today and I wasn't even late!  True story. 

The tumbling teacher greets me with a "Hey! We missed you on Saturday!"

Um . . . we missed you too?  It's so long between Wednesday classes? 

"The halftime show wasn't the same without the boys!"  

Oh.  There was a performance. 

"I understand!" He says, "people get busy."

But we weren't busy. And I also didn't forget. I never even knew about this in the first place.  That's how out of touch we are.

We gather our stuff in shame, the boys clutching the cowboy hats they were supposed to wear during their routine. 

He calls after us, "I think we are going to have one more show this spring, Owen!  So don't lose your hat!"

"I won't!" Owen replies cheerfully as we head out the door.

Then, as the door closes, I hear him say, under his breath, "hashtag, I definitely will."

#hesnotwrong #knowyourself #helearneditfromwatchingus #butsopolite #thehatisalreadygone

Still no Superman, though.

In the car today Sam asked when we were going to get rid of all the pay phones.

So I'm looking around and I see exactly zero pay phones. "I think the pay phones are already gone, Sam."

"The what are gone?" Owen asks.

"Pay phones, Owen."

"What are those?"

I am so old. So very old.

"Before cell phones there used to be phones on street corners and stores that you could put 25 cents in and make a call."

"Oh, I've seen those.  I saw two . . . no three in Disney world. But prices must have gone up because it cost two quarters."

Okay, so number one, Jesus, inflation. Number two, how about next time we spend a million dollars to take you some place special you pay a little more attention to the goddamn magic.

Schooled

"Mom?  How many states are there?" Lilly asks.

I KNOW THIS ONE

"There are 50 states in America, Lilly."

"No," she says, "like how many PLACES are there?"

"Places?"

"Yeah, like there's Ohio State and China and the park."

So just, like, literally every place?  I have no idea.

"Mom? I thought that there were seven continents but now I'm counting and if you include North Antartica and Sourh Antartica, then that's eight."

"Um . . . Maybe because I don't think there is any such thing as North and South Antartica?"

"Mom! Of course there is!  Otherwise all the polar bears would eat the penguins and there would be almost no penguins left!"

Here's the thing though. I really can't say with any kind of certainty that there isn't a North Antartica and South Antartica.  It doesn't exactly SOUND right, but it's been a long time since that was relevant in my life. Also, on the face of it it doesn't seem logical that penguins and polar bears have separate continents but what the hell do I know about wildlife?  The answer is less than I know about geography.

So I didn't argue with her. This seems like a job for School Teacher.

Adventures in Sleeping with Chris, Part II

So one thing I forgot to mention about Chris's nocturnal habits: moaning.

He moans.

A lot.

And with vigor. Imagine someone shouting at you, but they are also a zombie.

First, a silent , gentle, calm inhale.

OOORRRHHHAAAAAOOOoOoOo exhale.

It's frustrating from my end. Like, I understand snoring. You're congested, what are you going to do?  But moaning feels like a choice. Soooooo, if he could maybe not do that, that would be great.

It's also distressing. You know who moans?  People who are sad. Or upset.  Or are lying gut-shot on a battlefield.   Those people are moaning.

So I'm here, trying to go to sleep, and Chris is lying there, deliberately groaning like a civilian casualty of war.

It's upsetting.

Honestly, normally, it's not really a problem. I push him a little (super gently) and he startles himself awake enough to resume his normal business of chomping and leg spasms.

But the past week, it's been relentless. So, after spending the night on the couch, I decided to google it.

"Yes!"  The internet says, "I know exactly what you mean!  It's called Catathrenia and it is not a problem!"

Well.  I mean, it's kind of a problem.

"No, really! It's completely benign!  Not a big deal"

Well, again, Internet, I'm going to beg to differ.

So instead of googling, "what the fuck is wrong with my husband he's moaning in his sleep" I tried googling, "Catathrenia cure."

I see an article titled, "5 Tips for Battling Catathrenia."  I click on that because, clearly, we are about to show Catathrenia whose house it has entered and it will feel my wrath. Even if the cure is horrible for Chris, I'm willing to have him pay that price.

But here is the suggested battle plan:

1) Relax!  Not as in meditate to stop moaning, but, hey, relax, Catathrenia is totally not something to worry about.  At first, I didn't realize that this was actually listed as a step for battling Catathrenia, but I realized there weren't enough steps and went back and checked. Step one of our battle is to chill out, man.

This is not an appropriate attitude for battle, FYI.

2) make sure it is really Catathrenia, because if it something else, it might actually be a problem.  But if it is really Catathrenia, it's not a big deal.

Again, shut up.

3) use white noise.

Oh, yes, obviously, this 200 pound man lying a foot away from me and moaning like a goddamn wildebeest will fit right in with the sound of Rainfall in the Night Forest.

4) ear plugs

Maybe if you put in ear plugs you won't hear me tell you to shut up with your bullshit advice?

5) see a doctor!

Look, you just told me that the best five point plan of attack the whole internet could come up with was a) don't attack, b) verify that it isn't something actually worth attacking, c) ignore it, d) also ignore it. That's it. That our battle plan. Honestly, I don't think that doctors know things that Google doesn't. It's GOOGLE. Doctors are just better at deciphering.


If I'm counting, and I am, exactly none of those had shit to do with battling precisely anything.

Gone with the Wind Fabulous

I was at Target with the kids. They were doing that thing where they gaze longingly at the toys in the toy section, so I was wandering around the girls clothing section. Not because I want to, per se, but because I don't enjoy the toy section, and yet, it's still not socially appropriate to completely abandon your kids at Target. So I scope out the girls fashions, even back when I didn't have any girls.

Anyway, this particular time, I found a few dresses on the clearance rack and I brought them to Lilly. I'm finding it harder to shop for her these days.  The boys would refuse to wear clothes, but it was usually pretty clear why: buttons? Then no.  Snaps?  Nope.  Collars?  Never.  But I haven't been able to exactly pinpoint what gets the Lilly stamp of approval and what will be politely relegated to the back of the closet.

So I show her the dresses and she's all, "Oh, pretty!  But I have to try them on."

"Look, can't you just tell me what you like and what you don't like?  I'm pretty sure these are your size."  I mean, it's not like we need to find clothes that hide her figure flaws, right?  If she likes it, I'll buy it and then we're done.

"Mom.  how am I supposed to know if I like a dress without trying it on?"

Okay.  Seriously?  My mother's been telling me that my whole life. I don't need it from my daughter, too.

"Lilly, it's your size, it'll fit fine."

"Mom, it's not about if it fits. It's about the way it twirls."

it's all fun and games

We were walking home from a dinner at a friend's house yesterday.

It was 7:00, p.m., and pitch dark, thanks to the time change.

We made the kids leave even though they still wanted to jump in the leaf pile some more. And, even after they explained that they WANTED to JUMP MORE, we still made them leave. I get it. Leaf jumping is great. I have a bit of a phobia about it myself, because once I jumped on a dead rabbit, but I have no reason to believe that that is a common occurance, so I try not to tell them, "get off get off get off, there could be dead things in there."

Still, even after they, again, clairified that they were having FUN, we dragged them away.

We were almost home, and I though we had all moved past the leaf-pile-jumping deprivation.

Then Lilly said to me, "Do you see my face mom?!  It is FULL of anger."

But the funny thing was that, no, actually I couldn't see her face.  It was pitch dark.

A Day with Lilly

Lilly wakes up with a smile every day.

Every day, she bounces out of bed (I know because I hear the thump) and rushes to see us.

This is usually pretty cool, because neither of the boys cares to see us until they need a ride somewhere.

Once they figure out how to use scissors to open cereal, they're basically just here for the free laundry.

I've stopped fighting with her about her outfits.  If she wants to wear a velvet party dress with some fruit themed knee socks, well, life is short.

She bounces out the door, and is better than I am about remembering her lunch box.

When I pick her up, she has absorbed the energy from her little friends, and is full of questions.

"Mom? How do traffic lights change?"

"See that yellow box on the pole there? It holds a computer that is programmed to change the lights at certain times."

I have no idea if this is true. I don't care if this is true. I don't care about this at all.

"So, is there a person nearby?"

"No, it's a computer."

"Is there someone in the yellow box?"

"No, no. No people.  It's a computer."

"Oh, there's another one!"

"No, that's a donation bin, it just happens to be yellow.  They aren't all yellow. See, this one up here is gray."

"Oh.  And they are never smaller than that box?"

"I really don't know. I guess some might be smaller."

"And they are always yellow or gray?"

"Sweet baby Jesus please stop asking me questions."

"Fine," she says, full of hurt, "I'll ask daddy when we get home."

"Oh, please do."

We go to Target, and she is so excited about the yogurt that she trips and drops it.  She is so excited about seeing one of her friends there that she runs straight into our cart.  She's so excited about the Frozen nightgown she found that she falls over the foot of the rack.

At night, she demands we read her a book, every night, without fail.  On tired days, we would skip the book with the boys, but Lilly doesn't believe in being too tired for a book.