The thoughts are crunchier here.
After running some errands this morning the kids and I were discussing where we should stop for lunch.
“Can we go to Freddy’s?” Sam asks.
“We are nowhere near Freddy’s,” I reply.
“Yeah, but can we go to Freddy’s?” he asks again.
“Baby, we are nowhere near Freddy’s!” I repeat, a bit exasperated.
Sam dramatically sighs and rephrases, “Can you just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’?!”
Whoops. “No.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you for grilling the chicken,†I said to Steven as we cleaned up after dinner.
“Thank you for starting the coals,†he replied.
“Thank you for putting on the wrong kind of sauce,†added Sam, who was not a fan of my marinade.
This dinner is already not going well because Manwich saw fit to make a Bourbon Barbeque version of their Sloppy Joe mix in an uncannily similar package. Why would you do that to me, Manwich?? This exotic flavor is summarily rejected by the kids.
“Oh hey, I forgot to tell you,” I mention to Steven, “over at the four way intersection by the neighborhood there was a state trooper sitting there.”
Steven replies,”Hmm, that’s weird. Do you think it had anything to do with the Murder House?”
*record scratch*
Murder House???
See, a while ago, there was a house close to the neighborhood where a dude was murdered. There were news trucks out there for a few days. At the time when the kids asked about all the news trucks and cop cars, we said someone got hurt but they’re going to be okay. Little white lies, people.
Now we’re back to . . .
“Do you think it had anything to do with the Murder House?”
Steven pauses. I pause. Wait. Maybe it went in one ear and out the other. Maybe Lydia didn’t hear. I look at Steven. He looks at me, deer in the headlights.
I hear a gasp.
“Murder House?!” exclaims Lydia.
Nuts. She heard.
Times the cat has launched off the tree skirt and irritated Mom: 12
How many ornaments the kids have broken: 1
How many ornaments Mom has broken: 0, ha!
How many cookies Mom has made: 428
How many Godzilla ornaments are on Sam’s tree: 4
How many fully decorated trees are in the house: 4
Last year was the end of the road for our Tree. He was with us for 14 beautiful years.
I am notoriously picky about Christmas trees, so this year we ended up borrowing my dad’s tree. Same height, same width . . . but more branches. I knew this would be an interesting lighting setup this year.
And so, I now present to you The Tree, 2018:
The kids’ trees are in the dining room as usual.
Number of lights on the tree: 3,730! That beats the past record by 750! Of course, different tree, etc.
I’ve got to figure out how to do less lights. It’s getting a little ridiculous.
Times cat has eaten the tree and barfed: 0
Ornaments broken: 1
Trips taken to Lowe’s to buy more lights: 2
Amount of lights purchased: 1,600
Percentage of lights that are LED: 100%!
Cookies Carrie has made: 85
______________________
A short epitaph for the original Tree:
“There is no death in dying
There is so much life in life.
“So let this last leaf fall
Let the last bloom dry.
In my dying,
I am more than alive.” — Ishrath Humairah
This morning I found myself reading up on some blog posts from ten years ago. The ten year anniversary of electing one of the most awesome presidents ever will do that to you.
Anyhoo.
I came up on this amazing post from December of 2008, which I had totally forgotten about. Ten years ago, Steven and I thought it best to curb our burping and farting around innocent little baby Lydia. So, ten years later, I figure I should give an update on vulgarity around the taco. As a side note, that little taco (though still little) is a whopping ten years old now. Makes her own sandwiches and everything.
We have had a nightly bedtime ritual going on for years now without many changes. First, we have Medicine and Pumpkin, when they take their nightly Zyrtec and then get to pick out a dessert from their Halloween pumpkin, which is an all-year presence in the house. Then it’s Teeth Brushing Time, when whoever is first finishing their Pumpkin runs as fast as they can to the bathroom, while the loser stands outside the bathroom, annoying their sibling and seeing how much they can get away with before getting yelled at for distracting the other.
That’s my least favorite part, by far.
Once teeth are brushed, then it’s time for Hugs and Kisses, then off to bed they go. More or less.
“Now what in the heck does this have to do with vulgarity, Carrie?” I hear you pondering.
Well, as I said, this bedtime ritual has not been changed much . . . except for one recent addition by Sam. Sam likes to hug as hard as he can. And boy I mean HUG AS HARD AS HE CAN. He wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes like a boa constrictor. One time this constriction managed to squeeze out a fart from me, and both kids hit the floor laughing.
So now, each night when Sam is coming up to give me his Hug of Death, he asks me, “Fart?” Then he comes up to hug me, whispering under his breath the whole time, “pleasefartpleasefartpleasefart!”
He has about a 30% success rate.
Ten years ago today we were dealing with a constipated cat. Renton eventually gave birth to one of his children at the vet.
Later that night my sister gave birth as well.
Happy Tenth, Elizabeth!
(I stole this pic from Cathy’s Facebook, since I am stranded on vacation without my computer)
Last night we had tacos for dinner. Taco Tuesday! Sam began to sing one of his more frequent songs:
“It’s raining tacos! From outta the sky! Tacos! No need to ask why . . . . . Why??”
After the third time through, I hit my daily limit. “Sam, I’m done with that song. Eat your dinner.”
“Okay.”
Not five seconds later . . .
“It’s raining tacos! From outta the –”
“Sam.”
He immediately looks shocked and exclaims, “Oh, I forgot!” I believe he truly did forget. Time is irrelevant to him.
“Dude, I just said that five seconds ago.”
“Sorry.”
Two seconds later . . .
“It’s raining –”
“SAM!!!”
Another day, another breakfast. This time Lydia opts to take a shower first, which means they weren’t eating at the same time. Thank goodness for small miracles.
Sam is just finishing breakfast when Lydia makes her way from the shower to the kitchen. A few minutes after he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth I hear, “Lydia?”
“Lydia’s in the kitchen making breakfast, honey,” I reply. “What do you need?”
Sam steps out of the bathroom and says in a very serious voice, “Umm, I need to have a little talk with Lydia.”
This should be interesting. “Well, she’s in the kitchen.”
Sam makes his way back into the kitchen. “Umm, Lydia? You made a bit of a water mess in the bathroom and I had to clean it up.”
Oh man, how is Lydia going to take that? I glance at her face, expecting to see The Glare, but instead she looks surprised, and even a bit guilty.
“Ohh, I’m sorry!” she squeaks. “That was from my feet when I got out of the shower.” Wow! Looks like we’re going to get the Polite Kids today! And on a Monday, too!
Sam still wanted to finish his point. “Well, I had to clean it up.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes again.
Sam, expecting Lydia to have said ‘thank you,’ quickly replies, “You’re welcome.” Then a beat. “Wait . . .”
Both kids hit the floor laughing.