this is my “quiet time” during the day–i’m downstairs finishing up a few things while everyone else is upstairs brushing their teeth, getting ready for bed.
sometimes there are issues, kids fighting, procrastinating, the husband riling the kids up with rough-housing/feeding them sugary treats just before bedtime, but i just try to block it all out.
tonite is a special night, however, one where for whatever reason it is best to consult mommy rather than that other dude that lives here.
girl: “mommy….?? mama…?? i need yur help….i did…someting…”.
girl creeps slowly out of the darkness and approaches mommy.
mommy, without looking up: “yessss…???”
girl: “wehl, ay need yur help, beecuth, wehl, beecuth i did someting, and i can’t pix it.”
mommy looks up.
there stands a very embarassed and sad small person, with 2 toothbrushes hanging from her hair, tangled up at the roots, so tight that the brush heads are together and the handles are pointed away from each other. dangling. dangling.
mommy: “um. can i. um. take a photo? or a video? please?”
mommy having very hard time trying not to laugh on the outside. tears clouding eyes. but, must, save, moment, for, daddy! daddy, must, experience!
girl: “no mommy. i don’t want u to take poh-tohs. i don’t want u to take pit-churs.”
mommy: “ok, well, why don’t you ask daddy for help?”
girl: “but i don’t wanna wake him up.”
mommy: “well i don’t think i know how to fix this so i think we’ll have to consult daddy. i bet he’ll know how to help you.”
girl: “no mommy i don’t want tell daddy. daddy’s sweeping i don’t want wake him up.”
mommy: “we need daddy’s help, let’s go upstairs.”
on our way to mommy and daddy’s bedroom, we stop by the kids’ bathroom, where big brother pretends like ‘it’s all good’ and he’s ‘just brushing his teeth minding his own bidness’. i make eye contact with him and i nod towards his lil sis. “did you help her with this?”. he says “no”. i says “so you didn’t help her with any of it?”. and he says, frantically trying to cover his ass, “well, but, i only did the spraying, but SHE did all the SPINNING.”
thank GAWD the “spraying” involved detangler, however, something was definitely lost in the execution.
we walk into the bedroom where daddy is watching tv in bed. he watches his show as i slowly approach him, saying, “daddy, we need your help. she didn’t want to wake you but i said that you would know how to fix it.” he looks at me, wondering, and i add, “but just so you know, your son only did the spraying, but SHE did ALL the SPINNING”.
and then, his beautiful daughter walks sheepishly into the room, toothbrushes dangling, and he just busts up laughing. that sets me off of course, so we are just staring at each other ‘quietly’ but furiously cracking up, our faces red, tears streaming from our eyes, and we can’t stop. i have no idea how long we were laughing but we literally couldn’t stop, our daughter is just standing there, waiting, embarassed, sad. and then she says, “nebbur myn. i pix it by myself” and walks out of the room.
“my neck and my back! i WANT a HUNNIT n FITTY dollahs!”
(i’d gladly roll around on the ground, re-enacting ezel’s convenience store slip and fall scene from the movie “friday”, but i’m literally unable to do so at the moment.)
i know what you’re thinking–“omg, did this fool hurt herself–AGAIN?!”
and, no, my pain has nothing to do with stairs.
HA! you thought you had me didn’t you.
(don’t get me wrong, the stairs are STILL not my best friend right now).
so, WHAT, pray tell, was i doing to cause all this pain?
i think it is best to answer this question with yet another movie quote:
“I’m KICKING my ASS, DO YA MIND?!” (jim carrey in liar liar, courtroom bathroom scene).
(if you haven’t seen that movie, it has some great one liners. he literally is kicking his own ass in the courtroom bathroom and some guy walks in and asks what he is doing and that was his answer, “i’m kicking my ass”. i think he had his head in the trash and was slamming the lid on his face, after having run himself into the wall/stall door/mirror/etc.)
(my other fav line is when he is having a convo with his son who says “my teacher tells me beauty is on the inside” and jim carrey says “that’s just something ugly people say”. now tell me that ain’t funny.)
in any case, the moral of my blory today (get it? blog + boring story = blory. ha! i’m delirious! somebody stop me!) is, if you are ever curious JUST how OUT OF SHAPE you truly truly TRULY are, i would recommend relatively little movement for about 6-7 years followed by inserting an insanely wild hair up your ass that leads you to believe that playing a full 90 of soccer without subs is a “good idea”. it’s also fun to get all psyched up by watching hours of professional futbol games prior to actually participating, making you feel falsely energized and overly confident that you will, in fact, be “ok”.
i hydrated, i ate bananas, i did my stretches, i warmed up, and off i went to my doom. a few minutes into it, my body was saying “dear god NOOOOO!” while my mind was saying “woo hoo, no subs, i get to play the WHOLE GAME!” while at the same time the mix of euphoria and adrenaline was effectively masking any signs of massive self-destruction. just fyi, if you add a high pain tolerance, well, i can purdy much guar-ron-tee(!) the combination will actually really kick your ass.
“K.O.! FI-NISH HIIIMMMMMM!”
in the aftermath, my days were spent trying not to move, sneeze, blink, twitch, move, move, or move. yes, i know i repeated myself, but it is because i am putting an em-PHA-sis on the im-por-TANT parts.
a week later, even if you’re still hurtin’, i’d say, don’t listen to your instincts, just give it another go ol’ chap!
and, if it STILL hurts, so much so that you think you have probably pulled or strained or torn multiple “things” (muscles and such), and you can no longer continue playing, and you can’t even stand there and serve as a placeholder or a dummy, well, then, congratulations, you will finally have reached my level of fitness.
in any case, you just have to try it. quit cold turkey for just a smidge under a decade then strap on the boots and try to kick it old school. everybody’s doin’ it. stop bein’ a wuss.
so i wake up to one of my kids walking into the room asking for help buttoning up his shirt.
then he puts on one of those clip-on ties, and i tell him he looks handsome this morning.
and he says, “well, i really wanted to dress up for thanksgiving.”
then the other kid walks in.
she is wearing her easter sweatshirt, complete with bunny ears on the hood and pink tummy with bunny tail in back.
i tell ’em, “y’all know it’s valentine’s day today, right?”
i get the 100 mile stare.
okee dokee, whatever, good talk.
i press snooze and go back to sleep.
company work party. theme: casino night. location: tasty brewpub.
a man and wife. condition: happy and sober.
wife: knows her limits, eats the company-provided dinner before consuming several pints, is feeling relaxed, chummy.
man: is blitzed and has already increased likelihood of chauvinistic-based lawsuit before introduction of appetizers (“coworkers’ wives vs smack-talkin’ sex-maniac”). skips food, strictly liquid diet. location: follow trail of poker chips dropped sporadically across casino floor. condition: swaying and humming to music ain’t nobody can hear. forecast: natural disaster of mass proportions.
man, very courageous, has light bulb: time to take party out of enclosed party room to public dining area downstairs. double light bulb: night perceived as young + plenty money left = drink more beers. bonus light bulb: must fulfill immediate urge (triggered by live music) to drunk-dance despite presence of many strangers.
wife: pretty sure bad idea but too late, man awkwardly holding wife tightly. location: upper left arm. condition: swinging, spinning, shaking. lots of shaking.
man: unknowingly uses wife to wipe out half of dance floor. dancers flying left and right. new form of dance-fighting invented but debut not well-received. man slurring, “yeah, you godda hang uvvit, dat’s right”.
wife: “godda hang-a-whaahhhh???”. feel weird and definitely not feel like dancing. people watching probably thinking same thing.
finally make it home. so happy made it home. mmm, bed. fluffy fresh and clean. look so comfy. like bunnies n clouds.
wife: crawl in bed go seepy-time.
man: bed? attack! pillows? blankies? attack! attack!
translation: BARF! BARF! BARRRRRRRRFFFFFF!!!!!
wife: sigh. change bed. clean all barf. change clothes. blech. sleep in other room.
man: not even bother wake up. just BARF! BARRRRF! BARRRRRRRRRRFFFFF!
wife: blech! change bed! clean all barf! change clothes! sleep in other room!
man: argh! still BARFING?! why so much barfing?! for gods’ sakes man wrap it up already!
wife: BLECH! CHANGE! CLEAN! CHANGE! SLEEP!
man: “want! blanket!”
wife: “newsflash! pukestorm! everything perish! all gone! only one sleeping bag, mine! no sharing!”
man: “you make man sad. juss want sleep bed.”
wife: “cannot sleep bed. you, human puke fountain. bed, giant puke-sponge. need burn bed. all febreze on earth not fix!”
man: “but me cold bwahhhhh me turning into grown man-baby! me crying waaahhhh!”
wife: “you cold because you not wearing clothes! this not rocket science! this ridiculous!”
man: “me no wann wear clothes! me wann blankie! why you not let me have blankies? you so MEAN! what, you a blankie police now?”
wife: “juss TAKE me SLEEPING BAG! TAKE! now for love of GAWD, SLEEP! or me punch you in stoopid puking fountain face!”
repeat cycle throughout night, til, finally, man snoring in 2.5 seconds flat.
wife awake til sunrise. not good mood.
man wake up complaining. “my neck. my back. my neck and my back!”
wife don’t care. ignoring.
man keep talking. digging deep hole. digging. diiigginnnng. still more digging. man not remember ANYTHING. unbelievable.
wife: too tired to kick ass. saving energy to plot revenge in form of blog entry.
do YOU know somebody who is INSANE?
who constantly repeats the same mistakes and expects a different outcome?
who IS DRIVING YOU FREAKING BANANAS?!
(‘freaking bananas’ = draining your mental energy +
boring you to death with their stupid problems +
making your life a drama-ridden stinkfest)
then have i got the product for YOU!
sneak THIS baby into the convo
and tell ’em
HOW AWESOME IT IS
EVERYBODY’S DOING IT
BECAUSE IT’S SO COOL!