Why, I do declare!

For my own amusement, I sometimes encourage my children to speak with a foreign accent or different American dialect. We dabble in many varieties. We kept it close to America at first and went southern. That was mostly driven by my daughter who one day came into my bedroom and unsolicited, said, “Why, I do declare, Mommy!” I just knew at that moment, she was on to something big, there was talent and possibility. She handed me a golden opportunity and I couldn’t let that pass us by; as a blue ribbon wife and mother, I had a duty to this family.

After southern, we focused on the English accent. That was driven by the excessive watching of Mary Poppins (and that was driven by me because it’s my favorite movie). I love everything about Mary Poppins. And for the longest time I was SO mad that she never responded to the letter I sent her in June of ’84. I think I was more hurt than anything else. But obviously as I grew up and matured it became clear that of course Mary Poppins didn’t receive my letter and ignore it…how absurd…my mom just didn’t mail it.

So I think we are ready to move on to a new accent. I feel like we should go Canadian. NOT French Canadian yet, that is way too advanced! Just Canadian. We probably should have started with Canada because it really gives you a good basis without being too intimidating. I already love saying “aboot” and “soory” so it only makes sense to attack that one head on. I’m really hoping to find some good clips of “You Can’t Do That On Television,” ones where Alanis Morissette has Zack Morris’ hairstyle without the frosted tips.

Shout out to Mark-Paul Gosselaar for confirming my heterosexuality in 1989 (and for probably confirming some other people’s homosexuality).

If I were to see myself as a coach really, I’d be a little bit like Tim Curry’s character in the movie “Oscar.” If you get that reference, I can now tell my husband that two people have actually watched that movie. If you don’t get that reference, congratulations for being completely normal.

We will be taking a trip to Canada soon and I’m very excited to put all our hard work to practical use. I wonder what it would be like if I spent the time and energy teaching them a foreign language. They would be bilingual which is so clutch. But that doesn’t sound nearly as amusing.

You never know.

When I get dressed for a Saturday night, I am faced with the decision of what underwear to put on, sexy or comfy. I always put on the sexy. This decision is motivated by one thought: The fear that I will find myself in an impromptu game of strip poker.

Tipping the scale.

Woke up: 136 lbs

After pee: 135.2 (Woot!)
Put on clothes (minus sweater): 136.9
Put on sweater: 137.4
Weighed child: 28.8
Picked up said child: 166 (wtf?)
Repeat above: 166.1 (closer)
Put down child: 137.4
Pooped: 137.4 (!)
Total time elapsed: 20 minutes

Conclusion: Someone like me should never own a scale.

It will be ok.

Subsequently, the next day, my husband left his phone at at home. I saw it sitting on the nightstand and a huge wave of anxiety came over me…now he won’t be able to take his Scramble turn.  Gives the post below a whole new meaning.

Take your effing turn.

Do you ever have one of those days where you feel like you are sitting around all day waiting for someone to take their Scramble turn? And you keep opening the app and updating it just in case the badge didn’t display?

Eat your cheerio.

Now we will relive the Costco conversation from the 17 year old boy’s perspective (Boy #3 because I’m going to assume due to his quietness, he was really listening to us).

So I was out with two of my friends today, it was a sunny. Worth noting for no reason other than everyone here notes when it’s sunny and they wear shorts even though it’s still 50 degrees. We went to Costco for lunch. We ended up sitting next to this family and I overheard their conversation. There was a mom and dad (I don’t know how old, probably about twice my age, so 30-something, you know, middle aged) and two kids, one little girl and a toddler-looking boy (I just impressed myself that I knew what a toddler was). My friends were talking about khakis I think, not sure, I tuned out. And basically, this is how their conversation went:

Mom: Eat your pizza, then you can have your churro.
Boy: I wan cheerio.
Mom: I know, eat your pizza and then you can have your churro.
Boy: I wan cheerio now. (Boy points to actual cheerios in the cart.)
Mom: You can have those cheerios at home.  Eat your pizza and then you can have your cheerio, I mean CHURRO! (She then “quietly” muttered, “Jesus Christ.”)
Boy: I can have cheerio? (Is that a question? I’m going to try that.)
Dad: Eat your pizza.
Boy: I wan cheerio (now, points to the churro).
Dad: Pick up your pizza, like this. (Dad picks it up, cheese starts to slide off) HOLD IT UP! HOLD IT UP! TAKE A BITE! (Dad then proceeds to put pizza down with force and “quietly” mutters “Jesus Christ.” I wonder if they are Jewish.)
Mom: (Takes the pizza, throws it out, hands kid the churro.) Eat your CHEERIO!
Boy: Tank you. (Finishes the cheerio, I mean, churro.) Can I have my pizza now peese?

That kid is my hero.

Khakis…and a Polo.

Best ever overheard conversation.  And I’ve overheard some really good conversations before, mostly at Starbucks because I don’t really sit around anywhere else.  But this one was at Costco. Yes, Starbucks and Costco, very Seattle of me.

First let me preface by saying that the sun was in full effect today, so everyone was a little out of sorts with giddiness, being that it’s March in Seattle and it’s been about 6 months since the sun has graced our presence (I know, I exaggerate, it’s just much more exciting to set the scene up that way).  But seriously, it was really sunny and people were very excited to be at Costco and to be outside.  I even saw a group of 6 high school girls from a soccer team bust out into a ditty.  No words for that one.

Ok, so sitting outside eating our cheese pizzas, all beef hot dogs and churros when the three teenage boys next to us started talking.  They were 17 by my calculations (aka, totally listening to every word and figuring out the math when the boy said, “15 years from now you’ll be 32.”).  That line was already funny because I’m 35 and the fact that in 15 years those boys still won’t even be my age put me rightfully in my adult place.

So let’s begin the convo.

Boy #1: I love going out to eat with my girlfriend’s family.  Her mom doesn’t really cook, so we eat out almost every night and they always pay for me.  I don’t think I’ve paid for one meal since we’ve dated.
[My comments to myself:  Poor girl, have you ever gone on a date with her? I mean, have you ever taken her out yourself and just paid for dinner?  Even Chipotle would win my heart over.  I love my parents to death but I certainly didn’t want to go out to dinner with them and my boyfriend all the time.]
Boy #2: Does the mom work?
Boy #1: I don’t think so, her dad is loaded.
[And…mystery solved.]

Boy #1: When I go to college my parents are going to get a place in Palm Springs, it’s so cheap there, you can get a house for like $200K.
Boy #2: Yeah because there is nothing around there and nothing to do.
Boy #1: That’s why it’s good for the old people, they love it.
[Note to self, when my child is 18 I will be considered part of the “old people”.]

Boy #1: I’m going to go into Computer Science in college.  If I major in that I’m guaranteed a job right out of school, base salary $100K, I looked it up.
[You looked it up? On Google? What’s the job? But hey, already I’m excited that he’s talking about actually working out of college.]
Boy #2: I’m going to be a doctor.  Then you can never get fired.
I can do any kind of medicine, there is always a need for doctors, like even sports medicine.  Sure, I guess the hospital could transfer you, but you can’t actually get fired.
[Again, stoked he has ambitions, whether it be altruism for healing the human body or job security.]
The only way you can get fired is if you do under the table kind of stuff.
[That’s called malpractice, son. And yes, I guess you could get fired for that.  I’d say maybe more along the lines of never work again, but fired works too.]
Boy #3: [He’s kind of the quiet one, probably thinking he can’t believe these conversations] Totally.
Boy #1: My dad does work for a company that does computer science so I have an in.
Boy #2:  Where does he work?
Boy #1: He’s the CFO, that’s the Certified Financial Officer [eh, I don’t think it is] at a company, I’m not really sure what they do.

Boy #3: Where do you guys think you want to live and settle down?
[Settle down? That’s cute but do they even know what that means? Oh, we’ll find out.]
Boy #2: I could see myself coming back here in about 15 years [yes, my calculations conversation] to settle down.
Boy #1: What? In 15 years, you’ll be 32.  What do you mean settle down, like look for a wife?
Boy #2: No, I can have a wife and kids already and then move back here to be with my family and you know, settle down.
[They LOVE settle down.]
Boy #1: I don’t know, I guess it’s nice to be home.  But I have to do California, I need sun.
[Boy #1 just scored some points with being one of the first Pacific Northwesterners in my presence to admit the lack of sun here BLOWS!]
Boy #3: [Oh, welcome to the convo]. You could live in Florida.
Boy #2: I could not live on the East coast.
Boy #1: I guess Florida could be considered the East coast, right?
Boy #2: I could never live in Boston or NY.  I mean, you could never wear what you are wearing right now on the East coast.
[I believe the other kid was wearing a track jacket, not sure about the bottoms.]
If you are at work you wear a suit and the rest of the time it’s khakis and a Polo. It’s not like Boeing where you can wear sweats.
[Ah, the aerospace industry, such slackers wearing sweats. It’s like they’ve given up.]
Boy #1: I guess I could be okay with khakis, khakis aren’t that bad, they are comfortable.
Boy #2: No, dude, not just khakis…you have to wear the Polo.

Best end to the best conversation I have ever heard.

My Space

MySpace may have been some sort of awesome social networking site (was it awesome? is it still around?) but all I remember about it was that a friend of a friend used to post pictures of herself in a bikini doing a hand stand.  That was weird.

Now, the term My Space has a whole new meaning. As a mother of two plus a dog, I have discovered there is no where for me to go inside my house where someone can’t get to me and bug me.  I don’t have My Space.  I know so many moms that long for an hour or two alone, but I mean really alone, so that means in their own house, not at Starbucks or even the spa where other people are around or tending to you, but ALONE! What I’ve discovered is that even when both kids are in school for a few hours a day, I am using that time to get errands done.  Or let’s say I’m not doing errands, then I’m either folding laundry, preparing a meal, cleaning up toys, doing email, etc.  The list of things to do goes on and on. But I never really just sit quietly…alone.

So this morning, the cute little loves decided at the exact same time to bust out into a combo cry/whine (oh yeah, you know the sound, the sound that gives the most annoying sound in the world in “Dumb and Dumber” a run for its money) about disliking their breakfast.  I immediately went into the bathroom and locked the door.  It was My Space.  When I “heard” the all clear (aka, no sound at all), I emerged.  One was eating her breakfast with a scowl (success!), the other was standing at the door waiting for me to come out and give him a squeeze.  Oh that’s so cute!  All he wanted was a squeeze! Yep, a Plum Mashups fruit squeeze, the blueberry kind, g-d forbid the strawberry/banana one.  Now they are happily disengaged in front of the TV.

Hence the revival of My Space.