Another small step (backward) for parent-kind

There are plenty of model parents in this world. I see their Instagram posts, their Pinterest boards, their just general fucking smugness about how they have this all figured out. Meanwhile I’m over here like, how many days ago did they take showers?

So in order to understand what I’m about to share with you, you need to be familiar with this video. I don’t quite get the humor, but if you are a fifth grader, this is like the most hilarious thing to quote.

My friends, I’ve always said that when opportunity knocks, you answer. And opportunity knocked for me a few days ago.

I had ordered some raw almonds online from Trader Joe’s because there’s not one close to me, I like their almonds, and I JUST DID, OK? I got it through Amazon Prime, so, free shipping. Bonus for me. I checked the mail after I got home. I had my box from Amazon, which I opened when I got inside the house. Both my kids were sitting on the couch, using their electronic apparati, when I walked into the room.

“Hey guys, guess what came in the mail today?” I said, barely even able to say this with a straight face.

“What?” they both asked, probably hoping it was a video game for them or something.

Triumphantly holding up the bag of almonds, I replied, “DEEZ NUTS! GOTTEM!” and then I cracked myself up laughing. The six year old laughed, and the 10 year old basically just gave me a SMH face.

I call that a win. I don’t know what you call it. Immature, probably.

 

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So much for family tradition!

Today, Good Friday, has become the day each year that my boys and I decorate Easter eggs. We’re home all day and the kids quickly run out of things to do which don’t involve emulating WWE superstars. So, why not spend an hour of togetherness and harmony, coloring eggs and reflecting on the season of Easter?

My ultra-dumb cats were hands down the most excited for this project. Especially my black cat, Mack. He’s obsessed with eggs being cracked, and remnants of eggshells are his favorite. He watched the entire project with interest. The other two were around, but none as jazzed as he. Here’s Aero/Duck (see My Cats Are Assholes for an explanation of his name) looking at the finished work with disdain.

Duck Easter 2015

My kids were slightly less enthusiastic. My oldest was gung ho at first, but by the time he dropped his third egg into the vinegar-infested coffee mug, he announced that he was bored and going outside. That left me and the five-year-old to finish the job. He lost interest as soon as all the eggs were dipped into a color, and was not interested in the least in applying stickers or doing any sort of cool, multi-colored effects. So I had to finish by myself, and truth be told, I really didn’t do anything fancy. We made 18 eggs, of which probably half will be eaten (and that’s even being generous). The refrigerator stinks of vinegar and egg each time you open it.

While decorating, I made a few observations about egg decorating that I thought I’d share:

  • There’s always one tablet that doesn’t dissolve. This year, it was yellow. That thing stayed intact through the whole decorating process. The color itself was fine, but the tablet was basically whole when I dumped it down the sink.
  • The Paas people have tried to make their product last beyond Easter by making these stupid-ass games like memory with six pieces. Just save me the paper and charge me the same. I don’t even care.
  • The wrap things that you can shrink wrap onto the egg. Tried this one year. They don’t tell you that you can’t color the egg first because all the dye will wash off in the boiling water. Maybe they assume we’re smart enough to figure this out? They would assume WRONG.
  • I miss the wax crayon. Do they still make that? You could write stuff like “Daddy Smells” on the egg and it wouldn’t be revealed until later. Bring back the wax crayon and take out those stupid games. And the egg stands. Those flimsy things can’t even fulfill their purpose.

I see these egg decorating things on Pinterest and I can’t even. Or using food coloring. Sure, that sounds great – I’m sure half my kitchen table would end up looking like a rainbow threw up on it. My hands, too. And I’m sure my eggs would look JUST like the pics I see. #nailedit!

I think I’ll stick with the tried and true, cheap method that only takes a bit of cleanup. After this year, I thought this would probably be my last year doing it, as it seemed like no one enjoyed it. However, I think the tradition isn’t just about togetherness – it’s about trying to figure out how to bend that stupid wand, it’s about not noticing an egg is cracked, it’s about the stupid kit and all the stupid stuff I just complained about above. It’s about throwing uneaten eggs out a few weeks later. Because even though it lasted all of five minutes, we still came together as a family to mark the coming of another holiday. And because I think the cats would really be sad if we didn’t.

The Boot

My younger son lost his boot at school and no one seems to give a shit except for me.

It was lost in a giant snow mound, upon which he apparently was climbing, earlier in the week. How he got out and the boot did not, I’m not sure, but that is the story I have been told. Why no one looked for the boot at that time has also not been answered to my liking. However, this is the evidence I have been presented with. There is a boot missing, and it is allegedly in a snow mound.

At my urging, a search party was assembled the next day after school. This consisted of three fourth graders who half-assedly looked for a few minutes and then commenced throwing snowballs at one another. Boot rescue: FAIL.

My husband’s feelings on the matter are as follows: “Winter is almost over.” Really? Have you looked outside? Oh that’s right, you can’t, because the ENORMOUS SNOW DRIFTS ARE PILED UP ABOVE THE WINDOWS. No, he doesn’t need his other boot. What was I thinking?

So I guess the strategy now is to wait until the snow melts to get his boot back? At which point he won’t need the boot because the snow melted?

This sounds like a completely logical course of action.

My husband is a cheap bastard

So we’re at this basketball tournament, and you always have to pay to get in. The tourneys we’ve been to this season have typically carried a charge of $3 per adult, and then the kids 5 and under are free. My youngest is 5 so we’re good there. (I suspect that even if he was 6, we’d say he was 5.) We get to the tournament this weekend, and it’s $4.

Now let me tell you a little something about my husband: he is loath to part with a dollar. Whereas I will part with many of them without a second thought. I suppose someone has to be the frugal one, but he’s to the extreme. The other day I noticed he had on a new Indians shirt and I asked him about it. “New shirt?” I believe was the extent of my questioning. He gave me back an entire business case for his purchase, noting that it was on clearance and there was an additional 30% off sale. Cool, what evs. I was just going to tell you I liked it.

Back to the tournament. That extra dollar per person really screwed with him. Here he is, expecting to hand them a cool six bucks, and now he’s gotta give them eight. He pauses. “Four per adult?” he asks the booster club mom charged with the cash box. “That’s right,” she confirms, and the booster club mom in charge of providing the hand stamps backs her up. “It’s three at the other tournaments we’ve been to,” he informs them. “I didn’t set the prices, sir,” Money Taker Mom tells him. He’s still incredulous at this unexpected expense.

That’s right about the time I notice the sign over the entrance that states that we are at the “[John Doe] MEMORIAL Basketball Tournament.” And there’s a big picture of this kid, who obviously is no longer with us. *sigh* As my husband continues to make the head of the PTA feel like shit for charging so much, I pull his arm. “Pay her and let’s go,” I say. But he’s on his high horse. “It’s ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath. “Highway robbery.”

I point to the sign. “A kid died and you’re arguing over a couple of bucks,” I tell him, my voice barely above a whisper. “Stop being so cheap and pay the goddamn four dollars.”

Yeah, so my husband is a cheap bastard that hates giving money to charity for kids who died. Don’t even get me started on the fact that we could have purchased a “weekend pass” for this tournament and saved another $4.