Tuesday, May 11, 2010

The Remains of the Day

Lately, life has been busier than usual. Spring soccer started for Sutt, B has been traveling for work and trying to wrap up the end of his semester at school, and Bellamy wants to become legally emancipated and purchase her own home so that she can leave her Barbie Diamond Castle in the middle of the living room indefinitely without losing computer privileges. There hasn't been much time for blogging, and what little time I have had I seem to spend lost in my own thoughts. Therefore, to play catch-up, I present you with a list:

A PARTIAL LIST OF SOME OF THE REALLY AWESOME THINGS THAT HAVE CONSPIRED IN MY BLOG ABSENCE, BECAUSE I KNOW YOU ARE ALL REALLY DYING TO KNOW BUT ARE SCARED TO ASK BECAUSE I AM A TERRIFYING, YET VASTLY INTRIGUING, PRESENCE WHO TENDS TO SCARE OTHERS AWAY WITH HER AMAZING SHARP WIT AND SARCASM, PARTICULARLY THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE OF THE HALF-WITTED VARIETY (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, AND YES, I AM TALKING TO YOU AS YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON I ACTUALLY REFER TO AS A HALF-WIT)

1. Angelic Belly~ One evening, while brushing Belly's hair before bed, she asked me, "Mommy, why do they talk about GOD so much at church? It's all God this and God that ALL THE TIME." Despite being noticeably absent from church myself most of the time, I still felt fairly confident that I could answer this one appropriately and knowledgeably for my six-year-old. So, stroking her soft little brown curls I said gently, "Dude. Church is God's freakin' house. Methodists are ALL ABOUT GOD, that's what they talk about. It's SUPPOSED to be "God this" and "God that," because CHRISTIANS DIG GOD." After a moment of contemplation, Belly sighed deeply before saying, "Well, I wish they'd knock it off for a while with the God talk and just talk about angels. I LIKE ANGELS." I'm still awaiting the lightning strike that will take us both to the angels.

2. Noticing that Sutt had been quiet for approximately two and a half minutes one day (which is two and a half minutes longer than normal), I wandered through the house looking for him. I finally found him in the kids' bathroom. Naked (except for a pair of black dress socks, but that's really irrelevant to the story) and sitting on the floor, legs akimbo, getting up close and personal with his junk. Uncertain as to whether I was going to interrupt some monumental Freudian moment in his life, I hesitated to question him, before my curiosity got the best of me. So I said, "Hey, Sutt. Whatcha doin' there, buddy?" Unfazed by my presence, he continued his examination, saying, "Why don't I have any HAIRS down here? Daddy has HAIRS on HIS boy parts." Fighting the urge to make something up (it's because you don't put your laundry in the hamper! it's because you won't eat zucchini!), I gave him a brief but apparently satisfactory lesson in adolescent development. He is currently at least temporarily appeased with his lack of pubic hair.

3. On a particularly lovely spring afternoon a week or so ago, I needed to run to the library and pick up a book that was being held for me. Because I felt as if I had been neglecting my poor somewhat geriatric Yorkie, Mad Madame Mimipants, that day, I offered to let her ride along with me, a huge treat in Yorkieland. En route, she hung her head out the window, let her ears blow back, and all was right with her world for the whole three-minute ride. Arriving at the library, I told her to stay put, made sure the windows were rolled down halfway, and dashed into the library. I was gone for three minutes. No exaggeration. Three fucking minutes. When I got back, I pulled open my door only to discover that my seat was full of dog shit, and Mimi was nowhere to be found. Taking a quick moment for a creative swearing tirade, I looked the car over and found Mimi cowering in the very back of the Xterra. I scavenged up some dried up baby wipes, cleaned up the mess, and took the car home to scrub the upholstery. Now, Mimi had just gone outside. But Mimi, she is a crafty one. She is not the sharpest tool in the shed (you may remember mention from a former blog about how it took her two years to learn how to sit), but she knows revenge like the back of her paw. And that bathroom break on the driver's seat, that was all revenge. Mimi does not like being left in the car.

4. I got my nostril pierced by a man named Bones who told me he was going to make it hurt, because "if it doesn't hurt, it doesn't count." Yeah, okay. I'll agree with that.

5. Yesterday, while waiting on Belly's bus to bring her home after school, I wandered up to my neighbor's house. Betty, my neighbor, is a curvaceous black woman with an attitude the size of Texas. I love her. For some reason, however, Betty was in a mood, and kept trying to wrestle me. (Yes, you heard me right. WRESTLE.) I was having none of this, however, as I do not wrestle other women, unless we are liquored up and in a kiddie pool filled with Jell-O. Politely inching away from Betty, I started making my way down the sidewalk back to my house. One minute I'm walking, the next minute, I'm flying through the air in a crumpled wad, then rolling down a hill towards the pond (which is, coincidentally, known for its poisonous snake population). Alas, it wasn't Betty pile-driving me. It was Chloe, the special needs kid next door, fresh from the handicapped bus who had mounted her bicycle and decided to fucking mow me over in an attempt to get to me as quickly as possible so she could get a hug (and perhaps, a Popsicle). I have a bruise on my leg you would not believe.

And THAT, my friends, is pretty much what you've missed as of late. I'll try to stay more on top of things in the future.

No comments: