Zeb shoveled our friend’s snowy sidewalk when he picked our boys up from her house. The next day at school she ran up to me all gooshy like, “Oh my God, is he always that amazing?!?” I found myself at a crossroads. Do I let her believe that he is Mr. Perfect? Do I allow her the dream that such a gallant and chivalrous man really exists? Or do I tell her about last night’s conversation?
Every blanket in the house has been enlisted into the building of the pillow fort except my furry throw. I call it Wubby. It started as me being funny/obnoxious/stupid but the name stuck. Zeb claims he overheats so we have only the thinnest spread on the bed. I use Wubby to stave off frostbite.
I’ve gotten quite attached because it’s like sleeping with a giant, squishy, furry stuffed animal only it isn’t a stuffed animal because I’m an adult and that would be weird. I brought it downstairs to watch a movie (since there aren’t any blankets anywhere) and left it there when I staggered up to bed. I realized that there was no way I was going to make it without some extra coverage.
Me: Babe. I left Wubby downstairs.
Me: It’s cold. I might freeze to death without it.
Zeb: I suppose this means you want me to get it for you.
Me: That would be great, thanks!
Zeb: But I’m in bed already…
Me: Well so am I.
Zeb: Why don’t you go get it if you want it so bad?
Me: My foot hurts!
Zeb: My shoulder hurts!
Me: OH. LIKE YOU WALK ON YOUR SHOULDERS! GET THE DAMN BLANKET!!!
See what I have to deal with?
Lily in Canada wrote a post on the eternal What’s Next question. Her options are writing a book, getting a job or getting another degree so she can learn new things get to do a little back-to-school shopping. She doesn’t want to be an astronaut because she hates orange jumpsuits and doesn’t want to have a baby because she doesn’t want to be up at 3am. I mulled this over as I drifted off to sleep.
Not that I am making a case for having a baby as something to do, but here it is:
1) Talk about fodder for a book. I love her blog and she got tons of grist for the mill with her last run-in with TSA in Chicago. Imagine what motherhood would do for her? That is, if the sleep deprivation doesn’t get her first.
2) It would be like getting a job, only with shitty pay and even shittier hours.
3) She would learn all kinds of new things like: All About Early Childhood Infectious Illnesses and Abbreviated Sleep Cycles.
4) She would definitely need a new wardrobe.
5) She would be under no obligation to wear orange jumpsuit. Unless she changed her mind about orange.
But let me mention that not having kids is no guarantee against 3am wakings. For instance, last night Frank just had to drink water from the tap. He pranced on my boobs with his pointy little feet until I kicked Zeb hard enough to wake him up. It’s his stupid cat. He can sit on the can and wait for Frank to get over being freaked out by the water and then lap at it for ten minutes.
Not that I’m counting on my kids to take care of me when I get old (or even like me for that matter) but there is not a chance in hell that Frank will ever give back. It makes sense to wake up for another human being, but a cat?
Time to cut the crap.
The record purge continues. Today I shoved the dining room furniture into the corner and set up a triage room. It has to be done. This means I won’t be having any formal dinner parties anytime soon, but those make me tired anyway. Plus, my friends are used to standing around the center island for an informal meal.
Detangler that Mari gave me as a baby shower gift for Scrotus, over 8 years old now. GONE. A cute dress with a hole in it. GONE. A headlamp that eats batteries. GONE.
Cute Snoopy earring tree. I’m going to check eBay, if not, I’m DONATING.
A filthy zippered plastic bag and a decrepit cooler. GONE.
A hypno thing Cato made out of a salad spinner top. It’s been sitting on the radiator for months now. GONE.
More garden markers I made in a beginning class. They are ugly. GONE.
Featured image courtesy of iwanttodrawacatforyou.com