Hi, how was your weekend?
Mine was...let me think of how to describe it...okay, you know how you walk into a club and the music is blaring and you can’t even THINK because of the noise and you have to SHOUT in order to be heard?
That basically sums up my weekend.
For starters, our doorbell rang at 10:30. Who comes over at 10:30 on a Saturday? I’m not ready to converse with anyone until after noon.
I opened the door and there stood Tommy’s annoying friend Blake. That kid has been known to show up at 9 so I suppose I should be grateful that he waited until 10:30.
“Tommy can’t play until after he’s had his lunch,” I said briskly and started to shut the door.
I swear I wasn’t being rude. You HAVE to close the door on this kid or else he keeps talking to you. I once spent ten minutes answering his questions about dirt.
“WAIT!” he shrieked at me, holding his hands out.
I paused and gave a sigh. “What is it?”
Blake dug into his pocket and pulled this out:
My heart stopped briefly.
Because, as you can see, that toy is not appropriate for kids. I mean, I don’t think they were able to read what it said. But when you push the button the toy shouts, “Bullshit alert! Bullshit alert!” I like to push it when Tom is spouting on about the fact that he’s going to lose ten pounds and start working out again.
“My Mom said I had to return this. I’m in trouble for taking it home,” Blake explained.
I opened the screen door and took the offensive toy from him.
“Where...did you find this?” I said weakly.
Oh no. I was starting to wonder what his parents must think of me. They probably figured I was some psycho who boiled cats and allowed my children to play with knives or something. I was just praying that they weren’t the uptight parents who flip out if their kid so much as hears the word crud.
I’m not kidding. There are parents who freak out over the word crud.
I was at Wal-Mart once and I muttered the word crud because I accidentally dropped an orange as I was putting some in a plastic bag. I’m uncoordinated so I spill things on a daily basis.
Anyhow, this woman was beside me with her little boy and the boy gasped and went, “Mommy! She said a bad word!”
Then the mother shot me a dirty look, looked me squarely in the eye and said something like, “Yes she did, Cosmo.”
Okay, first of all, no I did NOT. If I wanted to say a bad word I would have said, “Fu*king sh*t oranges!” But I didn’t. I said crud. And also, who names their kid Cosmo?
“I found the toy in the garage,” Blake spoke up, interrupting my panicked thoughts.
I remembered that Tom had put a bunch of his stuff on the garage shelves before he left on his TDY. I imagine Blake and Tommy were playing in the garage and had come across the toy. Then one of them had pushed the button and had squealed with glee because they had found something that said a bad word.
Oh my gosh. I hope they didn’t push the button for the entire neighborhood to hear. I can picture them gathering all the children up and whispering that what everyone was about to hear was FASCINATING.
Maybe that’s why the chick who lives across the street always looks like she has a sock wedged up her butt when she’s around me?
“Thank you for returning it,” I said to Blake. “This toy isn’t really appropriate for kids.”
Blake nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.” Then he did a double take as though seeing me for the first time. Maybe he did. Blake has been known to converse with your shoulder rather than your face. I’m used to this because Tommy can do the same thing. “What’s wrong with your hair?” Blake wondered, screwing up his nose with distain.
Oh. See, I had just washed it. And after I wash my hair it looks...well, I’m not going to lie, it doesn’t look good. It becomes extra frizzy for awhile and sort of fans out all over the place.
“I just washed it. So it looks silly right now,” I told Blake. “Well,” I continued, thinking that I had better go before Blake started up with all his questions, “I better go. Thank you again.”
I went to shut the door and Blake was all, “You have funny looking hair.”
“You have a funny looking face,” I replied.
I’m kidding. I didn’t say that. Oh, I wanted to, because I’m sorry, it’s a little true. He sort of has this sunken in look with beady eyes and reminds me of an old man. Maybe he’s Benjamin Button.
Anyhow, I managed to close the door and then I headed for the phone and dialed Blake’s number to apologize for the toy.
I just didn’t want his parents to think that I walked around the house screaming profanities. That only happens when I stub my toe you see.
Thankfully Blake’s Mom was understanding. She was more upset that Blake had taken the toy home and didn’t want me to think that her kid was a future Winona Ryder. (Random thought: Winona totally rocks in the movie Beetlejuice. I forgive her for stealing.)
Needless to say, the toy is now on the very top shelf in my kitchen.
I thought that would be the only drama I would face. But no. Tommy decided that Saturday was his day to be EXTRA LOUD AND OBSTINATE.
I told him it was time to do a page of his homework. See, he gets new homework on Friday and it’s due on Thursday. I prefer him to get it done by Tuesday at the latest because I want to teach him that it’s not good to procrastinate.
Because fine, I admit it, I’m a huge procrastinator. I did more projects than I care to remember the day before they were due even though I would vow to never do that again. But then there I’d be, hunched over the keyboard, scrambling to find all the information I could on Sigmund Freud.
“I don’t LIKE this homework,” Tommy fumed. “This homework is BAD!”
Then he started chewing on his pencil eraser.
“Stop chewing on your eraser,” I lectured.
“It’s my pencil,” he told me simply.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” I said firmly.
“Will you send me to my room?” he asked hopefully and took another bite out of his eraser.
While I was helping Tommy with his homework and trying to stop him from pooping out an entire eraser in the future, Natalie did this:
She has amazing strength for a two-year-old.
I don’t know if I should be impressed or terrified. I was a little bit of both. When I saw her up there my first instinct was to yelp and scream, "GET DOWN FROM THERE. YOU'LL CRACK YOUR HEAD OPEN!" But my second thought was all, "Oh my gosh, maybe she'll be in the Olympics one day." Because if she had the strength to pull herself up, then maybe she can leap and twirl on those frightening looking bars.
Natalie threw a gigantic fit when I made her get down. She threw this fit for about an hour.
While Natalie was screaming in the background, I was rushing around trying to get three things done at once and I totally forgot that I was refilling the water:
I only figured it out when I heard the dripping noises of the water against the sink. I thought Tommy was peeing on the floor and I shouted,
"We've been THROUGH this before Tommy. Urine belongs in the TOILET, not the floor!"
"It's not me! It's the water!" Tommy answered in an insulted voice.
The only good news I got over the weekend was that my Glamour Shots pictures had arrived.
This is my best friend Jennifer and I. If you're not aware, that's me on the right. Yes, I'm aware that my teeth are crooked. Do you want to know why? Because I didn't wear my retainer. I was a stupid teenager so this is my lesson for those of you who wear braces: WEAR YOUR RETAINER. I'll eventually get them fixed when I get over my dentist phobia.
This is the photo I ended up buying.
I also got this one. I wish I had prettier feet. My feet just aren't the tiny dainty kinds.
I also got this.
The rest are some of my proofs that Jennifer scanned for me. I wanted to buy more but Glamour Shots is overpriced.
Thank goodness I shaved.
I wanted this one but it got too expensive. I really can't do the sexy look. The photographer was all, "Give me a sexy look," and I was all, "Come again?" and kept wanting to laugh. Then I'd try to do a sexy one and she'd be all, "You're laughing!" and I'd be all, "I am? I thought I was being sexy!"