Pajama shelf bra: Bib for dropped late night popcorn.
The very best time to realize that the children used all the conditioner and refilled the empty bottle with water is when you are still blinking from rinsing shampoo out of your eye. Then, you get to listen to the very limited hot water pointlessly pouring down the shower drain while sit on the bathroom floor naked, shivering and dripping water as you search under the sink for a leftover hotel conditioner.
Well, I told myself I could play on the computer while the breakfast dishes were drying on the counter and the test tubes in the chemistry themed bathroom are empty, so I went to the online shopping place with free shipping to order bath salts to refill the tubes because, the children like playing mad scientist, but then it seemed like a bad idea to let the children play with bath salts, so I tried to find powdered bubble bath, but all I could find was liquid bubble bath, which doesn’t make sense unless they need another product to fill with corn syrup, so then I clicked over to Pinterest to find a recipe for powdered bubble bath and I got distracted by the holiday crafts because I really need to figure out our Halloween costumes and the pose for our Christmas Card picture, but why are there so many jar projects there and OMG that looks so delicious that I should pin it for later even though I never revisited any of the crockpot recipes that I bookmarked on my old computer and I don’t understand the Pinterest crafts with food that aren’t going to be eaten but that’s not as bad as all the crafts that take a million hours to make and are too delicate to clean and then I wondered if I could find a non-toxic cleaner to put in the test tubes so that mad scientist sessions leave the sink and tub clean instead of caked with layers of toothpaste and conditioner, but then the dogs freaked out about the meter reader and after I calmed them down I started another load of laundry and that’s when the children came home and they needed help with their homework and I had to track down supplies for a school project and then I realized that I hadn’t eaten and it was making me spacey, but it was too close to dinner to eat anything, so I sat down to read Twitter and then you walked in the front door.
Hump Day. Wednesdays are the middle of the work/school week. It’s the day that sends us sliding down the hill toward the weekend. Wednesday is a metaphorical bump in the road. Sometimes, Wednesday is less of a playground equipment ladder to climb and more of an obstacle course.
It began with a ringing phone, except that it was a melody instead of a ring, but everyone already knows that part of the story. The caller ID on the phone shined brightly. “Nurse Mary”
Sweet, wonderful Nurse Mary spoke in her soothing voice as she explained the thirty minute nosebleed, broken glasses, and kickball incident. It was clear that there was no immediate danger, but a need for a precautious checkup and an afternoon of cartoons on the couch. Instead of scooping up the injured 9-y-o, I asked if TCAPs were finished for the day. I hate myself for being prepared to force a child in need of snuggles to sit with a scan sheet for another hour, but that is where we are with standardized testing right now. Pass TCAPs or fail a grade is a reality.
Luckily, the TCAP testing was completed for the day and an unusually quick visit to the pede eliminated any worries about Voldemort nose syndrome. The expensive, specialized glasses for “weak eyes” absorbed most of the
kick faceball’s impact. Except for a week or so of very odd bruising, Amy is going to be fine.
The cat will not be fine. The cat is no more. She has ceased to be. She has shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.
Aspie Caveman was born a cat whisperer. Feral cats purr in his lap. House-cats are magnetically attracted to him. All cats absorb the excess stimulation that make Aspie Caveman’s senses sting and burn. While his affection for animals is not limited to cats, cats are the peak of the Aspie Caveman hierarchy.
Aspie Caveman sat and pet the cat as she breathed her last breath.
So, we had a cat funeral. There was brush to clear and dirt to dig. Tired and dirty, we stood in the rain and created closure. A kazoo hummed taps and we stared at the cardboard box in the hole.
Doug: “Evan, do you want to say something?”
Evan: “Yes. She’s gonna come back as a zombie cat.”
During one of my twice daily round-trips to Tommy’s school last week, the normal light-speed of the Parkway was interrupted by a car that belonged on back roads with the other people who drive terrible. After cutting me off and causing another car so much fear that they blasted their horn, the very bad driver proceeded to travel 20 miles slower than every other car on the road. Because of one car, the traffic on the Parkway went from smooth to more congested than my father’s pre-CABG arteries. Since we were going to the same destination, I was trapped behind the inexplicably awful driver. She came to a complete stop while turning to enter the campus. Traffic in both directions on the two lane road came to a screeching halt. I guess she was unhappy with the turn, because she suddenly backed up, oblivious to the the cars in her path.
“Tommy, I think she’s going to hit us.”
“I know her. She’s in my class.”
“Is she on drugs?”
“No. She’s always bossing people around and ignores people who try to talk to her.”
“Maybe she has Aspergers. It would explain her driving technique.”
“No Aspergers. Just an a**.”
This gets filed under “first use of colorful metaphors in front of mom” as well as “properly executed joke.” Although neither is included in traditional memory books, both are significant.
There’s a common rule that you can use humor when it’s your life, but not when it’s someone else’s life. For example, I am allowed to laugh at the absurd moments that Autism creates in our home. As my family member on the spectrum matures, I relax and appreciate the moments that would have caused me stress and anxiety years earlier. I can’t joke about life in a busy city, but the people who live in DC certainly can and do laugh about it. A DC resident created the following two games for visitors and I am just recording them as a memory nudge for the future me.
The first game is ‘Diplomat or Crazy Person?’ The rules are obvious. Guess the reason for odd behaviors. Car parked on the sidewalk? Probably a crazy person. Shouting on an elevator? Diplomat. I’m sure the game could be altered to work in TN. The second game is ‘Dress like a Street Person’. Like the first game, this sounds offensive, but is actually just claiming various pieces of clothing abandoned on the street until you have a complete outfit. On the way home from one lunch in DC, I claimed a sock, jeans and a flip-flop. If your streets don’t have mysterious clothing items scattered about, you can play this game at any lost and found in your city. For example, it’s the third day of the month and the elementary school’s lost and found already has shoes, shirts, coats and a pair of pants.
Because of the timing of our visit, I made my own game. It can be played anywhere. It’s called, ‘Costume or Clothing?’ It’s more difficult when Halloween falls on a weekend and people dress up for several days. Is he a hipster or is that a costume? Is she wearing her work clothes or is she just dressed up like a professional escort? One can only guess.
The disposal makes a distinctive sound when there’s something stuck inside, but the sounds aren’t distinctive enough to identify the obstruction. It could be a harmless sippy cup valve. It could be a sharp bone fragment. It could be a brown recluse. Regardless of what is in there, the only way to retrieve it is to stick your hand in past your wrist and feel around in the darkness.
I checked the switch to make sure there was no chance of the horror movie gears grinding my fingers to nubs. I held my breath and reached down until I felt metal. I began fumbling around the blades to find the source of the problem and then . . . I felt something. It was hard and sharp, but flexible. I gritted my teeth and picked up what I was sure would be a bug. As soon as my eyes made contact with it, I knew I would reflexively fling it far, far away. It still had to come out of the disposal. With every muscle in my body tensed so tight I could have touched the ceiling if anyone had walked in and startled me, I pulled out my hand. Staring anxiously, my fingers emerged and I saw black legs and they were attached to a black body and as I heard my scream escaping, I saw the plastic ring attached to the toy spider. I stopped screaming.
My heart racing, I double checked to confirm that I was holding a spider ring. Then, I looked around to see if anyone had come to rescue the screaming woman. The sounds of children playing in the next room reassured me that my stupidity had gone unnoticed. I finally exhaled. The offending ring was punished for its’ crime with banishment to the trash. I paused, picked it up again and put it in the plastic recycling. I walked to the couch to calm myself. Evan didn’t even look up from his Lego Batman game. “Why did you scream mom?”
“Hey Mister, this is Doctor Bartlett here in high school parish for your information we will hold of interest meetings regarding torn Roman opportunities for rising juniors and seniors on Thursday February with at 6 PM. The library dole Roman is your Charles, Jan Stern College credit and hustle credit is a high school students with a partnership between beer and high school info, City, State, rustic community colleges at 3 point out Tennessee lottery GPA just wanna call vacations to take into one on the course and review your Student Registration Information this week. Please consider the don’t know option in plan to attend the meeting to game more information. Thank you. Have a Great Day.”
I like the Hustle credit and beer partnerships for high school students. Surely disco and alcohol will raise their ACT scores. If not, maybe we’ll get a voicemail about roller skates and suspenders.
Doug: “There’s an ambulance at the retirement home.”
Me: “Seniors do like to visit Mexico.”
Doug: “Must be swine flu.”
T: “Got some swine flu K?”
Doug: “My head is splitting.”
Me: “Swine flu. Shouldn’t have gone to Market Square Friday night.”
Amy: “What’s swine?”
Amy: “Why are the pigs sick?”
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