a bit Freudian

I had the strangest dream last night that Little Scotty was 3 years old again and I was taking him grocery shopping. He was the cutest baby version of Little Scotty, screaming with glee when I offered him some Jello and chasing me down the supermarket aisle with a stalk of celery. [He went through a sword phase, which I somehow reinterpreted in my dream as a stalk of celery.]

What do I get from this dream? My ridiculous baby phase is definitely not over.

the rules

We've been working hard in our house to teach Husband the rules of Taking Care of Others Before Yourself. As I was growing up, we were never allowed to do anything for ourselves without asking if everyone else in the room would like the same thing. For example, if I wanted a chocolate bar from the pantry, I would have to first ask, "Brother Robby, Little Scotty, would either of you like a chocolate bar?" [to which the answer was always yes] and THEN I could proceed to procure myself some chocolate. This rule mostly applied to food and beverage. When making oneself a drink, one should ask if anyone else in the house would like a drink. When taking one's plate from the table to the sink, all other plates must be given the opportunity to join.

Here was another example of rules that Husband didn't QUITE understand when we got married. I'd ask him if I could make him a sandwich and he'd say no. NO? REALLY? No one ever says no to a sandwich. But then, seconds later, Husband would get up to make himself and drink and HE WOULDN'T ASK ME IF I WANTED ONE!? This seriously blew my mind. I think I assumed that Taking Care of Others Before Yourself was in that mystical parenting handbook that they send you home from the hospital with. I thought everyone knew the rules.

When Husband would point out to me that I already had a drink, so why did he need to offer to make me one?, I realized that it was a simple case of misunderstanding. TCoOBY has NOTHING to do with what one already has-- its the GESTURE that counts. Its acknowledging that you would be willing to take care of it if the need arose.

[Seriously, aren't you glad you are not married to me?]

So this afternoon, we had a small discussion on the rules of this particular game. It started when Husband thought he caught me disregarding the system by clearing my own plate and not asking for his [in my defense, he was still eating when I stood up].

"You cleared your plate and didn't ask if you could take mine."

"Well, you made yourself a drink and didn't ask me if I wanted one!" [Mature, I know. I never said I understand important things like communication.]

"A plate of food has greater value than a cup of soda."

"No, it doesn't. Offering someone a beverage has more weight than clearing someone's plate after they've already eaten."

"Not true."

"Babe, you don't know the rules. I'm teaching you the rules."

"I AM the rules."

technological let down

The iPhone and I are fighting.

We're at the coffee house and a hilarious exchange occurs. I had yet to post on the blog today, [BECAUSE I HAD TO READ 100 PAGES OF CHAUCER IN MIDDLE ENGLISH. MIDDLE ENGLISH.] so I was pretty excited about the gem that had fallen into my lap unexpectedly.

The thought strikes me: finally, the iPhone will be good for something. I can use the iPhone to post on the blog RIGHT NOW! How exciting! No waiting until I get back to my laptop. It will be like real-time reporting. I was already composing the post in my head. "Guess what? This story I'm about to tell you? It just happened, like 5 minutes ago. And you already get to hear about it! Hooray for the marvels of modern technology!"

So Husband grants me use of the iPhone so I can post. I notice immediately that my fingers are too fat for its little keyboard. See how society constructs an unattainable standard of body image? ONLY SKINNY-FINGERED PEOPLE CAN USE THE iPHONE. WHAT WOULD TYRA BANKS SAY ABOUT THAT?!

Then, as I'm attempting to log into the blog server, the iPhone craps out and defaults back to its home screen. I think that is the Apple equivalent of the middle finger.

Apple products officially hate me. Its not enough that Apple takes Husband away from me into the abyss of i-features. To add insult to injury, Apple discriminates against fat fingers and whiny bloggers.

Happy Dia Del Birth, Pappy!

Scene: Taco Bueno in Denton, TX

Brother Robby: So, dad, in your illustrious years on this earth, what has been your most meaningful day? Your greatest memory?

Me: Perhaps when you held your first child, nay, your only daughter, in your arms for the first time?

Brother Robby: Or the birth of your eldest son?

Little Scotty: Or the founding of Team Massive? [Team Massive is the exclusive, members-only society of muscular men. See Little Scotty to apply.]

Me: Or the day you walked your ONLY DAUGHTER down the aisle? Gave her away? Your ONLY DAUGHTER? The only time you will get to do that?

Motha!: It seems like dad isn't really getting a chance to get a word in here, guys.

The Boss: I'm having a hard time narrowing it down to just one.

Me: Which is why I'm giving you options! Birth of first child........? Walking your only daughter down the aisle.....?

Husband: It must have been the day I came into your life.

The Boss: You? Maybe your iPhone.

Da Boss

This weekend is Birthday Weekend de Boss.

[Little Scotty likes to use descriptors en Espanol. He taught me that noun de adjective/descriptive noun is a much cooler way to name something. Like, the Hobbit Hole, for example. Much cooler to say Hobbit Hole de Sister than 'my sister's apartment.']

Birthday Weekend de Boss will be a festivus previously unknown to mankind. They'll be writing poetry proclaiming its glory for centuries to come. I'm imagining fireworks and a high school band.

Just wanted to let you know what was going on, if and when you feel the shift in the cosmos that is bound to occur.

the most pathetic end to a phone conversation ever and you should know we were laughing the entire time

"Ok, I'm going to go to Panera and grade papers, so I'll talk to you later."

"Ok, bye."

"Ummmmm...... I LOVE YOU."

"You, too."

"Babe, you never say 'I love you' when we hang up anymore."

"Yes, I do."

"Well, not all the time."

"Sorry."

"Ok, well, I'll talk to you later."

"Ok. Bye."

"BABE. THAT WAS A TEST! YOU DIDN'T SAY IT AGAIN!"

"What?"

"I was testing you and you still didn't say it."

"You were what? I'm a man. You have to hit me over the head with it."

"Ok, fine. THIS IS A TEST. I'll talk to you later........"

"Ok. I LOVE YOU. Bye."

"Good job."

"Thanks."

"Now we're hanging up for real. Call me when you're coming home from work."

"Ok. Bye."

"BABE!"

"Kidding. Love you."

"You, too."

remove foot from mouth

The Boss was visiting on Thursday, and he and Brother Robby came over to eat cake with Husband and I. Anytime either The Boss or Motha! comes to visit, the other one gets a little jealous of the face time with the kids. We don't get to all be together nearly enough, and any time spent with each other is highly coveted. Motha! is always telling me about how she brags to The Boss whenever she sees us, and The Boss likes to whine about how he is always left out of the loop.

So we're all hanging out, eating cake, and Motha! calls. I immediately know that we're all in trouble. We had been hanging out for a good 15 minutes without calling Motha! to let her in on the fun. This is just not done. Motha! must be included. After telling Motha! all our favorite parts of the past 15 minutes, The Boss promised to call back. Brother Robby and I were laughing about how The Boss would be able to hold this over her head for at least a week.

Only, Husband doesn't quite understand how this whole system works. He couldn't figure out why we were saying Motha! would be so "upset."

"I mean, I really think you (The Boss) have a lot more to complain about than she does. You're just here for this one night. When she comes, she stays for DAYS."

Oops.

look what Husband made!

Not only is it a double fudge cake, but it has CHEESCAKE BITES inside.


And I would just like to rub it in by telling you that he had a piece cut and on the plate for me when I came home from class Wednesday night.

a quote for The Boss

While revising my art paper, I listened to the Republican debate, which Husband had on in the background. This little zinger from Mitt Romney had to be posted to the blog immediately, just for the The Boss.

"You know, I've gotten to know these guys over these debates. This is, what? Our 6th? 7th? But its a bit like Law & Order, isn't it Senator? There's a huge cast, it goes on forever, and Fred Thompson shows up at the end."

And somewhere, a young Romney staffer just got a raise.

amended

Brother Robby pointed out something quite revealing regarding the previous post.

"What you did leave out, however, is that The Boss is exempt from any and all Favorite Part conversations, except of course to mock and cause discord in any and all Favorite Part Dialouge."

Its true. The Boss is the one person who can manipulate the rules of Favorite Part. Maybe that's where Husband gets his disobedient ways?

Favorite Part

In my family, we have a game. Its called Favorite Part.

All our lives, Motha! would end any family event or get together by asking all of us, "what was your favorite part?" When we came home from a trip, we knew to prepare our Favorite Parts. When we participated in an activity at school, we quickly determined a Favorite Part. Family vacation? Favorite Part increased to a daily activity. Sometimes more than once a day. We'd get back from a meal or even a movie, and there would be the question. "What was your favorite part?" was the anthem of my adolescence.

When I married Husband, we quickly indoctrinated him into the rules of Favorite Part. When we were dating and would go home for a weekend, he'd have to tell his Favorite Part by Sunday afternoon. It was like training camp. I had to teach Husband that part of Favorite Part is that you always reciprocate the question. When someone asks you your Favorite Part, you must also ask for theirs. Sometimes Husband forgets this precept and I am forced to sit in silence until he remembers. He seems to love torturing me by "forgetting" how Favorite Part works.

Throughout our marriage, Husband and I have always laughingly asked one another for our Favorite Part, and it always leads to a good discussion of whatever we've just finished doing. [That Motha! knows her stuff.] Last night on the way home from the airport, I couldn't wait to hear his take on our trip to New York.

"So babe, what was your favorite part?"

"Ummmm.... seeing Kim and Mike."

"That cannot be a favorite part. Its not a specific moment or activity. You know the rules of Favorite Part. You must specify a particular moment or event for your favorite part. For example, you could say that playing Wii with Kim was your favorite part. Do you see the difference?"

"There is no difference. While playing Wii with Kim, I was seeing Kim. Its the same thing. You're arguing semantics."

"There IS a difference. Seeing Kim and Mike is not a part. We were doing that the whole time. It was the very purpose of our trip. The purpose of a trip cannot be a favorite part."

"You can't tell me my favorite part. You can't fit my favorite part into your mold."

"Those are the rules of Favorite Part. I didn't make them. I just enforce them."

traveling to new york, by the numbers

1.5
number of hours our flight out of Oklahoma City was delayed [it was supposed to leave at 6:30 am, BY THE WAY]

4
number of hours we had already been awake by the time our flight left Oklahoma City [AT 8:00 AM]

10
total number of hours spent traveling after being re-routed from Memphis to Detroit and finally into Newark

5
number of states we saw in one day [Oklahoma, Tennessee, Michigan, New Jersey, New York]

0
number of calories consumed between 4:00 am and 5:30 pm [no time for eating when you are running to catch planes]

1
number of bags lost by airline, who decided to send my bag from OKC to Memphis to Detroit to Newark

14
number of hours after arriving in Newark that my bag reached me

1
number of waterbottles purchased immediately after arriving in Newark, dehydrated and nauseated

2
number of times I had to ask Mike to stop the car on the way home [their new car is pretty and didn't need any "decoration" from me]

at least 5
number of times I "decorated" Mike's parents' driveway as we were pulling up to the house

[Yeah, Thursday was a bit rough for me. That was definitely the single worst flying experience of my life. Luckily, today was much better than yesterday. Today, we went to Manhattan! Yay! It was Husband's first time, and I made him take all the obligatory New York pictures, which he LOVED, of course!]

she gets me

I've been a little stressed the past few days. I suddenly have a ton of stuff on my plate. I'm excited about everything that I'm dealing with, but its becoming a bit..... burdensome.

My friend, Liz, stopped by my office today for the usual small talk before she had to teach. I think she could tell I was on my way to losing it.

"Are you ok?"

"Well, yeah. I just have a lot to do and I'm leaving in the morning and won't be back until Sunday night and I don't know when I'm going to get all this reading done and..." [I'll just stop there and spare you the rest of the drama]

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, its ok. I'll just sit here and obsess. You know me. I obsess."

"Well, at least you have a hobby."

you can't make this stuff up

I often babysit for my friend, Ellen. Her three-year-old son, Ben, is the most hilarious kid. Last week, I watched Ben while Ellen and her husband went for an ultrasound. While there, they found out that they are expecting a second baby boy. Hooray!

I asked Ellen this morning if Ben understands the whole "new baby" thing. She said that he doesn't talk much about it, but every once in a while he will say "baby" or "brother."

"However," she said, "he did have an answer when we asked him what we should call his new brother."

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"Dot org."

the only appropriate thing to write about on this day

Welcome, October! Its good to see you. I wish you were bringing a little more cold weather [85 degrees?! in October?!], but all in all its nice to have you back.

You should know, October, that you belong exclusively to The Boss. You, October, are The Boss's* birthday month.

[Yes, you read that correctly. Others get a birthday weekend. Some only get a birthday. The Boss gets a birthday month. The world is as it should be.]

[Because, let's face it, when you pay for a wedding, you deserve a daily foot massage.]

In fact, The Boss is the original owner of birthday privileges. He taught us what it means to be the birthday boy. During the month of October, he does not go a second without a Diet Dr. Pepper in his hand. He is the prince of October. While it may seem like toil to cater to someone's every whim during their birthday month, the efforts of The Boss in teaching us all about the birthday month allowed the rest of us to act like royalty in our own respective birthday months. See? He's just making sure he teaches us those valuable life lessons. For one month out of every year, I got to boss around my brothers and not feel bad about it. And I am forever thankful for that.

So, pull up a chair, October. It's going to be a great month, a celebration of The Boss.

Happy Birthday month, Dad!


*Lest anyone try to argue with me over the dilemma of Boss' versus Boss's, I LOOKED IT UP. I am right. Deal.