(Birthday) Weekend Update

Friends, we made it.

We've finally landed in our first big city (a top-ten market!) where we will spend the next five years while I attempt to procure yet another tiny piece of paper. The move itself was insane, involving a 6:00 am departure, a nervous cat, and the worst customer service experience ever with a certain cable company that I shall not name on the internet because I don't want to be sued. However, you cannot truly appreciate the entire moving experience without an understanding of the Birthday Week and its role in these past few days.

Ok, in my family a considerable amount of hoopla goes into anyone's birthday. A few years ago, I described the NFL game road trip that we surprised The Boss with on his birthday. In the spirit of The Boss, who likes to assert that he has more of a Birthday Month or Birthday Quarter than merely one day, Husband has slowly broadened the scope of his birthday over the past few years. You may recall his Birthday Weekend a few years ago. Well, this year, he decided that he really was entitled to a Birthday Week. The catch, however, was that his Birthday Week happened to fall on the week in which we moved. Out of state. As in, from one state into another state.

As you can imagine, much ado was made about the injustice of this move and how it was ruining the Birthday Week. Poor Husband had to pack boxes DURING HIS BIRTHDAY WEEK and go through his clothes to set some aside for Goodwill ON HIS BIRTHDAY. In fact, Husband declined his traditional birthday breakfast in bed because he had to go to work early so he could come home early to pack the Uhaul.... DURING HIS BIRTHDAY WEEK.

Once we got here, to the state where they make you put tags on the back and front of your car (seriously?!), Husband decided he'd had enough: "I'm not going to unpack a single thing. Its my Birthday Week. I'm going to sit on the..... on the floor...... and eat cake." Because, you see, Husband decided he wanted to sell all of our furniture before we moved, and I had not yet procured a couch for him to sit upon DURING HIS BIRTHDAY WEEK.

We'd heard the lore about Ikea (and we now live in a city that has one), so off we trudged to find some furniture. We had previously visited about 7 furniture stores in the area and found them all to be way out of our price range, so you can imagine how excited I was about the prospect of more shopping. But Husband wanted a couch FOR HIS BIRTHDAY, so off we went.

People, Ikea is a land of unicorns and butterflies and I would live there if they would let me bring my books.

After much debate, which included Motha! and I dragging various pieces of furniture across the store to see things together (I thought Husband might go wait in the car at one point), we finally decided on a couch and coffee table, and I found a bookshelf, which The Boss and Motha! were buying for me as a congratulatory "you survived your MA!" present.

Et voila!

Husband was quite content to sit on his couch and eat the cookies that Cass, M.D. (Brother Robby's sweet wife) baked him for his birthday. Later that night when everyone was gone, we were sitting there together, and Husband turns to me and says, "welcome home."

Pillows, a follow up

"Husband, I want my pillow back. You stole it, and I want it back."

"You gave it to me."

"No, I didn't give it to you. YOU STOLE IT. You KNEW my neck hurt when you tried to give me your pillow. That is MY pillow. MINE. Motha! bought it for me right before I left for college. She and I bought it. TOGETHER. So, not only are you stealing neck comfort from me, you are also stealing A MEMORY."

"You gave it to me."

"I DID NOT. I realized one night that my neck hurt, and that you had taken my pillow. I made you give the pillow back, but you only stole it from me again. This happened again and again, the stealing and the reclaiming and the complaining and the stealing and the whining, and despite my best efforts to annoy you into leaving me alone, YOU KEPT STEALING MY PILLOW. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion, I just stopped making you give it back. I gave up. You wore me down to my last shred of dignity."

"Right. You gave it to me."

revealing a new crush

So, we're eating lunch with Motha! and Husband's dad, Mack. Motha! is telling us all about the American Idols Live Tour that she went to last weekend at a new venue in our hometown.

Mack: "So, is that new place getting a lot of good concerts?"

Motha!: "Yeah, the Eagles opened it, and then American Idols Live, and--"

Me: "Isn't the So You Think You Can Dance tour coming there?"

Motha!: "Yes, in October. And Carrie Underwood is coming next month!"

Me: "Oooooh! Tickets! Get tickets!"

Motha!: "I was thinking about it, actually."

Me: "If you get them, get me one! I want to go."

Husband: "Would these be, ummm, front row tickets? Right up close? Where we can see her?"

Motha!: "Why? Why are you so interested in going, HMMMM?"

Mack: "Those sound like some good seats."

Husband: "She's a good singer."

Motha!: "You can hear her JUST FINE from further back."

Me: "Ummm, you can hear her just fine ON THE RADIO."

bringing it back

scenes from a family dinner, in which the participants discuss the idiosyncrasies of acapella singing:

Me: We're definitely not short on the joy in our singing here. We "fly away" on a regular basis. Its nice, though, the joy.

The Boss: Yeah, at least its not the other extreme. [deadpans, straight-faced and monotone] Praise the Lord. Thank you, Lord.

Motha!: Please! Sometimes I can't keep myself from gettin' down. I just hope people around me don't make fun of the way I sing. I don't use the suggested notes. I pick my own notes.

Brother Robby: I've decided that you get to pick someone that you sound like to God. When you sing, He actually hears the other person. I picked John Mayer.

Husband: Hey, I do that, too!

Motha!: Yeah? Who are you?

Husband: [sheepishly] Justin Timberlake.

There are other seasonings, Monica.

I grew up in a family that ate garlic cloves like Lifesavers. My mom put garlic in everything. The smell of garlic is like my own personal happy place.

Apparently, not everyone loves it as much as I do. Greg reacts to garlic like a vampire. [Vampire? Doesn't garlic kill vampires? Did I make that up?] He'll walk into our apartment as I'm making dinner, which always involves sauteeing garlic, and turn right around and walk back out. He teases me about my tendency to put garlic in everything. Seriously. There is nothing that wouldn't be a little bit better with some garlic in it.

So we're make hamburgers on my new grill pan [thanks, Motha!], and I decide to make some homemade fries. Because I'm an overachiever. I got a recipe for homemade fries that you toss in olive oil, rosemary, red pepper flakes, and [you guessed it] garlic. THEY. WERE. AWESOME.

When Husband came home, he immediately tasted the fries. "They're good," he says. "What's in them?"

"Rosemary, red pepper flakes, and garlic."

"You couldn't go ONE meal without garlic."

"Don't worry, its in your burger, too."

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.

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.

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."

Happy Birthday, Motha!

Today is Motha!'s birthday. Happy Birthday, Motha! In your honor, E! Entertainment Television is playing the E! True Hollywood Story of your idol, Goldie Hawn. I also think the stars aligned this weekend, when I watched Overboard, your favorite Goldie film, on TBS.

In honor of Motha!'s birthday, I present the Top Ten Motha! Moments.

10. Back to school shopping and lunch at The Garden

9. Making chore lists at the beginning of every summer

8. Watching Regis and Kelly

7. "5.95"

6. Making the bed at every new place where any of us kids moved

5. "You don't own me! YOUNG AND FREE, YOUNG AND FREE, YOUNG AND FREE! You don't own me!"

4. Watching Gone With the Wind every Thanksgiving

3. "I have nothing..... nothing..... NOTHING..... DOOOOON'T MAKE ME CLOOOOOOOOOOOSE one more door"

2. Wedding dress shopping together

1. the Motha! daily phone message: "Hey honey, this is your Motha! Just calling to say that I love you and I am praying for you and Graige (!) and I hope you have a great day at school!"

Love you, Motha!

MOTHA!

Sorry I totally dropped the ball yesterday on posting. My mom, Motha! to you, is in town visiting before Brother Robby and I start classes on Monday. We spent the day watching that new Jane Austen movie, grocery shopping, and making the most fabulous salmon ever. It was really fun to cook for Motha! because she understands the pain of being young and married and afraid of accidentally starving or poisoning Husband due to sheer ignorance. We ate. She raved. It was a good night all around.

This morning we've already watched another Jane Austen movie (I know, right?) and now we're visiting campus so I can pick up some handouts and Brother Robby can buy books. Motha! has been giggling all day. She wants to go to the library and the Student Union. She wants to take pictures.

When we were kids, every year for the first day of school we had to take The Backpack Picture. The three of us had to pose in front of the fireplace with our backpacks in our first day of school outfits. Little Scotty is still subjected to this every year. Motha! showed me the pictures she took of him on his first day of school last week as he was getting in his car and DRIVING AWAY. He's half-way down the block and she's still snapping the pics. That's love, friends.

So, we're off now to tour the library and buy books. Then, I think, Motha! wants to clean Brother Robby's apartment "so it will be ready for school." He, understandably, is milking this for all its worth.

in which I digress

Today marks the beginning of the countdown to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. HOORAY! I LOVE the Olympics in a traditionally girly way. I love the gymnasts and the figure skaters. I love to see them twist and fling their little bodies across various surfaces. Love it.

In fact, I love the Olympics so much that once my mom used my love against me. She once grounded me FROM THE OLYMPICS. That's right. I was grounded from the finals of the women's all around in gymnastics the year that Dominique Moceanu ended up winning gold (1996, I think). I don't know that I had ever been that upset in my young life. [Granted, I had not yet started driving and had my keys taken away from me for a month for a WARNING. Not a ticket, a warning. But I digress.]

[Actually, I digresss further. What kind of idiot tells their parents that they were pulled over and the policeman let them go with a warning? A VALIDATION-SEEKING, FIRST-BORN idiot, that's who. WHAT. A. MORON. Little Scotty, if you're reading this, don't tell mom and dad if you get a warning. I mean, I know you don't speed and you also don't talk bad about people and you drink enough "special water" that you don't even stink, but if the worst happens, DON'T TELL THEM. LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES. Slow yourself down and keep your keys.]

What was I even talking about?

Oh, Olympics. Yes. I love the Olympics. And mom, I'm sorry for whatever I did that made you ground me from them. And please don't hate me for the above.