Excuses, excuses.

Hey, you guys!  How’ve you been? Good!  Well, enough about you, let’s talk about me.

So the pie thing shockingly well.  I didn’t burn the house down, and the pie was not only edible, it was good.  Take that, um…cooking, I guess?  Anyway, other than that, I haven’t really been up to much.  Unlike everyone else I know.

I mean, so many of the people around me have been running around like chickens with their heads cut off.  (I have never seen that phrase in print before, it’s kind of gross, huh?)   I’ve avoided the pressure because of one thing:  I’m really good at making excuses.  Like, really good.  So good, in fact, that I’m going to share my list with you.

  1.  “I had Taco Bell today.”  This is a good one, because no one will question you after that, for a couple of reasons:  1)  They absolutely DO NOT want to hear what happened after that, and 2) every person in America and probably Germany has a Taco Bell story. (My husband has a Taco Bell legend.)  They already know what’s up.  However, you can only use this one once every few weeks, otherwise people will think you’re either a masochist or just plain stupid
  2. “Not unless you want to help me move.”  It’s surprising how well this one works, considering people don’t generally move that often.  It’s one of those things that people don’t even want to risk walking into.  I personally used this one three weekends in a row a while back, and it worked every.  Single.  Time.  Even though I haven’t moved in eight years.
  3. “I don’t have a babysitter.”  This one has a limited life span, since once your oldest hits the teen years it becomes assumed that you have a built in baby-sitter.  I have the great fortune of having the Destroyer as my oldest, and everyone know that ain’t nobody trying to leave him in a house alone with, well, furniture and dishes and windows and such. However, if your kids fall in the 1-7 age range, you’re golden.  Especially if you have more than two. It also helps if you happen to have the spawn of the Devil himself.  Or if your daughter may be a sociopath.

    sto
    Seriously, no one wanted to baby sit. Ever.
  4. “I’m broke.”  Cause nobody wants to pay for you.  Or maybe it’s just me-no one wants to pay for me.  Not even for the sheer pleasure of my presence.  Just kidding, I have like, three friends, and one of them is married to me and he has no choice but to pay.  I also have no job.
  5. “I don’t feel like it.”  Okay, so be careful with this one. It’s a classic, but keep this in mind:  This one is for the professional lazybones ONLY.  You have to be soooo lazy that you’re not even up to inventing a legitimate excuse.  Or, in my case, so lazy that you probably have a real reason for your inability to do something and you’re not even up to sharing THAT.  Also, the “I don’t feel like it” requires real conviction–you must not be talked into feeling like it.  It doesn’t matter what “it” is, you have already professed your feelings or lack thereof and THAT IS THE END.  FINITO.  The “I don’t feel like it” must be resistant to tears, begging, anger, and bribery.  That’s right, you don’t even feel like taking something you want to do something you don’t.  THAT, my friends, is excusery (not a word? It is now) at it’s finest.

There you go.  You are very welcome, because I have saved you from drudgery and irritation.  Did I miss any?

Kid Sensation: Living dangerously

Hey, you guys!  I’m sitting procrastinating because I’m supposed to go bake a pie and I have NEVER baked a pie.  The only reason I’m doing this is because my husband happened to mention that he had never had sweet potato pie.  My initial reaction was, “Of course not.  You’ve always had pecan because you’re melanin deficient. ”  Ignorant, I know.  But since I live where I live, most of the white families I’ve met do pecan, most of the Black families, sweet potato.  Tomato, tomahto.

But then two things happened.  One, I realized that, blonde though my hubby may be, he’s been married to a Black woman with a Black family for almost twelve years.  Two, my son also said he never had tasted said pie.  Conclusion:  I am a failure.

So I wildly overreacted which ended with a declaration that I’m going to make this pie.  I’m sure hilarity will ensue that I will be compelled to tell ya’ll about later.

Anyhoo, I don’t know why I decided to spill those particular beans.  I meant to tell you about how Kid Sensation cheated death.  And, no not at the hands of Wondergirl.  No.  This time he took on the Big Man.

So we’ve all been cooped up here for the last few couple days together.  Kid Sensation has been in front of a screen for the entire time.  Like, only stopping for meals and potty breaks.  Which would be fine if he was in college or building an online empire.  However, he’s just looking up cartoon theme songs and offbeat British animation.  (I don’t know.)

I know, I know–we’re terrible parents.  I’m not gonna front though.  It beats listening to him and Wondergirl fighting non-freaking-stop. I mean, it’s like living with Captain America and, well, Wondergirl.   The other night, I didn’t hear anything for like, ten minutes and I was all, “Finally.”  But then I realized that it was ten p.m. and they had just fallen asleep. Mid-fight.

ddbw
All day, every day.

 

Yesterday, the Big Man figured that ol’ K.S. needed to get some fresh air.  We live in the Pacific Northwest and it’s not raining. AKA:  Get your butt outside.

Kid Sensation ignores the first missive, choosing the dangerous path of ignoring his dad.  But this, you guys, this is not where things went left.

The Big Man repeats himself.  He hates repeating himself even more than I do.  Still, not in quite in Fatality country–just cruising the border.  Not until Kid Sensation says, and I quote:  “Okay, Okay.  Be calm.”

I know you know what I’m talking about here.  When you have repeatedly issued an order to your child and they want to act like you’re crazy and that your craziness isn’t their fault, it’s maddening.  No, maddening isn’t right.  It’s infuriating.

The Big Man turns beet-red.  I know this description is overused, but he really was the exact shade of supermarket beets. All I heard was, “GET IN HERE!  NOW!”  It was so loud that at first I thought the Apocalypse had begun and I was going to be called into account for my bogus pie claims.

I immediately remove myself  from the room.  I am not trying to give eyewitness testimony.  I remove myself from the room, and immediately begin fabricating plausible reasons for Kid Sensation’s disappearance. “Okay, we’re poor, so boarding school is out.  Living with Grandma?  No, she lives half a mile from here.  Think, Vida, think!”

Next thing I know, I’m witnessing the single most tearful shoe putting on ever.  He even managed to have one lonely tear stop mid-cheek on both sides of his face. It was so, so, pitiful, you guys.  But he brought it on himself.

I still don’t know which particular boom was lowered that day.  I’m a coward, so I’m afraid to ask.  I’m just glad Kid Sensation is alive and well. And fighting with Wondergirl as we speak.

Howareya?

Hey ya’ll.  I know I promised all sorts of things and I have not delivered.  What had happened was I wrote a few and I lost some of my work and then I blamed my blog.  So I stopped writing for a while.  Also, I’m pursuing an MFA in creative writing, so I’ve been writing (my own stuff) and editing (other people’s stuff) for that and then not wanting to even look at a keyboard or monitor after that.

Anyhoo, how have you been?  Yeah, yeah, now back to what’s important—me.  Just kidding, you know I love you guys.  But seriously, back to me.

One, Wondergirl is eleven.  Or as I prefer to call it:  Eleventeen.  Wondergirl has never been easy, but good gravy, you guys, this chick is acting brand new.  Like she has never met me or the Big Man before.  Well, in the words of Kevin Hart, “She gon’ learn today.”

So she’s stomping around here, slamming doors and such, when finally, the Big Man has had it.  Now, the petty stuff he lets me handle—I enjoy being petty.  I really do.  I will argue with a seven-year-old and fight a baby.  (BTW, shout out to Birdie for teaching me how to fight a baby.  It’s an art, you know.)  Apparently, however, door slamming isn’t petty.  From what I surmise, it’s tantamount to property damage and the Big Man ain’t having it.

He looks at me and says, “I warned her.”  And in all fairness, he did.

Okay, so a few weeks ago, she was acting all stompy and mean and door-slammy.  The Big Man was not cool with this, so he called her down to his almighty recliner and told her:

“Look.  If you ever slam that door again, it’s coming off.” And then he went back to watching Miami Vice.  The show, not the terrible, terrible movie.  Colin Farell? Really?

Anyway, I guess Wondergirl forgot.  I forgot too, but then, I’m not the one running around slamming doors.  (Sidenote:  I used to be the Door Slam Empress.  But then one time my dad had enough of my reign and decided to overthrow me with the Bust-the-Door-Open-So-Hard-It-Put-a-Hole-in-the-Wall technique.) The Big Man did not forget and he had had it up to hyeah (“here”, for those not familiar with parental grammar).  So he looks at me and says, “It’s coming off.”

At first I thought he meant his calm demeanor and that he was planning on hulking out, which I wasn’t cool with.  But he saw the confused and ready-to-argue look and my face and says, “I mean her door.  Everything isn’t comics, Veeds.”  He’s wrong about that, but I’m just glad he meant her door.

So he goes and gets all these dramatic tools from the garage and trudges upstairs like he’s walking the Green Mile.  Wondergirl suspects nothing.  I am profoundly grateful for this, because I really don’t want K street to fall victim to what happens when an unstoppable force meets an unmovable object.  (I do know that this is supposed to be physically impossible; this would be the first time people–I PROMISE. It would destroy mathematical academia as we know it.)

So maybe this? Except I'm not there.  I'm making ice cream.
So maybe this? Except I’m not there. I’m making ice cream.

You know that time Roseanne took down Darlene’s door?  This was nothing like that.  The Big Man removed the door and Wondergirl said nothing.  Nothing.  She just looked at him.  Then she cried a little bit and continued to say nothing. And then cleaned her room in silence.

Y’all ain’t hearing me though.

Background:  I have to BEG Wondergirl to clean her room.  BEG.  So now, after punishment, she does it voluntarily?  I’m not buying it. It seems like she’s getting her affairs in order so she can assume a different identity. You know, like after committing a horrific crime.

I’m a coward, though, so I didn’t say anything.  I’m just acting nervous around her and offering lots of ice cream.  Who knows? Maybe being a widow won’t be so bad.

Oh. OH.  Remember I was telling you guys about Omega Prime?  This kid is so awesome I can’t even. So just wait a bit.  It’ll happen.

There she goes again.

I know, I know, another Wondergirl post.  But you have to admit, she’s pretty entertaining.  I’ll even throw in some bonus Kid Sensation and The Destroyer.

Actual conversation on their way to school:

Big Man:  Wondergirl, are you supposed to be chewing gum?

WG: (Smack, Smack) Nope.

Big Man:  Aren’t you going to get in trouble?

WG:   Probably. (Smack). It doesn’t matter, Principal Conners is soft.

Soft?!?!? SOFT?!?  How are you ten and calling someone soft like you’re The Rock?  Like, I’m fully expecting her to continue that statement with, “You wanna cross the Wondergirl? Well, the Wondergirl says this…”

The week she was on steroids and became a ten-year-old rage monster (I told you guys it was going to be great):

Kid Sensation was flying his paper airplane in her vicinity.  Yeah, I know.  I’m not sure how he thought it wasn’t going to end badly, or if he was willing to risk it unaware of just how badly it was going to end.  This is how–and you guys, just, you guys.  Wondergirl, who was curled up in the recliner trying to suck her thumb despite her swollen face, was trying to watch TV.  Besides the steroids, she was also going through thumb withdrawal.  No bueno.  So then Kid Sensation comes through with this airplane. Wondergirl is tracking the plane with her eyes.  It passes in front of her face twice.  Somehow the barometric pressure in the room drops, so I know it’s about to go down.  Third time–and I swear on my Batman T-Shirt–her feet shoot from underneath her and she grabs the airplane out of the air with one hand simultaneously.  She crushes  poor Kid Sensation’s airplane while staring him down, then balls the airplane up and slams it into the garbage.  Then she went back to the chair, curled back up, and continued her attempt to suck her thumb.  It happened so fast, if the Big Man hadn’t asked me if I had just seen what he did, I would have thought I imagined it.

You guys, I'm pretty sure this is what happened.
You guys, I’m pretty sure this is what happened.

She blew  up at The Destroyer so hard you guys he just put his hands up and walked away.  He was trying to tell her that dinner was ready.

Wondergirl was in her room ranting for no reason.  Well, maybe there was a reason, but I was scared so I didn’t go in. Or even knock. There might be a body in there, but all I smell is Bath and Body Works Sweet Pea lotion so I think I’ll leave it alone for now.

Oh, and Kid Sensation tried to get himself killed.  The other day he threw himself face down on the couch, then lifts his head, coughs, and says, “Oh, I think it’s Dad’s bottom.”  He then lowered himself down to floor and immediately put his own head down.  He already knew.

Oh, oh, and I have to take timeout to be that parent who brags about something her kid did like other people really care and aren’t just politely nodding and thinking about how to escape.

So the Destroyer runs track, and he ain’t half bad.  He runs the 400 and the 4 x 100, and he throws discus.  So last week, he’s running the third leg of the 4 x 100 and his teammate steps on his shoe during the handoff.  The Destroyer trips, falls, and his shoe comes off.  He rolls over, pops up, and finishes his leg and handoff. WITH. ONE. SHOE.  I thought that was kinda cool.

Anyway, how have you guys been?

I have a feeling…

So I have all kinds of weird quirks. But you already know this, because you’re a faithful reader of this blog. Well, you could at least fake it. That’s better.

Anyway, back to my weird quirks. One of them is that certain things make random parts of my body feel weird. Like touching velvet makes my teeth hurt. I don’t know why. Here are some more. Fascinating, I know.

Random fake hair. I used to see this a lot when I worked downtown, usually on Monday morning. People get in fights over the weekend and sometimes weave gets snatched out. I understand why it happens, but it still makes me feel funny.

Body part that feels funny: Stomach.

The guy down the street who brings his parrots out for a walk. I know parrots are supposed to be great pets and good company. Maybe his parrots need fresh air, I don’t know how parrot parenting (say that five times fast) works. But when you drive down the street and you see some parrots stone-cold chilling in the cut, it looks weird. Also, his windows are covered with aluminum foil.

Body part that feels funny: Eyes.

Peach fuzz. Peach fuzz feels funky. I can eat a peach that has been sliced and skinned, but I can’t take a bite out of a peach. I also like peaches in Bellini form.

Body part that feels funny: Tongue.

The Destroyer’s bedroom. Okay, so I’m totally a slacker mom when it comes to making my kids clean their rooms. Also, if I made them do it, then I’d have to clean my room, and I’m not really feeling that. But his room tends to be way gross. WAY. The times that I have to go in there and get stuff I have to put on shoes and a jacket (my homemade HAZMAT suit). It perpetually smells like Takis and boogers.

This is what ordinary humans who try to go in there become.  I have been exposed for years, so I'm immune.
This is what ordinary humans who try to go in there become. I have been exposed for years, so I’m immune.

A few months ago I ventured in there to get a towel for laundry and I thought I saw something move in the corner, but I’m not sure because I just screamed and ran out. I believe the towel is still there.

Body part that feels funny: Feet.

Tiny shorts in the little girls section. So I’m shopping with Wondergirl and we’re looking for stuff to transition to spring—t shirts, capris, etc. She holds up a pair of shorts and I told her that I only buy her underwear in packs. She laughed at me and said, “No, mom, I need shorts.” I told her she had better go find some then. “I like these shorts.” My brain still wasn’t making the connection between what was in her hands and shorts. My understanding was that shorts were garments that were meant to be worn outdoors. Apparently, my version of shorts is prehistoric. So Wondergirl doesn’t have any shorts.

Body part that feels funny: Chest. Head. Gut.

I don’t know. Am I the only one that gets these? Please share. Except for you, Big Man. I’d rather you didn’t.

I also hate butterflies.

Hey y’all! I know I haven’t been around but I have a really good reason.

I didn’t feel like it.

Anyhoo, I’ve told you guys over and over that I’m pretty much a horrible person. It all came to a head this week. Here are a few of the horrible things I’ve said and done. I’m telling you guys this because misery loves company.

There was this football game that happened this weekend and everyone keeps asking me about it. I’m over it, so I’ve been telling people I was at a funeral.

I went for a walk yesterday and this little dog kept following and nipping at my heels. I was trying to figure out how to kick it without getting caught, but then it went home.

I ate the last cookie and told each kid that another kid did it, hoping for a kid-on-kid fight to the death. It never happened.

It would have been so awesome.
It would have been so awesome.

I watched Maury Povich.

I stuck my tongue out at a kid that was staring at me.

I told a telemarketer that I was dead.

I stepped on one of Kid Sensation’s toys and threw it away in a fit of rage. Then I tried to pretend that he never had that toy in the first place. He didn’t buy that explanation so now I owe him. Which is worse than owing the mafia.

This lady came and stood next to me when I was picking out apples at the store; I guess she wanted some apples too. She smelled horrible. I blurted out “Oh my God!” Really loud.

In his line of work, The Big Man’s shoes get wet and stink up the joint. I insist on making a production out of Febrezing them.

Wondergirl and I were watching show where a husband pranked his wife by putting salt in her coffee. Wondergirl says, “If that were me, I would have poured that coffee over his head.” That was my cue to tell her that second-degree burns are an inappropriate response to a little prank. Instead, I laughed.

I vow to be nicer this week. Wait, no. Next week. Next week, for sure.

Random Downton Thoughts. Trust me, you’ll like it.

So you guys, everyone who knows me knows that I love me some Downton Abbey. Okay, well, like two people outside of my immediate family know that. Not the point. The point is, I do and of course, like with everything else, I have random thoughts.It’s what I do. Don’t roll your eyes at me. Let’s do this. Well, go watch it if you haven’t and then let’s do this. (BTW, this is not a recap.  EVERYONE else does a recap of this show, and I’m positive they’re better at it.  This is just the random ish I think and say during the show.)

Avoiding people you don’t like is easy. It’s avoiding one’s friends that’s the real test.” So this came from the Queen of Shade herself, Dowager Countess Grantham. And it was so good because she was talking to her friend when she said it and it’s one of those kinds of things where you can’t tell if you should be offended or not but you definitely should. It takes years to get to that level of shade. She’s one of the reasons I can’t wait to be old(er) and horrible(r?).

So glad the dresses from the 1920s aren’t in now. I would look like a silky refrigerator with some pearls on.

BATES. Ok, so, the name Bates has to be said in low, ominous tones. Bates is the baddest valet in the world. Like, last season he found out that Tony Gillingham’s (we’ll get to him) valet attacked his wife and then straight up disappeared him. He may just be Alfred Pennyworth. BATES.

Don't tell ME he didn't just get finished handling some business.
Don’t tell ME he didn’t just get finished handling some business.

I’m also glad that pleats are not in. I hope pleats are never in again because when I think of things I want to look like, an open accordion isn’t one of them.

I like the word, “luncheon”.

A lot of people are getting cornered on the stairs. I think it’s rude.

Poor Edith doesn’t know what happened to her baby daddy. None of us do.

Zomygod Molesely is dying his hair! Is that…shoe polish? (This sent Wondergirl into gales of laughter.)

BATES wants a baby!

Awww shizzle. Carson and them got into the sherry.

Do I want arm length gloves? Yes, yes I do. Despite my upper arm fat.

Carson just punked Molesely about his hair so hard, y’all.

So Lord Tony Gillingham is back. He’s in love with Mary, but she turned him down last season. He’s handsome, rich, and charming. I mean, I know she was grieving and such, but still.

Countess Grantham punked Scrant. Again. His name is Scrant, though, so there’s that.

Oh, wait, wait, I think Mary and Gillingham might get together. Yay! And then later that night he went in her room and I was all Bow-chicka-wow-wown but that wasn’t the case at all.  My mind is in the gutter.

A FIRE!!! Oh no!

That’s it for this week. See y’all next week! Oh, and please let me know if I missed anything!

Random Tuesday, Part II

Hey guys!  Did you miss me?  YES, YOU DID.  Well, I missed you, so now you should feel bad.  Anyhoo, I have been wicked busy doing nothing, which means you were probably doing more important things than I was.

So how about some more random thoughts? Some of these were overheard between Wondergirl and Kid Sensation, so they are extra random.

Wondergirl:

Quit spraying it!  IT’S DEAD!  I have no clue what this was about because I was way too scared to go look.

Why are your pants making noise? Sit down, I can’t hear!  Geez, Wondergirl.  Let us wear corduroy in peace around here. By “us”, I mean me.  By “let” I mean “shut your pie-hole”.

Did I say you could sit by me?  No she didn’t.

She looks like a social worker named Pauline.  This is what I thought when I saw Wondergirl’s hilarious school picture. Okay, this is what I said out loud.

Kid Sensation:

AAAAAHHHH!  He turned on the vacuum by accident and got scared and ran.  So I had to go upstairs and turn it off.

Don’t talk to me!  Don’t see me!  He meant don’t look at me, but he ended up sounding like John Cena instead.

Because I’m American!  I don’t know why he shouted this.  I don’t even know if he was talking to anyone.

Me:

Chocolate Peppermint milkshake?  Darn you, Burgerville!

This is my house, I don’t have to wear a sweatshirt here, I can just turn the heat up.  I just came from my folks’ house, where you definitely have to wear a sweatshirt because my dad is Mr. Freeze.

This guy.  With chips and a beer.
This guy. With chips and a beer.

I can’t believe I just watched that.  I couldn’t sleep, so I watched a movie starring DMX.   I repeat, starring DMX.

So is it MY turn to run up the stairs screaming at the top of my lungs? No, cause if I do it, then people start throwing words around like “breakdown” and “crazy”.

I can’t have anything! Looking at the demolition derby that is my house through the blur of tears of self-pity.

I forgot how funny the old Looney Tunes are!  And racist, don’t forget racist.

This book is terrible.  I read the whole thing, though, and by the time I got to the end, it was still terrible.

I think that’s it.  You guys, 2014 had been pretty great with you.  I will be back in 2015 with a new feature starring Optimus Prime’s brother, Omega Prime.  Mama Prime knows what I’m talking about (ooooh, I’m so cryptic…)

Bye ya’ll!  See you next year!

Why can’t I be Bruce Wayne?

Okay, so I you read my blog on a regular basis (and I know you do, because it’s just that entertaining) then you know that I love me some superheroes. Marvel, DC, Justice League, Avengers, all of it. I’ve already done a post about which super powers I would like to have.  Now I’m going to do this one about which superheroes the people in my life actually are.  I mean, if you think about it, we all have people in our lives that have traits of certain mutants or aliens.  Like, my sister Birdie and I have mutual acquaintance that would be Rogue because she sucks the life out of everyone.  Like that.

Of course, I would be Batman. Wait–The Destroyer has just informed me that I am not Batman.  He is insane.

“Of course I’m Batman.  I’m fabulous all day and then I lurk around all night fighting dirt and crime.  Mostly dirt. Also, I always wear black.” Not sure if Batman wears black because it’s slimming, but whatever.

“Yeah, but Batman carries out his threats.”

“Not the point, look, I’m trying to type here–”

“You’re actually the Punisher.  You just go around busting up everyone’s fun.”

What?  I thought I was fun, not the fun-buster.

“No, it’s just that being the fun-buster is fun for you. That’s why you smile when you do it.”  (Note:  This is not why.  I just have this weird quirk where I smile when I’m angry.  Don’t ask me why, I wish I looked fierce and scary and intimidating.)

“You shut up and let me be Batman before I punch the air out of your lungs.”

He laughed, said “Punisher” and went to eat all the food out of the refrigerator.

I have previously called the Big Man my own personal Hulk.  But now that I think about it, that’s not quite right.  He has no Bruce Banner side to him;  he always just walks around being huge and intense.  He’s the Juggernaut. Like this:

He does that several times a day.

Wondergirl is Captain America.  She doesn’t make the rules, but she sure will enforce them.  With violence.  Sweet, sweet, justified violence.

The Destroyer.  He’s Beast.  No, he’s not blue, and he’s not even really hairy yet.  But he does run around on all fours (not joking)  and can physically do some pretty amazing crap. He’s also pretty smart when he feels like it.

Kid Sensation.  I almost put Kid Sensation down as Iron Man, because of how good he is with technology. But Iron Man talks too much.  So I gave him Cyborg.  I would ask him what he thinks of that, but he won’t say anything, anyway–he’s on the computer trying to buy something behind my back.  Haha, Kid, there’s no money in that account.  There’s no money in any account.  Joke’s on–well, all of us, I guess.

Birdie is Storm.  She’s usually the voice of reason, until she gets mad.  Then it’s lightening bolts and tornadoes for everyone.

Yay!  Family dinner!
Yay! Family dinner!

Ah yes, Supermom.  No, she is not Superman, she is Darkseid.  I’m dead serious.

What about the folks you know?  Who are you?

Just plain weekend.

I have to admit, I sometimes feel that everyone is having a better weekend than I am.  So I documented my weekend and realized that they probably are.  But that’s okay, because mine wasn’t half bad. Here it is:

Go to the farmer’s market with your six-year-old. It is so nice to go with someone who doesn’t have any time constraints or an agenda. Kid Sensation was cool to wander with me, sample food, be the only one dancing to the live band, and tip the violinist. Although, apparently balloon animals are okay, but the prospect of getting paint on his face on purpose is terrifying and definitely not okay.

Throw the football with with your twelve year old. Ask him what him and his friends talk about at school. When you suggest boobs, he will emphatically tell you not boobs. Which probably means boobs. You will also find out that his friend, Optimus Prime is a serial dater but that The Destroyer has incredibly high standards for someone who still loses arguments to his six-year-old brother. And who smells like old hummus by the end of the day.

Go boot shopping with your ten-year-old. She will be picky. You will be impatient if you are the Big Man and feel like you should be at home watching football—but you promised. She will hug her Daddy and you will be caught smiling.

Fight with your six-year-old. He will have stayed up late to sneak-watch Frozen, so he won’t be on one, he’ll be on all of them. The final showdown will come at 1 p.m., right as you’ve arrived to your Sunday meeting, where he will melt down as you try to tuck his shirt in in an effort to avoid someone thinking you just brought some random homeless Ewok with you. (He also needs a haircut.) You decide it’s time to go nuclear and call in the Big Man. Kid Sensation is taken out for a few minutes, comes back tearstained and chastened, and instantly falls asleep.

ewok

Have cramps and be cranky and mean.

Eat chips and dip. Feel better. Have a mimosa. Feel even better.

Have your kids make dinner under your direction. Wonder if The Destroyer’s spaghetti is better than yours. No one says it isn’t. Have hurt feelings.

Watch Peyton Manning break Brett Favre’s record. Realize again how cool it is watching history being made with kids.

Pray and be thankful for everything and everyone you have.