Delicious Minutiae

Here we are, another Friday drive into Evanston.  N and E are big fans of Chuck Norris jokes, so it’s funny to listen to them try to one-up each other in the backseat.

Portrait of Chuck Norris

They don’t know who Chuck Norris is, so Chuck could jump out of the bushes and roundhouse kick both of them in the head, run away, and no one would be the wiser.

Roundhouse Kick to the Head

N made up the title for this blog as we were exiting onto Dempster…quickly followed by E trying to top him with:

“Chuck Norris doesn’t even make toast by going over there…  He just shouts ‘WHERE’S MY TOAST???’ and the bread is so scared it toasts and butters itself.”

Then N: “Chuck Norris KNOWS it’s not butter!” and…

“Chuck Norris found the beef!”

I wonder if I can get some product placement kickbacks for my blog.  Apparently my kids are exposed to way too much commercial television, if nothing else.

I missed a couple of days in the blogging challenge, in case anyone noticed, during which time I won a prestigious Mother of the Year Award.

Stay in the Car. Do not speak, move, or attempt to join me in the house. There will be no dinner tonight.

I won MOY on Wednesday night when I left the kids in the car, at their request, so I could “run in” and reconcile Cub Scout popcorn.  My kernal is a SAINT!  Shouty caps intended.

Our family only broke every rule of popcorn selling and reconciliation, so it should have been a piece of cake, right?  My fifteen minute appointment stretched into an hour and a half.

N and E chose to stay in the car.  They were being a little rowdy, playing DSi and goofing on each other.  The car seemed a reasonable solution to their potty humor and excess energy, so I went inside.

I checked on the kids the first time and they were having a blast.

“We’re having a BLAST!” N exclaimed.  No way did they want to go in.  They were locked inside the car and in the driveway, so I left them.  They knew to knock on the door when they were ready to come in…I told them as much.

“If you need anything, or want to come in, come to the front door,” I told them.  “I’ll just be inside.  It shouldn’t take long.”

The second time I went out to check on them, E was crying.  N told me he had just spontaneously broken into tears a half hour earlier.  That roughly translates into 3 to 5 minutes, but still!

I asked them why they didn’t come to the door??

“We thought we had to stay in the car, that you didn’t want us in the house!”  OMG  I love them .  I love them.  I love them.

So E came inside and watched Phinneus and Ferb, a favorite, but N said he would vastly prefer to stay in the car.  I figured the couple of times I checked on them replenished the oxygen supply, so he should be okay for another short stretch.  He was reading, so all was well.  Shouldn’t be much longer.

E watched one 15 minute episode and started another…then: DING DONG! (that would be N)

I was thinking about checking on him again, when N came into the house, somewhat dejected.  “It’s damp and cold and lonely out there.”

He joined his dry, warm, happy brother for some cartoons while we wrapped up the popcorn trainwreck.  We agreed that I am an unfit parent and irresponsible popcorn guardian.

I left, in shame, unreconciled.

My kids were hungry.  Our plans for a late dinner were foiled by our popcorn lawbreaking ways, and the kids ended up eating fast food at almost 10pm.  They had a very healthy late lunch, but I failed to tell them to hoard some scraps in their pockets in case it became their last meal.  My bad.

I rock this mom thing.  I should start adopting and fostering so I can nurture and love other children…  I’m pretty sure they’d politely decline.

“No thank you,” they’d say.  “We prefer the cold gruel at the orphanage.  Our moth-eaten blankets are not too scratchy.”

On the way home we were stopped at a train and the guy behind us tapped our bumper (1).  In the parking lot near our fast food destination, we were almost (thisclose) hit by a car streaking across the dark parking lot (2).  Then we ate our crappy dinner (3).  Three close calls bundled into the same half hour drive home.

So here we are, at co-op, everyone alive and healthy.  It’s been close a few times, but we prevailed. Like the wind.

E and I are sitting in the fellowship hall listening to the teen ensemble playing Rolling Stones music.  They’re fabulous.  I love how creative everyone is, and how talented on top of it.

One of the teens has a ukelele, which has been on E’s wishlist for over a year.  We bought him drums for his birthday, which worked out just fine, but he still wants that ukelele.  He already picked which one and is just waiting for the Ukelele Fairy to visit him in the night.

He’s rather fond of all the random people that break into our house and leave him stuff and money in the dead of night, so why not a ukelele too?

E loves to doodle.

“How much does a ukelele cost? he wanted to know.  His is $300 or $400 dollars, can’t remember which.  He played every single one in the music store and chose the one that was made for him.

“If you don’t have enough money I can give you some of my money.  I can give you all of my money!  I don’t want it anymore.  I don’t really care for it much anymore…I just want that ukelele.”

He went on to say, “Well maybe not all of my money.  I’ll keep two quarters because those are worth twenty-five.

For next time: I’ll tell you all why I have the best parents on the planet and how my dad beat Bank of America in a fistfight.

Right now, however, I need to take advantage of some “quiet” time in this busy, noisy hall.  Both kids are in classes taught by Other People, Not Me.  I am alone, but not at all lonely.  🙂

If you made it this far, treat yourself to a cookie!