I thought this was going to be a fairly good picture and then what do I see? Mick's disgusting firewood gloves. Do not sniff. I did that once, wondering if they needed to be washed. What can I say? Almost lost my lunch.
Now that I've reassured Mick that his post today was wonderful--only mention of sports being espn, now I have to find inspiration myself. "Just don't rebutt me," Mick decreed. So naturally, I'm going to rebutt away.
First item of business: Christmas candy and chicken wings for breakfast. For Sam, of course, not Mick. Though he may have. Either that or he was a good little fanatic with a piece of dry toast and one sliver of apple. You never know. No half-measures. Now had I served a breakfast ( or more accurately, allowed a breakfast) of Christmas candy and chicken wings, I'd have been subjected to a lecture. This is why it's good that he's currently the stay-at-home mom. If (or hopefully when) our roles are reversed and back to normal, hopefully he'll have a better understanding of the difficult position of trying to influence Sam. A thankless task to be sure. Also, it's the Christmas season, so why not eat candy until you're sick and get it out of your system? It's never actually worked for me, but it sounds like a decent theory.
The hot tub. Nothing is more depressing ( total exaggeration, we can all think of something more depressing, but cut me some slack) than an empty, broken hot tub. For awhile, just a week ago in fact, we had a broken hot tub filled with ice. That was depressing, too. The bill for fixing this hot tub would have been extremely depressing, but a very generous, crazy Aunt Gladys sent an early family Christmas present in the form of a check. Thank you and bless you, Gladys. I enjoyed my first soak since last April tonight. Heaven.
As for Sam's art project covering her entire room yesterday, why oh why did I ever think I could give her a cute room? Why did I go to the bother of painting not one dresser, but two? Not to mention a desk. Squalor. Forget shabby-chic. That trend is over. Sam's room exudes an aura of...squalor, plain and simple. However, I don't think squalor will meet with the same kind of trendy acceptance that shabby-chic did, except in inner-city crack houses, perhaps. Yes, squalor. I'm ready to rip the carpet out of that room, at least, but Mick will not agree. I think all it will take is one huge diarrhea accident that he has to deal with on his own while I'm at work and that will be it. I'll come home to find her carpet waiting in the bed of the pick-up for dump day. Had Mick been here for the diarrhea explosion this summer, when Sam got sick, he and I would no longer have carpet. I was positively shell-shocked and operating on automatic pilot for that disaster. You didn't think I could actually write a post and not touch on the subject of poop at some point, did you?
Speaking of Sam, and I'll spare you the details of the possible cyst/boil on her tail bone ( you'll have to call for details) which is the latest disturbing curiosity in our home, she has picked up a new little trait. Debatable whether it's charming or not. This ties in with what Mick calls her milestones. Some milestones are definitely less charming than others, and when your child picks up teenage sarcasm, impatience, or flippancy (or in this case a combo of the three) it is very trying.
It used to be that when you'd ask Sam something or tell her something she didn't want to hear, she'd come back at you with, "Oh way!" We could never understand if this meant "no way" or "go away" because either would have been appropriate.
Well, I want "Oh way" back because what I get out of her now is a completely insincere, fast and high-pitched, "OK". Doesn't sound objectionable at all in writing. Something is definitely missing in the translation. Mick swears he'll get video up and running on this blog soon, and Sam's "OK" should be one of our first short films. It's infuriating. Sometimes it's a fast, impatient, "ok, ok, ok, ok!" Really what she's saying is, "Oh, just shut up!" And I'd rather she said that. It couldn't be any ruder. But she's a teenager, right?
Speaking of teenagers, don't think that because I rarely mention Miranda, that we care about her less. It is out of consideration and concern for her teenage feelings, that I studiously ignore her while blogging. I can be an embarrassment, you know. These days of Christmas break find Miranda with a head cold, using up all the kleenex but miraculously getting them into the garbage instead of littering the floor (of course, gross little Zeus may be eating them as they fall). She has discovered that the recliner, which she has claimed as her own, is very comfortable to sit in upside down, meaning that her feet are on the headrest and her head is hanging down by the footrest. And then, when I come home from work, I get to hear her complain about being light-headed and not feeling very well. And while in this position she is rereading all the Anita Blake vampire hunter novels that we have ( about six or seven of them, I think), while trying to block out espn. Not to mention her dad's booming voice when he calls his brother Frank to discuss, what else? Sports. See how neatly I brought that full circle tonight? And me with only about half a brain left today.
We've always opened presents on Christmas Eve, as I always did growing up. So, for Sam...One More Day! And for me...Three more full days until the weekend! Nothing I want more than to be able to linger in bed.
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