The Home Edition

Among other things, said in hindsight: I should have used a brick. Not: I should have used a locksmith...

But it began this way. We were geared up, in swimsuits, for our first trip to the city aquatic center for family swim. My keys were the only ones in the key bowl, and hubby was out by the car. In my defence, it was a logical assumption to make that he had his keys... But no, he was just applying sunscreen.

I was also distracted, telling Son that it didn't matter if the kiosk was closed when we got there, because we were going to swim, not buy candy. I was in full diatribe about how he really should focus on the bigger picture when hubby asked me if I had the keys.

So, all four of us are locked out. We have swimsuits, towels, an open car, and a bottle of sunscreen. And a chalk box, on the front porch. (Lurking out of sight is, of course, a brick.) It's like Apollo 13, but the weather is nicer and we can breathe the air. We check: no keys hidden anywhere. No open doors.

The kids suggest things like: We could walk to the pool! And: We could sleep in the car! We instead sit on the front steps and ponder the options. A locksmith? Hubby muses. Nope, he says. Too expensive. So, he decides to break the wee front window on the door to unlock it. What about the cost and time of replacing glass? I ask. No sweat, apparently.

I wasn't looking, and I assumed he was using the bottle of sunscreen (contents under pressure--that would have been my mistake) but it was the chalk box. A plastic thing, that spread the mass of impact and probably absorbed most of it too. On the second whack, it went through, and so did his hand. There was glass twenty feet inside the house, and five feet outside. Blood lavishly dripping. So, the kids missed the aquatic center. Hubby missed his tendon (barely) and had eight centimeters of stitches in four spots. And now doesn't have to swim for a couple of weeks.

How to Find Management in Wal-Mart

So, herewith the saga of how Friday night robbed me of its promise. I went to WM, in summery skirt, tee shirt and flip flops (cue ominous music here) thinking how lovely it was to be (cough, indisdinct) years old and healthy and with an entire weekend before me, a writing retreat on the morrow.

When the 24-pack of coke zeroes fell off the back of the cart, I felt lucky. They missed my bare feet!

But then I hoisted the 24-pack by its tab and ripped up my big toenail, but bad.

I then stood there for a few minutes staring at my foot, trying to figure out why my nail was all red, and then determine how badly it was going to hurt, and should I seek assistance or not?

I decided it was necessary to elevate it, with ice, and hobbled back to the service area to find someone. It was empty. So I backtracked a few aisles and found a worker who took off to find an ice pack. I told him he could find me sitting in the service area. I was beginning to feel clammy and not very well.

He zoomed back moments later to tell me his manager was fetching me an ice pack.

Then, not one, but ten managers converged upon me. One of them handed me an ice pack, and then they conferred. Then they took an incident report. Name? Address? Phone number? I was so rattled it took me a while to figure out why they were asking me these pointless questions.

Where did it happen? I was asked. I stared at my cart, trying to remember. Eggs? I stammered.

How did the box fall? Which way did it roll? How did you lift it?

Do you think we got everything? asked Manager 1, holding the pen. I think so, replied Manager 2. We could photograph the box? Suggested Manager 3.

I laughed. The box is fine, said I. It isn't defective. (Manager 1 wrote this down.) Three Managers lifted the box and examined it for defects. All clear.

After a while, I was offered bandaids, and assistance if I needed it "with the cart." I hobbled home.

Halfway there, I realized they were probably watching the tapes at that moment. And that it hadn't happened by eggs at all, but rather by sour cream. And I wondered if that discrepancy was being tallied for use by the legal team if required.

I realized that fortunately for me, I had no intention of sueing. Because Wal-Mart and Coca Cola would no doubt be a formidable legal combination.

Like Apollo 13, But With More Duct Tape

You take this:

And one each, of these:

You send this guy to the office, for boxes:

And you can make this: a cat condo, with 3 storeys, a big-screen TV, and a gift shop in the lobby.

The Horror!

Angst Moment #1

Daughter: The earth is always turning, isn't it?
Me: Yes it is.
Daughter: So, sometimes we're upside down?
Me: Exactly.
Daughter, with rising hysterical notes: We're upside down... right now! I can feel it!

Angst Moment #2

Voice over loudspeaker: Free sample of jerky at the jerky counter!
Daughter: Do they have beef jerky here?
Me: They have all kinds of jerky here. They even have elk jerky!
Daughter, with rising hysterical notes: Elf jerky??

At Least He Knows It

Hubby makes the blog! Here's how that came about:

Son, looking at flabby vegetarian lasagna on his plate: Well, I'm not all that hungry.
Hubby: Hang on. [Goes to fridge, retrieves leftover marinara sauce, heats it in microwave.] Put some of this on it.
Me, to hubby, in Very Superior Voice: You do realize that the entire purpose for me buying vegetarian lasagna is so that, on days like today, when we all ate meat at lunch, we aren't eating meat again at dinner?
Hubby: And aren't we glad you also buy meatless grounds, to make meatless marinara sauce with?
Me: Oh. Yeah.
Hubby [leaps out of seat and does Victory Dance, laughing immoderately]: I'm sorry. But it happens so rarely! [Sits down again.] Boy. I'm gonna live off that one for three years.

Fight. For Your Right. To Party...

Hubby, to Son: Come on, now. We just don't have time to goof around.
Son, indignant: No time to play? That's just sad. We're kids!

**
And on another note, my work building is undergoing heavy construction this summer, and we aren't allowed in. Which means, taking all our teaching/writing/computing stuff out with us. We were to have until the end of this week, but the building is already cordoned off with caution tape. Personnel have been moving everything out, and plastic sheeting what remains. I'm in my office with the eery sense that dynamite has been laid in the basement, and it's all over but for the sirens. I feel like a lone holdout. I'd hate to miss the crucial memo about a change in the date! (Just another comma! Boom.)

The Tooth Fairy II

Me, to Son, at bedtime: Show me that molar again after you've brushed. I think there may be a spot on it...
Son, far too cheerfully: If it's a cavity, can you make the appointment during school hours?

I mean really. (It wasn't a cavity, BTW.)

And now for something completely different: if you would like to brush up on your lie/lay/laid/lain business, here's a short post for you at WD blog.

Happy trails!

Talent Show

We have been picking ourselves up this week after the Big Birthday Bash last weekend. There's frosting on the blades of the ceiling fans... Oh, the horror. (But a great time was had by all!)

This week's dilemma: the talent show. Which used to be called the school lip synch, but one of the co-organizers this year whose daughter plays the violin finally put in her vote for some actual talent, which is both a relief and a gauntlet.

My kids are undeniably cute and talented. But what talent, exactly, translates to 3 minutes of stage time? "I could skate, and juggle," suggested Son, which would solve the problem beautifully if he could do either of those things already let alone at the same time and in front of an audience.

Lately, if I hush him he quotes somone from Jimmy Neutron: "You have silenced a great talent!" which is funny, but (wince) untrue.

Meanwhile, Son has been anxious about auditioning for the fall show. I pointed out that his father could teach him how to audition: it wasn't something he had to just know how to do. So we settled on a twofer: learn a short audition piece, and perform it for the talent show. His little sister has gamely agreed to be a sidekick, with just one question: "Who will be bossing us?" "Your father. And it's directing."

It's no violin solo, but it'll do.

O, Exercise Bike...

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways:

1. Thou art more lovely than other exercise bikes, having -- like me -- a nice, wide seat.
2. Thou art so quiet, allowing me to hear my netlix movies.
3. Thou art stationary, and stationed right in front of our big, American, example-of-conspicuous-consumption (--like me) TV set.

Shall we live together, you and I?

Because Fatherhood Wasn't Difficult Enough

So the fabulous table for the Game Room (the father's day material gift, as opposed to the gift of time spent in Home Depot ordering drywall etc) arrived yesterday on back of furniture store truck. It was factory damaged, ever so barely, which made it ten percent of its original price (yay!) and is so perfect I literally squealed when I saw it, half lay on it, and wouldn't leave it to go find store personnel. It is large, heavy, square, and bar table height (ie. perfect for playing tabletop games). Also, cherry, and beautiful. And it has a leaf in the middle, which cunningly folds up under the table itself and pins there. Which is how hubby put his back out yesterday. Overwhelmed by the table. He is now walking sideways, and reassuring me that my gift hasn't killed him, yet.

It really is amazing how much time there is without Netflix in my life right now. And since daughter woke me at 4.30am, and I'm done with email and blogs and oatmeal already, I think I'll get writing. Getting back into bed sounded great, but son's in there now as well...