It took me almost three hours of driving and running around to realize that I only had 1 contact lens in. #ineedsleep
Dan and I use Google Calendar to keep track of the family schedule. It’s a very handy way to record crap so we don’t double-book ourselves and then piss each other off (which happened a lot). It’s also great to be able to access the calendar on our smart phones from anywhere. We keep track of the kids’ school schedules, extracurricular activities, what we’re having for dinner, when I’m going shoe shopping, when I’m going out drinking with friends, when I expect Dan to mow the lawn or do other shit around the house. You know, the essentials.
Most of our calendar is fairly mundane, but these are a handful of my favorite events from the past year or so:
- Reprint the Pictures of Colin Because Colin Spilled Water All Over Them 🙂 (I added the smiley to make this invitation seem like more fun.)
- No Drinking This Week (This was a multi-day event that Dan declined.)
- Pie and Booze (Clearly, he accepted this invitation.)
- Make a New Dog with The Hair Brushed Out of Ziggy the Dog
- Fix Backyard Hose Fucking Piece of Shit Thing
- Figure Out What Crap to Order from School Fundraiser
- Drink a Shit-ton of Wine and Make Bad Decisions
- Be Lazy and Drink Coffee (This event was scheduled for the morning after Drink a Shit-ton of Wine and Make Bad Decisions.)
And my all-time favorite:
- Smell My Now-dry Leather Gloves to Make Sure They Don’t Smell Like Pee or Something and Smell the Goat Cheese to Make Sure It’s Still Good (Dan tried to decline this invitation, but I wouldn’t let him because I have anosmia. I ended up having to shove the items in his face.)
Growing up in my family, if you didn’t play soccer, there weren’t many extracurricular options for you. I was the last of six kids, and the five kids before me all played soccer. But I had absolutely no desire to play soccer (nor any athletic ability)—so this was a problem.
I really wanted to be a ballerina, but despite my <SARCASM>exquisite grace</SARCASM>, ballet lessons were too expensive (last of six, remember). I was told if I could find a class in the Parks & Rec catalog (except ballet), I could take it. So I scoured that catalog for hours. “Fruit stamp making? Uh… Shadow puppetry? No. Home brewing? Sounds great! Wait, I’m in 4th grade. Gymnastics! Yes, gymnastics!”
It was my new passion. My parents approved of the class, and my dad was supposed to sign me up for it. But… he forgot. Upon recognition of his mistake, he casually handed me a soda (reserved for special occasions) and a box of See’s candy and told me, “You’ll get over it.” (In case you haven’t noticed, 30 years later, I’m still bitter.)
My dad later encouraged me to try my hand at basketball. (I think it was the only class still open.) But my hoops journey ended in tears when the ball bounced off the rim and hit my knee (because I wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way), and the ref called me for “kicking.” I stormed off the court in absolute horror and shame. That was also the same basketball team where my dad, in an unprecedented amount of parental involvement, volunteered to be the assistant coach. (I’m guessing he got a discount on the class that way.) His shining moment of assistant coaching came when he told us kids, “Quiet down, kids. Listen to your coach.”
Not to be daunted (or coerced into soccer), I tried out for a couple of plays with Children’s Playhouse. I got a few (very) minor parts over those seasons and took ridiculous pictures in ridiculous costumes to document the entire experience. But since I had to hitch rides to rehearsals from my best friend’s mom and had to drag my parents to the final performance (that my five siblings would not attend was a given), my acting days soon ended as well. Sidenote: I still can sing the housekeeper’s song from Jack and the Beanstalk. Buy me a few drinks, and I’ll perform it for you.
Why am I telling you these woeful stories of my childhood? Mostly because it’s cheaper than therapy. But also because I have the opposite problem with my son Colin. I can’t find anything that the kid wants to do. I have asked him what he’s interested in. “Nothing,” he tells me. I have suggested soccer, basketball, dance, theater, golf, chess, art, you name it. “No, no, no, and no,” he tells me. I can get him to willingly attend a Lego camp during the summer so at least I know he has some sort of interest in something. But I feel like a crappy parent for not exposing him to more activities. (Erin, in contrast, is interested in so many things we need to prioritize so she’s not over-scheduled.)
I know, I know, he’s only in second grade. This is one of those times when I need to employ the Calm the Fuck Down (CTFD) parenting method. And for the most part I live and breathe that method. I just want the kid to have some interests—to find his passion. So I keep trying. I was driving Erin to piano lessons last week, and I asked Colin if he wanted to take any music lessons. Piano? Drums?
Colin: “Ummm, no. Music is not my thing.” (He loves to tell me that things are not his thing.)
Me: “Really? What about the accordion?” (Now I’m just fucking with him.)
Colin: “What’s an accordion?”
Erin proceeds to describe and pantomime what an accordion is. And she and I break out into an accordion-ish tune. (We might be each other’s biggest fans.)
Colin: “No. Not that either. But I do like desserts.”
Me: “Desserts?! Do you want to take a dessert making class? Or a cooking class?”
Me: “Then what do desserts have to do with classes?”
Colin: “They don’t. But I really like chocolate.”
Sigh… Fortunately, he can join the Lego Robotics club at his school in 2 years. I’ll just have another drink and CTFD until then.
I am currently stocking up on wine for a large party that we are hosting in October. This is **way** more dangerous than buying Halloween candy too early. I better find a damn good hiding place.
Pork product preferred. (That might be my new motto in life.) Pancetta, bacon, prosciutto—they’re all good. Cook, crumble, and then put them on everything. Meat sprinkles.
While driving to school last Friday, I was telling Erin and Colin about my plans for the day. Among other things, I explained that I was meeting with a window cleaner to get an estimate to have our windows professionally cleaned. (They haven’t been cleaned since we moved in a few years back—it’s a wonder we can tell day from night.)
Me: “I’m really excited about getting the windows cleaned. They’ll look so nice.”
Erin: “Yes! They will be so sparkly!”
Colin: “I’m really excited about the last day of school.”
Me: “Uh, Colin, you know that school isn’t over until June, right?”
And then he did the math and figured out that school is in session the majority of the calendar year and started crying. Like full-on massive meltdown. It was only the end of the fourth week of school. This year’s going to be a bitch.
…or were wondering where the fuck it came from, here’s a little history on the name, Foxy Wine Pocket. I’m either a creative genius or drunken fool. Maybe a little of both?
I thought Colin was smart. But Erin just demonstrated once again that women are the far superior gender. Here’s what I heard her saying to Dan just the other night:
“As long as Mommy is happy, you should be happy.”
BOOM. Smartest. Kid. Ever. (Sorry, Colin.)