Some Like it Hot

I've always prided myself on my ability to eat the heat.  I love spicy foods...I really, really do.  At one sitting I'll easily consume one third to a half a jar of pickled jalepeños and not break a sweat or be bothered in any way.

So tonight when I took my kid to a sandwich shop I asked for jalepeños on my sub.  And out came a whole pickled jalepeño which the sub technician sliced open, squeezed all the juice on my sub, and then sliced it up and put all the jalepeño meat and the seeds on my sandwich.

Well, I ate that sucker, and I LOVED that sucker, and I was on FIRE!

And I really, really enjoyed it.

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Wakey, Wakey!

Apparently there's a right way and a wrong way to wake up my kid when there's something he and I need to do over the weekend.

Here's what I do (AKA "The Wrong Way"):  I walk in, tap his shoulder, tell him it's time to wake up, pull the covers down a bit.

Here's what he does:  Ignore, ignore, pull the covers back up, zzzzzzz.


Later that day I am told what I should do to wake him up:

"Do something repetitive and loud until I get up and make sure you're a distance away so that when I thrash around kicking and hitting to make the noise stop I don't hurt you."


Well, now, that was a very helpful suggestion.

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Back in Roman Times

Seems like we've gone back in time every few days.  The thing is this.  Our kitten loves catching cockroaches.  Really, it's a beautiful thing.  But he goes a bit ancient roman times on us and I end up cleaning up his mess...though I don't really get on his case about it.

From the evidence, here's what I've concluded he does at night:

- He spies a ridiculously large cockroach.
- He catches said cockroach.
- He takes the cockroach to the bathtub (which turns out to be a spot from which cockroaches cannot escape...his own personal arena).
- He"plays" with the cockroach for some undetermined amount of time.
- He gets in bed with me and wakes me up by tapping my face with his paw.
- I find the massacre evidence in the morning when I want to take a shower.

That second to last part really grosses me out after I realize what his dirty little paws have been up to.

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Not so Smart After All

My kid is smart.  Smarter than the word "smart" it turns out.

The other day I was closing the back door of my car and I managed to clip my left hip bone in the process.  Hard.  I still have a mark.

Anyway, here's how the ride in the car went.


Little guy:  "What just happened mom?  You had a funny look on your face."

Me:  "I hit myself on my hip bone when I was closing the door."

Little guy:  "Not smart, mom."

Me:  "No kidding."


A few minutes later.


Me:  "Dang, that really smarts!"

Little guy:  "What are you talking about?"

Me:  "My hip bone."

Little guy:  "'Smarts' is the stupidest word ever for that.  You should say it 'stupids'."


Kid has a point.

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Officially "Vintage"

Spent a lovely day celebrating birthdays with my mom today.  We ate good grub and then we went shopping at a vintage store.  I went through rack after rack finding tons of amazing things that were way too high maintenance for little old me (i.e. required dry cleaning and/or ironing), but happily, I did find a few must-haves.  At one point we were chatting it up with one of the owners and she mentioned that they're getting stuff from the 80s and earlier because they are a "vintage" store, after all.

Um...80s, eh?  So the clothes I wore in high school are now considered "vintage"?  What?  And then I looked at my mom and thought, "No, clothes from when she was in high school are 'vintage'.  That's how it's always been."  But I kept my pursed "vintage" mouth shut and figured that, hey, I've got some stuff in my closet that's officially worth something.

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Doodling with Daddy

Dave and I were out having dinner at a coffee shop/restaurant kind of place.  And while he and I debated whether Darth Vader did or did not say, "Luke, I am your father" (he did of course, Dave thought he said "I am not your father"...um, no, I was right), at the next table over there was a bespectacled little girl about six years old sitting at a table with her dad...and they were both doodling...and talking...and doodling.

It was pure delight!

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When I was a Fish

I've got a kid in college now.  Does he talk about it?  Nope.  Do I have any idea what his grades are?  Ya...nope.  Mums the word on all that stuff. 

I suppose that's why a memory popped up for me.  When I was a freshman in college I tanked grade-wise.  I'd somehow managed to float through high school with very little effort and still ended up in the top ten percent, so actually needing to study in college took me by surprise.  Left me with an, "Oh....."

So I got to studying and managed to get myself all Dean's List worthy by Christmas.  So what did this totally broke college kid give her parents as gifts?  Little notepads made out of quartered "A" college papers.  The perfect little notepad for taking down a message by the phone.

And, by golly, as I recall, my parents used those sweet little notepads for a number of years. 

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