Vinaigrettes — With a Side of Y me? And is that … you?
Actual text from 917-555-6262:
Can’t talk, got your voicemail — am feeling better and would love to get together. How are the girls? XOXOX Emily
My reply:
HEY! Love you, miss you, want to know how the new place is. Girls are fab except for little beastly one who LIES non stop. Can we talk tonight? XOXO ME
Actual text from 917-555-9898
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Brother FUCKFACE!!
I am so confused. First. Because it’s not my birthday. Second, because in the 33 years I have known my Aunt Emily she has never once called me “Fuckface.”
Not even when I worked for a Republican.
So, either, A. Aunt Emily’s been hitting the crack pipe again; or B. This is a misdirected text.
Putting some long hard thought into matters, I conclude that this message was meant for Cute Husband. For, although he is a man of rare manner and gentility, he also is a Marine. And not only is the unsavory language a tad reminiscent of some things I may have overheard back in the day, but today also happens to be the Marine Corps birthday.
Also, on closer look, the phone number isn’t Emily’s so WHEW on the crack pipe thing, huh?
This happens. A couple of times a year. I get it all into my head that it would be lovely to make art with the girls all day, decorate the house for some such freaking holiday.
It always starts with a trip to the craft store.
This is a very dumb thing to do. And yet, like clockwork, once a year, I get the dumbass idea to do it.
So this fine Veteran’s Day morning we roll out toward the craft store, my girls and me, just strolling down the aisle with our cart wrecking havoc and destruction everywhere.
Here’s sorta what it sounded like:
“A dancing Santa Momma adancingSantaMommadancingSANTA!!!”
“No.”
“Can we –?”
“No.”
“Momma look at da dancing –”
“No.”
“Beads, Renny!”
“NO.”
“Sissy look at da –”
“No.”
My “No’s” were occasionally broken by a monotone repeating of our mission. I find this helps, sometimes. Not them, but me. So I don’t forget.
“We’re here to buy things to make Thanksgiving decorations. We are buying Thanksgiving decorations. Just THANKSGIVING DECORATIONS.”
The problem, of course, is that I missed it. There is a holiday in late October called Halloweenthanskgiving and once that’s over everything gets moved to make room for Christmas.
“Yeah, I think we might have some foam turkeys in the clearance aisle,” Dippy Teen says to me. Clearly, Dippy Teen does not understand my soul. I cannot haul myself to the clearance aisle. I don’t know where it is, and I’m suffering from a crisis of faith that clearance foam turkeys would be worth the effort.
“Okay girls, c’mon, clearance aisle … don’t touch the ceramic mugs, they’re not yours … don’t poke the silk flowers … we don’t need a feather-and-eucalyptus chicken … no … no …”
Finally. Foam turkeys.
Not really.
Lots of foam haunted houses, foam skulls. Foam apple-for-the-teacher kits. No freaking turkeys. Finally, I find a cornucopia kit. With tons of fun looking intricate parts to glue.
“Won’t this be great, kids?” I beam. Partially because I’m still selling it to myself. Partially because I think enthusiasm is the only thing saving their precious-perfect lives.
“Momma look letters and picture frames –”
“N –”
“Can we make one for the baby?”
“Oh. Okay. Fine.”
They start digging through bins of flimsy wooden letters to find the ones that spell their names and “Baby.” It’s perfect. They’re completely absorbed. I start digging through craft paper for stuff to make leaves with. After a few minutes, they have assembled:
“mARy”
and
“Xkkjtoqd”
“Mare — that’s great! Doodle. Do you want yours to say ‘Ren’ ‘Renny’ or ‘Doodle?’”
“Renny.”
“Fine.” I start digging.
So does she. I pull out an “R” — she pulls out a “q.” I manage to scrounge up two “n’s” she tosses them back and replaces with a “w.” Mare is going through a bin of doll clothes. A woman with a cartful of knitting materials is glaring at her because she is blocking the aisle. I stare blankly at knitting lady like I’m so uncivilized I can’t even interpret a proper dirty look.
“Do you think we could make a dress for Felicity?” Mare asks.
I toss back the “q” a couple of random “r’s” and get two “b’s” and a couple of “n’s”
There are no “y’s.”
There are no freaking “y’s.”
I am beginning to feel very hot. My head hurts. I am starting to hate the children.
Ren is tucking letters into her pockets.
“Okay, okay, I got it. I GOT IT!”
I stand up, brandishing a “y” — which for whatever reason chooses that moment to flip out of my hand in a little alphabetical suicide. It lands back in the pile. I whimper.
Do you have any idea how much freaking hot-glue it takes to assemble a foam cornucopia? Filled with little pom-poms that have to be glued together to make grapes?
P.S. Children can’t use hot glue guns.
Finally, the picture Cute Husband ordered from the Marine Corps Marathon has arrived.
Doesn’t he look awesome?
I think so, too. Such an accomplishment. Whoever this guy is, I hope he’s proud.
But he is no relation of mine, much less a person to whom I might have been married for 10 1/2 years.
And we now have a $12 picture of him on the refrigerator. Isn’t that great?
Oh and if you’re trolling the Internet and find a picture of my actual husband running the actual marathon, drop me an FYI, I’d surely appreciate it.
November 12th, 2008 at 7:10 pm
Don’t feel bad, my craft projects turn out pretty much like that and I don’t have children. I’ve had to ban myself from the craft store for everyone’s sake.
November 12th, 2008 at 7:46 pm
Ok I’ve been laughing nonstop but the picture thing was too much, I’m crying and I think I peed myself.
I love your vinaigrettes and no matter how tedious it seems don’t stop making the holidays special, those are memories more than one person in this world wish they had.
November 12th, 2008 at 8:09 pm
I’m glad you can see the humor in your life. And more importantly that you choose to share it with us. Dear gracious woman you make me laugh! And now my daughters are addicted to the Renny Doodle stories. They heard me laughing one day and made me read to them. Now whenever you write about her I have to share with them. Today however we are falling over laughing about the handsome Marine on your fridge!
November 12th, 2008 at 9:19 pm
Couldn’t help but wonder if the Y scenario is actually a hint at the sex of the baby….no Y chromosome, only X??
Am I, like, super smart or totally making something out of nothing. hee hee not knowing is fun…kinda.
November 12th, 2008 at 9:50 pm
So funny, I was at the craft store this afternoon and I saw that foam cornucopia. I almost bought it, but restrained myself. Post a picture of it when it’s “done!”
November 13th, 2008 at 12:12 am
This is too hilarious.
November 13th, 2008 at 8:32 am
“I am beginning to feel very hot. My head hurts. I am starting to hate the children.” - That was our trip to the craft store with four little kids searching for Christmas ornaments they could ambitiously make for all the family. How did you know?!
November 13th, 2008 at 8:40 am
I laughed so hard at this post that it brought tears to my eyes. I can so relate to this whole post– it’s almost like deja vu when I read it! And the thing with the picture at the end was hilarious!
Thanks, I really needed the diversion!
November 13th, 2008 at 9:02 am
Ugh- kids and craft stores. I thought it would be easier with only one of my four at home, but it isn’t. I’m jealous of the picture of your husband- mine just ran his first marathon and they didn’t have anyone there taking pictures, or we would’ve bought one.
November 13th, 2008 at 10:19 am
Um, really? If you’re really looking for his marathon pics, I just found them .. let me know if you need ‘em. Also, I was out there watching the Marine Corps Marathon last year and am sorry I missed cheering for him! And.. in case he does it again, I live two blocks from the start/finish and you all are more than welcome to use my place as your own personal race headquarters, free parking, private bathroom, etc. Just let me know!
November 13th, 2008 at 1:56 pm
And you tell him he’d better call us if he ever does it again.
November 13th, 2008 at 2:58 pm
darn, I thought the “Y” in the title was hinting at the Y chromosome… as in XY!
haha wishful thinking I guess
November 13th, 2008 at 5:16 pm
Dried leaves, woman. Dried leaves you can pick up while walking…or purchase in July, when the Fall crafts go out into the aisles. Many wonderful things can be made with dried leaves. Or colored paper, with handprints. [the latter are especially nice, since they can become gifts for those who love the handprinters.)
Of course, anyone who takes child/ren to the craft shop any time after Halloween is just asking for trouble!
November 15th, 2008 at 9:16 am
Sounds a lot like a recent trip I took to Michaels with my 5 year old, her 5 year old and 1 year old (luckily, we left my 1 year old home). They were all over the place…literally taking out anyone that was in their way.
We finally are pulling into our community and waiting for gate to open. Conversation went like this:
Her: “You know what sounds great?”
Me: “muzzle and duct tape?”
Her: “uh, no. I was thinking one of those buttons like in a limo that roll up the window so we can’t hear them”
Me: “All fine and dandy until we forget their back there. Then we are stuck in stripes or even worse, orange. Nobody looks good in orange”
Her: “Good point. Duct tape and muzzle it is”
I so feel your pain. So. Feel. Your. Pain.
November 28th, 2008 at 7:13 pm
[…] We’re standing in the checkout at the craft store. (A foam North Pole. I just. Never. Learn.) […]