It’s popcorn for dinner.
Never have the Oscar nominated movies been so accessible and never have I seen less of them. Not Lincoln, not Les Mis, not Life of Pi, not Argo, not Silver Linings Playbook. Not even movies nominated for more obscure categories, no Avengers or Skyfall, no Anna Karenina or Hitchcock. I did catch Brave five or six times. Someone needs to go on more dates this year.
The first thing that happens to you in the morning is not necessarily a predictor of how the day will go. But if the first thing that you see when you step out of the shower on Monday morning is a cat covered in hand and body lotion, that’s a good indicator of what’s in store for the next twelve or so hours. It’s not just that someone had the idea to rub lotion all over the cat, it’s that the stars and planets aligned for a moment where it was possible for the cat to be contained by two smallish boys. Trying to wash a cat in the bathroom sink while still in your bathrobe starts a day that definitely ends with falling asleep on the couch.
Opening the shower door this morning to find two children picking Goldfish and Craisins out of their teeth, which they snuck downstairs and ate Cookie Monster style –by their own admission, they were trying to be as messy as Cookie Monster- is another indicator of what Tuesday is going to look like. In their defense, they I did find the broom and dust pan on the floor. Eating an entire bag of Goldfish at 6:45 AM is one of those great crimes that comes with a built in punishment. Oh, you usually have Goldfish or something equally snacky in your lunchbox? Sorry, we’re out. Enjoy your banana.
The soothing sounds of Rush’s voice screaming down the stairs, “MOMMMM, TATE’S IN YOUR MAKE-UP!” was another day entirely, during a little something we like to call bedtime. Tate has gone through two tubes of mascara so far in 2013. That’s more than one per month.
A few years ago, the package for the door lock that we put on the grill outside warned that you should remove the childproofing when the child “could defeat it.” There are only so many locked cabinets (there are none, like raptors, Rush and Tate can both open doors) and high shelves. Childproofing is more or less a joke. We’ve jammed highest shelves with the Fabulouso and matches and blades to the blender and for everything else we’re going on faith and prayer.
Stash of astronauts, 2 shuttles, a mini Saturn V, and assorted space toys
America In Space: NASA’s First 50 Years and pillows
Shuttle launches and clips of boats retrieving the rocket boosters on YouTube
*Damn you, grammar for a last name that ends with the letter S! Williamses’???
There was a picture on my phone of two of the wooden spoons and spatulas that Trent made in November/December:
Wood, band saw, sanding, mineral oil, time spent in the garage- I wasn’t involved in the creation of these, so that’s the complete description of the process. Sadly, that’s a better description than the one that I gave Rush the other day when he wanted to know what happened to water after he drank it. Stomach, bladder….kidneys, maybe? And somehow water gets all through your body…? Thanks for nothing, high school.
Saturdays are generally best when we get up, eat breakfast, then leave the house. Last Saturday, we headed out to Alvin, TX to buy a Satsuma tree from a local tree place. We also brought along a clipping from the tree in our yard that we call "the lime tree” to see if it could be identified, as it has never actually produced any limes. Apparently it’s a grapefruit tree, which is awesome, although identifying it doesn’t change the fact that it has yet to even blossom.
After picking out a tree and a yellow rose bush, we went to Froberg’s Farm for vegetables, tomato and basil plants, a strawberry pie, fresh roasted peanuts, and this conversation as we’re driving through the fields on the way to the store:
Me: Here we are guys! We’re at the farm!
Rush and Tate: A tractor!
Rush: What is it doing?
Me: It’s watering the plants.
Trent: Nooo-
Me: Ooh, okay, roll up the windows.
It’s a great place to eat lunch: grab some fruit and peanuts, a sandwich from the smokehouse to share, and let the boys wear themselves out on the swings.
I had a spiritual moment on Sunday, planting the Satsuma in the yard. Trent’s shoulder is still healing from his recent surgery and he was cooking borracho beans for the Super Bowl. I grabbed a shovel to work in the yard and Trent started hovering around me in his work-in-the-yard pants, when I kindly informed him that he was physically incapable of using a shovel and he couldn’t leave a boiling pot on the stove while the boys were napping. For once, I got to be the dad, working outside on a beautiful day, with Trent inside cooking and minding the children. It was so refreshing that I worked in the yard for four hours: pruning, messing around with the compost, weeding. By myself, digging a big hole and getting muddy, I felt like I was checking off “Plant A Tree” from a list of 100 Things To Do Before You Die. Planting a tree on your own is an experience I do recommend.
Just in case it sounds like I want to live in the country, I assure you, I do not. But I did enjoy planting that tree…and eating the strawberry pie.
Today is the ten year anniversary of the Columbia disaster, rest in peace to all astronauts who died in the name of exploration. Two main memories of Columbia stand out for me, the first is turning on the tv on a Saturday morning in my college apartment and slowly piecing together what was happening. The second is taking a tour of NASA a few years ago with my friend and NASA employee Brandon, who casually tossed out one of my favorite sentences ever, “And here is where I train the astronauts.” He showed us a big display from Columbia, set up partly as a memorial, but mainly as a reminder for NASA employees to be alert and aware that every detail matters in their jobs.
I have no transition from that. It’s the same thing that happened recently when my friend and seminarian Kellaura was in Haiti for three weeks and I sent letters to her house containing only the most trivial of topics. The big exciting thing in my life and hope for the future of the planet–two healthy children who are being raised in a stable environment!- can only be described by mundane details. Life is chuffing along.
Yesterday was pajama day at school. We got the tires rotated on the van this morning and moved the last of Tate’s stuff into his shared room with Rush, converting Tate’s old room into a temporary playroom by pushing the crib into the corner. Tate is napping and Rush is asking me every five minutes if his nap is over, chipping away at my sanity. Tonight is pizza night. It’s a really beautiful day.
Yesterday our iron stopped getting hot.
I’ve started filling my water bottle with Diet Coke.
I’m sending this idea out into the universe, because I it’s something I want, but don’t have the rhythm to start. There should be a exercise class where everyone does what the chorus of a Broadway musical would be doing to prepare for a production. It would pretty much be A Chorus Line. I already run to the Hairspray soundtrack so I can pretend that I’m preparing for my role as Penny (my former neighbor/personal trainer informed me that no one else does that – individual!) and during Zumba I imagine that I’m preparing to be a Puerto Rican in West Side Story. I’ll allow a pause here for my family to laugh at that image, gangly whitey thinking I could dance with the Sharks.
---
So, someone get moving on that Broadway class please. Go ahead and take my idea, but I would like free admission to the class.
Have I mentioned 30 Rock enough on this blog that I need to comment on the end of the series last night? I’ll get to that as soon as I finish eating a sandwich and reading this book about Jane Goodall.
Wait, but seriously, I have an unread copy of In The Shadow of Man on my bookshelf. Trent honey, bring home a dozen donuts and some night cheese. It’s Friday night.
