The three red apples _ for the sake of this story _ are representative of Me, My Granddaddy and Max.
There’s two things I fondly remember about my Granddaddy:
1. He too was a writer, a poet. What, you’ve never heard of him and his Pulitzer Peace Prize _ An Ode To Farts. And he recited it with great pride at any and EVERY family gathering.
2. His waffles.
I really miss the waffles is all I’m sayin.
Tonight, we are having dinner. All sitting around the table. I even made pudding with whipped cream AND heath bar bits. Not to mention, once a week, they get to watch tv while eating dinner. So, we finish watching Wizards of Waverly Place _ my personal favorite, because that Selena Gomez chick got her start on Barney. We know this because she was the only kid worth a flip who didn’t overact or have a pre_pubescent mustache. So, we like her and that show. They do magic on the show _ thus the Wizards part of Wizards of Waverly Place.
The show ends, and Ricardo strikes up a conversation with the kids, “If you could have magical powers for just one thing, what would it be?”
Lucy, chimes in immediately with “I would make the whole world….” And then she actually stops to think about it. I’m guessing while she’s thinking that perhaps she’ll take the beauty pageant pick and say something like, “I would make the whole world get along. …And really skinny.”
She keeps thinking, and says again: “I would make the whole world….”
“FART???” Max says in the sweetest most curious way ever known to mankind.
I startled the children from laughing so hard, so loud and for so long. I could not stop laughing. Because apparently, if Max had magical powers, he’d make the whole world fart.
Max and Granddaddy never met. I’m guessing he’s laughing as hard as I just did from up above. Fifty bucks says one of my aunts or uncles cites the Fart poem in the comments. I dare ya…
That’s how I roll.
I KNEW I spoke to soon when I went off and tooted my own horn. If there’s one thing harder than losing the weight, it’s keeping it off. Can I get an AMEN? Seriously y’all.
As I pointed out at my Weight Watchers meeting last night, I think the reason I’m “big boned” is because I’m happy. When I’m stressed I don’t eat. So, it’s no surprise that I lost all my weight and hit my goal weight and lifetime status all while Carrie was so sick and then when she passed away. Makes sense. And now that my little heart is on the mend, and I’m laughing again _ Fatty McGee rears himself on my thighs and ass. Sigh.
I have to stay within 2 pounds of my goal weight and weigh in once a month as a lifetime member. Last month, I didn’t make my cut. So, I’m back on the wagon. I have 4 pounds to lose. I’d like to sandbag and go a little under my goal, for a little cushion _ pun intended. But damn, that makes it 7-10 pounds to lose. And I can’t even lose the 4 to get back on track! AAACK!
I’ll admit, I got a little complacent. Got back in the kitchen. Started baking. Not smart. I just love to cook. And I love rich yummy foods. Tack in the fact that it’s starting to get cold and I’m going to need hot soup, hot cocoa, and probably lots of cheesy casseroles and this is not good.
Why is it so hard to do good? Geesh. So, today, I’m watching the teaser for Rachael Ray and she says she’s highlighting Weight Watchers. I’m so excited, is she going to make a meal and tell us how many points it is? Uh, NO. She showed a chick that lost 100 pounds on Weight Watchers, then went on to make a fatty stoup with CHEESE BISCUITS. (Rachael Ray, read the next line with rage and sarcasm.) THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR INSPIRING EFFN RECIPE.
That’s how I roll. (Wait til you hear about the work out problem.)
After the Toothfairy incident, and the daily reports I get from the kids on the playground talk, I was fairly certain that they’d figure out the whole Santa gig.
I firmly believe that when they ask, or doubt, I won’t be the mom who says, “Well, if you don’t believe, you won’t receive.” Because to me, that also sounds like a well_orchestrated head_in_the_dirt abstinence campaign from Texas _ which by the way, has a high rate of teen pregnancy. Along with “If you masterbate, you’ll go blind” or “Coffee stunts your growth.” All I’m sayin is I’m tall and have great eye sight.
We grow it . We tell them not to talk to strangers, or what’s appropriate and not appropriate. Then we tell them there’s a frikkin old man who breaks into the house. But first they have to sit on his lap and smile and tell him what you want. Gross. And THEN _ “santa’s watching” “you better be good, santa knows when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake.” Sounds like a dirty old stalker man to me. So, I vow to not hold on to the dream and put off any explanation with, “If you don’t believe _ you don’t receive.”
My plan is to explain to our kids what’s the real deal with Santa. That WE go through all that for them. And that is what is all magical and stuff! Who’s with me?
Don’t get me wrong, I still want them to believe. I’m not ruining it for them. I’m letting them figure it out on their own. Or because some shtup older brother of Kid X, Y, or Z at First Grade Playground Chat has ruined it for them. I just hate that some day I’ll have to admit that the punk ass kid is right. When that punk is 20 and at a thriller movie, like Seven, he’s going to lean over and tell them what’s in the box. He’ll have a lifetime of crushing dreams and fizzing out any joys of anticipation and delight. That’s what I really hate about my kids losing the dream of Santa.
So, the kids have been suggesting, mainly Lucy, that some kids at school say there’s no Santa. It does make me sad. But I just keep listening, because she keeps talking.
Tonight, we’re reading, and Max has picked out a lovely book about Santa _ sort of. It’s a really cute story. In the middle of it, Santa shows up _ and Lucy’s eyes get real big, huge smile, and then she shouts:
“I TOLD you there is a Santa Clause!”
Yes, sweetie, you must believe EVERYTHING YOU READ! So, thanks Max. You bought me another year. Whew!
No I have to go get ready for Halloween _ you know, the holiday where we dress our kids up real cute like and send them to take candy from strangers…
That’s how I roll.
Okay, I’m sitting on the couch one night and the phone rings, and I see on the caller I.D. that it’s a market research gig, probably about the election. I think to make Farley the Wonderdog bark into the phone, but for some reason _ and thank God _ I didn’t. Because after we chit chatted about where I’m at with my vote _ the lady tells me, “We’re expecting record breaking turnout on voting this year and we’re encouraging all voters to go vote early.”
And since I’m so YOUNG and all, and haven’t voted that much _ I said, “Say what?”
I had no idea you could vote early. Did you? So Ricardo and I had a hot lunch date the other day and went to go vote. The line was OUT THE DOOR 18 DAYS BEFORE ELECTION!!!
You can vote at your county commission office Monday through Friday. I highly recommend it. I imagine that as Election Day gets closer, the line out the door will get longer. AND you can even go online, request a fax form, print it out, sign it and they’ll MAIL YOU A BALLOT and then you can mail it back in.
Who made it so easy? I suppose since we’ve all been suffering through the campaigns for so long, it’s only fair that we get a little gift of convenience. You have no excuse now. You NEED to vote. And you NEED to either vote early, OR, show up to vote on Election Day _ pack a breakfast and a lunch and prepare to stand in line. Maybe even take a half day. Don’t go expecting a freebie day off from work. And you fellow SAHM’s _ go early _ taking your kids on Election Day should be illegal. Be considerate of fellow voters _ and don’t put them through that, nor the kids.
When I hung up the phone, it hit me hard, this effn election is almost over. The campaigns, the bickering, the lies, the media,the stupid ads, all of it, it’s almost over. Well, I guess we’ll still get the lies… For THREE YEARS, y’all, we’ve had this stuff shoved down our throats.
In the time this campaign has been going on _ I could have birthed a child and she’d now be old enough to go to pre_school and be potty_trained for crying out loud.
I had half a mind to tell the poor girl on the phone, “What! Election? Well who’s running anyways?” Or, “No, I’m not ready to vote yet _ I just don’t know enough about either of them.” I mean, hell, even if you live under a rock, there’s probably a campaign sign close by for you to sleep on. It’s too much. And it’s almost over. I’m so excited.
You’ve earned your right to vote this election from suffering through the pain of three years of it. So do it. Go vote. And go early.
That’s how I roll.
We like to start our kids in training early. Ricardo shows Max the ropes.
I might have mentioned my glory days a few times. Ricardo and I had very different college experiences. For instance, he majored in economics, because that was the easiest way to graduate. Really? I thought it was journalism, or psychology, or communications. But okay, economics, really?
I went to a school of about 7,000 _ Division 2.
Ricardo attended a school of about 70,000 _ Division 1.
I was a mediocre volleyball player. And I’m not self_deprecating, I really sucked the first 2 years, and then rocked it out the last two years. That averages out to mediocre, at best. That’s my statistics class working for me.
Ricardo was a _SECOND IN THE NATION, Four_Time All_American top_notch, bad ass mutha trucka _ high jumper.
The only foresight I had when making the decision of which college to attend is that I knew I wanted to go to a fairly small school. This was validated to me by my Dad. When he drove me to college, we got to the corner, at the light, I pointed to the campus and said, “Well, there it is, what do you think?”
Seeing as how he could pan the entire campus at a stop light, he simply looked around and said,”That’s it? What the hell were you thinking?”
By the end of it, he’d met the Admissions lady, who assured him that she would take very good care of his baby. And he believed her. Every time I had any problem, he always would say, “Call that Lila Vars lady, she promised she’d help.” And Lila always did.
This weekend, we took the most relaxing, fun, and carefree family vacation to Minneapolis, MN. It’s been almost 15 years since Ricardo graced the sidewalks of this campus. The first day we were there, we entertained the kids with the Light Rail system to the Mall of America. All the kids really wanted to do though, was get back to the hotel to swim. I don’t know what it is about a damned hotel pool, but it’s all they want. So, we promised them a dip in the pool, after we took care of of the touristy things at Mall of America: Nickelodeon on Crack & Coasters, The Rain Forest Cafe, and LegoLand. Apparently our kids are really sheltered. Thank God no one was around at the pool to hear Max say, “Thanks mom and dad for letting us out of the room to swim so late at night!” It was 7:15p.m.
The next day, we got our walking shoes on and headed to campus. Ricardo wanted to look around, but mostly, see the track and eat at Big Ten Subs. What can I say, the man loves his sub_sandwiches.
I cannot believe how gianormous this campus is. You have to cross the MISSISSIPPI RIVER to get from your Biology class to your Modern Art class. There are BIKE ROUTES and PEDESTRIAN ROUTES all over the place. It is absolutely incredible. I walked around in awe, mostly because of how big it was, but also at how beautiful it was. The leaves are changing colors. And the buildings were just beautiful. Some old and classic, others brand new and modern. And somehow it all works together.
There’s some wreckage from the bridge that collapsed last year. The new bridge is up and running.But the wreckage is an eerie reminder as you’re walking back on the walkway over the Mississippi.
The Track That Ricardo Rocked _ and a mere fraction of the campus in the background, it merges into downtown. If you look closely, you can see Ricardo showing Max who the reigning champ is…beating a 6_year_old. That’s hot.
It was fun to show the kids where Daddy went to college. They got a kick out of seeing the track that he practiced and competed on.
I’m guessing, with this project to show the kids our alma maters, we might have started with my school, then progressed to Ricardo’s. Because I’m afraid the kids will be a bit let down, and when we pull up to the campus, at the light, they’ll say, “What the hell were you thinking?” Which will be awkward coming from a 6 year_old and all…
That’s how I roll.
If you have kids in school, you know that the dropping off of children is anything but fun. We have a diagram of traffic flow sent home at the beginning of the year. It’s stressful. In fact, just last week, we got this email from our principal:
“I wanted to inform you of an unusual situation that took place earlier today just outside of our school. Two of our parents experienced some difficulties which required the assistance of the law enforcement. Working with the officers we were able to resolve the matter.
As a precautionary measure, we put our school in a heightened state of alert. No one at any time was in danger. This message is being sent to effectively communicate with you and keep rumors from being started. ”
Ofcourse the email itself ensued a chaotic mass of chatter and rumors among parents anyways. My guess was it was some freakshow of divorced parents right out of Days of Our Lives, or road rage from a minivan not moving fast enough for a dad who had to take the kids to school in his big ass rig and was trying to shlep them off and get to work.
Word on the streets was _ it was the latter of the two options.
Today, it’s rainy. So, no one is walking their kids to school, making more cars for more rage to pour into the school parking lot in a 10 minute time period. Every day, we try to leave early to beat the mass of crazy traffic. And everyday, we leave just in time to get in the middle of it.
I come from a suburb in Houston folks. Traffic and road rage are a hobby in my family lineage. I got some great one liner insults and learned all the bad words just by riding with my parents (mostly my Dad) in the car, and I can remember twice when he reached for a gun under his seat. Which made him even more angry because the gun wasn’t there one time. It’s Texas folks _ seriously.
But here in the Big O _ it’s the good life, and I opt to just not be angry at it. To embrace it. Crank on the tunes, rock it out. We’ll get there happy instead of rupturing an ulcer. It IS a little frustrating, when you’re at the same light for 20 minutes, but we did it.
About 10 minutes into it, Lucy chimes in: “Mom, why don’t you gooooooo, the light is GREEEENNNNN.”
“Well honey, I can’t because there’s several cars in front of me. It’s just traffic.”
Slight pause, she’s looking around, assessing all the traffic. Looking. Looking.
“It’s THAT lady’s fault mommy. Tell her to go! Look, she won’t go!”
“Sweety, I’m not going to yell at traffic. She can’t hear me. It’s kind of like when you’re watching SpongeBob _ you’re windows are closed. Can’t hear me.”
And then Max, “Well honk your horn. She’ll hear you!”
We inch up a couple of car lengths.
“The horn is just for emergencies. No one can move, it’s just traffic.”
Lucy says, “Yeah, it’s raining so there’s more cars.”
“That’s right sweetie!” I was impressed that she figured that out. She’s in the first grade and already so smart. Don’t you think?
Lucy needs to blame someone, “We should have left EARLIER.”
Still maintaining my calmness and after a sip of delicious java, “Yes, you’re right sweety, we should have.” But really it was MAX’S fault because he had to get his hat and he can’t ever find ANYTHING and it took 3 whole minutes. But whatever.
Killing time, “I’m glad we live in Omaha and not a big city. You two would go crazy with traffic in a big city like Houston. Sometimes it takes 1-2 hours just to get to work!”
Lucy: “WELL! I’m glad I don’t WORK then!”
Me too, honey. Me too.
That’s how I roll.
Lucy came bounding out of school on Friday with a little plastic treasure box and “Mommy, I lost another tooth!”
Typically, this is an exciting moment for mother and daughter, she’s growing up, plucking things out of her own body. But since I didn’t even know she HAD a loose tooth at all, I assume the guilty position. She held my hand all the way home and told me all about it. Apparently someone else’s head may or may not have loosened the tooth, so that’s good. It’s not just my fault, it’s some girl’s head.
So, I go babysit at Julz(HOLLA!)‘s house. Which I love, because girlfriend pays me in chocolate. That’s hot. I’m guessing they prefer to be exploited by babysitter rates rather than have me because I stick around and chit_chat. “So, how was your date?” Next thing I know it’s past midnight. I go home, crawl in bed, all is right with the world. In my most exhausted state, it takes me atleast an hour to fall asleep once I get in bed, if not more. It’s been a really late night and I’m looking forward to sleeping in a bit on the weekend. We don’t have to do the carnies_to_school routine, so that’ll be nice.
7a.m. _ Lucy comes waltzing in. If Lucy is in motion, if her eyes are open, if she’s conscience, she’s talking. So, she comes in yapping. I’m just about to yell at her with both of my eyes still closed that it’s the weekend, and she needs to go back to sleep, when I notice that, yes, she is yappy, but her tone suggests she’s either sick or sad. Maybe a bad dream. And then,
“Mommy, I woke up and my tooth is still here and I don’t think the tooth fairy’s been here and there’s no money and I put my tooth right where Daddy told me to put it and nothing is there but the tooth and the tooth is still there and she didn’t come the tooth fairy did NOT COME MOMMY!”
Shit. I’m a low_life mommy, building up grandeur dreams of fairies whisking away nasty and gross teeth (baby teeth are so disgusting, seriously) and replacing said nasty with money. I told her all that would happen, and may have very well contractually defied all laws of mommy lies. She probably has figured this out, the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny, oh dammit, Santa. Damn. Damn. Damn. I’ve just ruined everything. Damn.
I come to all of this realization while stumbling downstairs, somehow Lucy is distracted, I wad up some bills, it might have been a $50, I don’t care, and thump back upstairs. I guess I told her to get back in her bed and look harder or wait or something because she’s back in her bed. I pull the ol quarter behind her ear number and act like I’m helping search under her pillows.
“Did you look good under your pillows? I think she likes to leave it under the pillows.”
She looks,and behold, redemption _ her face lights up _ jackpot _ money in hand. Whew.
I smile, kiss her cheek, pat myself on the back, and start stomping back to bed, hoping to get a few more minutes in. And then Miss Thing hits me with,
“But she didn’t take my tooth.”
MOMMY CAN ONLY DO SO MUCH BEFORE HER FRESHLY BREWED COFFEE IN THE MORNING YOU DEMANDING LITTLE LISPING MISSING TOOTHED GIRL!
Fine, I just said that in my head. Meanwhile, Ricardo comes riding in on his horse with this cape to save me from this debacle. Or not. Perhaps he yelled from his own slumber (in his defense, we have a really comfortable bed, and since no one was bleeding or puking, he remained in bed) “Maybe you WOKE UP TOO EARLY and SCARED HER AWAY and she left before she could get the tooth.”
She totally bought it. And she had $2 in her hand _ the going rate in this house for a tooth _ so she was cool with it all. On the way to the pumpkin patch later, Lucy explains, “Mommy, SOME people think that the tooth fairy isn’t really real. And Bobby_Don and Emma_Sue told me that they aren’t real.”
“Oh.” was all I could muster. Thankfully it wasn’t something like, “Well stupid Bobby_Don is right, okay!? I’m sorry! I’m sorry I messed this up, but I AM THE EFFN TOOTH FAIRY OKAY? I am also THE EASTER BUNNY AND SANTA, AND CUPID. OKAY? I’M ALL OF THEM. IT’S MEEEEE. MEEEEEEE.”
Thankfully, there is one person in this world that talks more than me. Who interrupts me. It’s Lucy. So, after she tells me the kids at school say the tooth fairy isn’t real, I say, “Oh.” And she says, “But I don’t believe them.”
“That’s good.” Is all I choose to say.
Later that day, in very complex code and with the windows down in the back so the kids couldn’t hear us or translate, Ricardo and I devised a plan of Divide & Conquer. There’s a reason why I stay in shape. So I can bound up the stairs in a dead sprint to beat the kids in the house while Ricardo diverts them just a little, I get the tooth, hide it, and we go on with our day.
A few hours later, our sweet less_toothed little girl comes down to us and as happy as can be, because her faith, in the tooth fairy is redeemed, “Mommy, the tooth fairy came and got my tooth while we were at the pumpkin patch!”
Whew, close call.
That’s how I roll.
The other night, I got in about 10p.m. and walked into the house. I was in my Ricardo’s car, we park it outside of the garage. A car was driving pretty slowly up the hill. I acknowledged it, with “Punk ass teenagers” no big deal, and went inside. The next morning, Ricardo left for work and called me to tell me I’d left the car unlocked and someone had ransacked the car. All of our cds were all over the seat, and everything had been pulled out of the console. The good news is, I’d just cleaned out the car, and Ricardo is quite the minimalist, so there was nothing in there, whomever had just let it be known that they’d been in our car.
So, today, we are walking the dog at lunch time, and my husband says to me, “There’s my bike”. It’s a very distinct bike, so we knew it was ours. We realized in summertime we just park his and the kids bikes on the front porch, and since they didn’t find anything in our car, perhaps they helped themselves to the bikes. We took the bike back to our house, discovered Max’s bike is missing. Apparently these tough asswipes aren’t interested in girl bikes with streamers. We went back to the house where we found it to see if someone was there and knew where my kid’s bike is. I was ready to throw down. Since we’re so big, it’s the perfect opportunity to scare the wits out of someone for the glory of getting the bike back. The windows were open, but no one came to the door. We did check out the yard and saw nothing but a very nasty yard. Very Sanford & Sonnish. But who am I to judge? I just got my kids’ bike stolen because I let them leave it on the front porch!
Ricardo thinks someone just dumped the bike there. I think it was probably some dickweed teenagers, one of which lives there, and probably wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed & left the bike in the front yard. The reason my theory is better than his, is the keeping up of the house. Judgemental, yes. But it’s fairly different than the others on the street. Could be coincidence, but I DID just find the bike there, so. I’m a bit on edge.
When we discovered someone had rummaged through our car, even though I’d left it unlocked and it wasn’t broken into, still I felt (still feel) violated. But now that we found the bikes a few houses away. It’s one thing to feel violated, it’s another to feel violated by a neighbor.
Punk ass teenagers. I see stuff they do around the neighborhood every day. They are like cats, they think if they don’t see you, you don’t see what they’re doing. Yesterday I drove by two jackasses in the road _ who didn’t seem to mind that my ton of minivan was also driving in the road, never moved. They were squatted around a water bottle filled with some blue substance and were about to light it with their parent’s lighter. It was a fancy pewter lighter, not the colorful Bic kind. The kid with the lighter saw me and ducked the lighter behind his back, like the blue concoction wasn’t alarm enough, or that they’re about to light a plastic bottle, or the fact that they had to get far enough from their house to be IN THE ROAD with it, like lighting a firecracker or something.
I did kind of want to stick around and see what happened. Point and laugh a little bit, and THEN dial 9_1-1, but I kept driving.
And the kids making out on the corner, looks like rookie white bread pimps and ho’s. They want all of their people _ fellow punk ass bitches _ to see them PDA’ing in the street, but when I’m gaulking, it’s a problem.
My favorite is the kids smoking. They hide the cigarettes behind their backs. Excuse me, but there is smoke coming out of your ass and your nose. And you’re going to die a slow and painful death in about 40 years, but you don’t care about that now. Fuckers.
I’ve watched you, caught you, and not told on you one bit. So, to the punk ass bitches who were here on our property, thank you. Thank you for bringing it to my attention that I’ve been way too trusting of my fellow neighborhood teens. You’re a far up neighbor, so you probably only see me rolling in my minivan. You have know idea how giant we are, or the angst and rage I consume just from the election coverage, the stock market, my hormones, or the school parking lot I have to deal with every day. I’m raging mad.
That’s how I roll.
This week, we were invited by Max and Lucy to come dine with them at School for lunch. Their treat. It was sweet and all, but I was hoping to avoid this. First of all, I’d be surrounded by small children. And then there’s the food. I didn’t want to see the food my kids were eating. But, they persisted throughout the week, so I suckered, woops, I mean, waited until Ricardo could go, and so, on Friday, we dined out, First Grade style.
We allow our kids to eat a “hot” lunch. I use “hot” in quotes because my tatertots were cold. The sound advice we go from on that is to let them eat lunch at school, and then make that make you accountable for cramming the vegetables and healthy food down their throats for breakfast, snack and dinner. Consider that and the cost of a sack lunch from home about $3 versus the cost of a “hot” lunch: $1.80. Add in the fact that it’s one less thing I have to grocery shop for or panic over in the mad rush morning craziness, and you have yourself a deal. Go and eat the school food. And that’s our strategy now.
We had to figure out this whole lunch routine by asking the kids questions. I’ll spare you the pain of quizzing a Kindergartner and now First Grader on the protocol of lunch time and just give you the research data. These kids get 20 minutes of lunch time. They tell their teacher which of the offered entrees they want first thing in the morning. At lunchtime, they go through the line, give the cashier their number and then get their tray of requested entree cuisine. They also have a choice of chocolate milk or regular milk and once a week, they get crazy and throw in a choice of strawberry milk. OOOOH! The entree is the main gig plus a carb. Seriously. So, I had a buffalo chicken wrap and 5 tater tots. Then they move on to the cart with the fruits and veggies. This is where I have my problem with this system. Are you serious? You’re going to throw a hot dog or pizza and cold tater tots on a tray along with chocolate milk and let them CHOOSE whether they’ll even stop at the veggie & fruit cart? Seriously.
Oh my God, I’m my mother.
But really, giving the kid a choice of hitting the fruit and veggies blows me away. Until I went and ate with them. And I saw every single one of those suckers get salad or fruit and veggies. And they ate it all. I was so impressed. I was even more impressed that it wasn’t pears and peaches drowning in syrup. It was fresh and yummy.
So the food and their system got my seal of approval. Getting those kids in, through the line, fed, and then trays cleaned off, trash in the can and trays to the cleaning area _ it’s a well_oiled machine. I need to come in more often and take notes.
The kids were fairly good to me. I know those little suckers can smell fear. And yes, I realize I have two of them squirming around me. But 200 of them _ makes me nervous. The kid next to me I think has the sweets on Lucy and was totally winning me over. I’d feel this tap on my shoulder and then, “I ate all of my carrots, see?”
Then a few seconds later, tap, tap, tap. “Sometimes, when I have a little extra money, i give it to the poor.”
Not even kidding, I wish that kid could run for president now. Hillarious and virtuous. And yet, it did sound like he was campaigning a bit.
I was a little ticked to see my kids acting so well, and actually sitting and eating their food. At home, keeping them from choking while making animal noises with a carrot and some milk seems to be our biggest feat. That and keeping them strapped down in their chairs. “Mommy, why do we have to wear seat belts at the dinner table?”
Sigh. Because that’s how I roll, kid.
And exit the stadium. Here is a picture of the hardest working band in America. First the bar, THEN the game, and now THIS. They rock out all the way out of the stadium and up two or three blocks, then make a left…that’s when we lost ‘em. But I was impressed. And they weren’t even all melodramatic with their tunes. And no one ever shouted, “Shut your band up with your stupid pep. We lost Mo’ Fo’s. We LOST! Waaaaahhhhh” No one did that. So, seriously, it boosted morale. Thanks band.
After the game and the band escort, we made it back to the bar we’d originally started at. Sure enough, they were perking every miserable NU soul’s morale with beer and sing_a_longs. Ricardo and I waited for the others, enjoying the fun tunes, when suddenly, they broke into the best song in all recording history. I tried to post the video, but seeing as how I’m all technically depleted and all, no can do. So trust me when I say, The 65_year_old woman on her keyboard has converted me to a NU fan. When SnoopDog recorded Gin&Juice, I loved it. But when the Ghourds recorded it, I about lost my mind at that brilliance, and here we are with the retiree gramma rocking it out at the bar in Lincoln, Nebraska. Ahh, the Good Life. I am so proud.
We met up with our people, got in our limo and made it home. It was almost a 12_hour adventure.
I don’t need to go to a game for a while.Seeing as how I don’t like crowds and all, I’m good for watching it on tv for a few years. I will still take advantage of the freakshow and go grocery shopping during the game.The aisles are ALL MINE! But I bet you’ll find me exploiting, woops, I mean cheering on the Huskers with two of MY inventions: The Pelini Belini, Corn husking contests, and lo _ Corn on the cob dipped in a vat of butter.
I’ll still get a kick out of reading endless combinations of license plates. I’ll still giggle a little when I drop my kids off at school on a Friday before a Nebraska game and Max is too embarassed to go into school because EVERYONE is wearing red and he has a tan shirt on. I’ll just scream, “HEY I wore BLACK to THE GAME. So buck up pal. You’ll survive. You’re gonna be bigger than all those dorks anyways. You can totally take ‘em.”
But now I have a better understanding (not total understanding, I still consider it a freakshow) about why people are so crazy about the Huskers. It’s more than just the game. Just a few weeks out of the year, everyone comes together. And in our current national clusterpuck, they all can come together and agree. They can cheer for their team, share the joy. Mostly, forget about all the messes back home, and for just one moment in time, along with 85,000 other people, all in the same place, forgetting the same things, they get to escape and vacation in a sea of red. I get it.
That’s how I roll.