Friday, October 26, 2012

Halloween Costume Preview

Yesterday, I went to not one, but TWO beauty supply stores for a fake hair braid.

1. Beauty supply stores are freaky, godawful places that frighten me. Like that first time you stepped into Babies R Us for a shower gift and had to run screaming from the place. It's like that, but with wigs.

2. I also went to Auto Zone and bought new wiper blades. That was much less baffling, but still not my regular kind of venue. Wiper blades always remind me of my friend Emily, who once had a mechanic tell her that "all right-thinking people change their wiper blades every six months." I hope she doesn't use that mechanic any more. Because all right-thinking people are obviously like me, and change their wiper blades three rainstorms after it becomes painfully apparent that their wiper blades are shot.

3. [hysterical aside] HURRICANE SANDY IS GOING TO END US ALL! AHHHHHHHH! (I bought the new wiper blades before I learned a franken-cane was going to kill us all to death, bee tee dubs.)

4. Numbers 2 and 3 have nothing to do with Halloween costumes.

5. My son refuses to wear a fake braid.

"Hoods are better than braids," he told me, as he casually leaned against the couch this morning. Here's the photo his father took at the preschool costume parade this morning:
Whatever. Maybe he'll wear the $9 fake braid for trick-or-treating.

Lula is going to be Leia on Bespin, and Lumpyhead is going to be Darth Maul. If the HURRICANE OF DOOM doesn't get us first, that is.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Next Up, String Theory

I had this exchange with Nathan Jr in the car last week:

Nathan Jr: Do you know Kate?
Me: Kate who?
NJ: [indignant] No! This isn't a knock-knock joke.
Me: [not laughing, no really] Okay. [maybe snickering a little]
NJ: [slowly, like I'm an idiot] Do you know Kate?
Me: [mentally ticking through all the Kates with whom I am acquainted; and they are many] Which Kate do you mean?
NJ: He's in my class at school.
Me: [Now legitimately confused. Kate's a dude?]
Bump: You mean Kate Something-Something (I'm not protecting identities here, I don't remember what he said) from school?
NJ: Yes.
Me: No, I don't know her.
NJ: [getting to the damn point, already] Sometimes she calls me Nate-Nate.
Me: She does? (Awwwwww)
NJ: [sternly] Yes. And that's not appropriate.
Me: Okay.

I love that my four-year-old is exploring the concept of appropriate, something I have clearly not yet mastered. Also? It's funny to hear a four-year-old say the word "appropriate."

Monday, October 22, 2012

Bingo Night at Chez Lumpyhead

Aunt Bob and Pete came over on Friday night. Over dinner, one of the children asked, "What's a tyrant?"

"It's an adult who acts like a two-year-old," I said.

The adults ignored me. I muttered to Pete that I defied him to prove me wrong. Bump played it straight. "It's a ruler who uses power unfairly," he said.

I looked at Pete pointedly. "See? How is that not how a two-year-old acts?"

Pete continued to ignore me.

"Like a ferowa?" Lumpyhead asked.

"A what?" everyone responded.

"A fah-row-ah. Or maybe it's a pah-row-ah."

Oh, it was on. A puzzle cannot be left unsolved - not in this company - and you could see four adult brains scanning all that he could mean. Pete and I went the video game route. Mario character? Someone in Rayman?

"Tell me more about it," Bump asked.

"Like in ancient Egypt," Lumpyhead said.

Bump got there first. "Do you mean a pharaoh?"

"AH-HAH!" the other three of us yelled.

A fah-ROW-ah.

Also, we're huge dorks.

Wednesday, October 03, 2012

At Least I Got a Corndog

Bump considered bringing Nathan Jr to the Nationals game this afternoon, but the cheap tickets dried up and he changed his mind. He opted to bring Nathan Jr in to have lunch with me instead.

But when Aunt Bob called with an extra ticket, he was sorely tempted. In the end, he decided he needed to run the errands he had put off this morning. He declined.

When we met for lunch, I tried to get him to go to the game. I offered to take Nathan Jr to Costco and pick up Lumpyhead and Lula from school.

"Really?" Bump said, looking at me as though I had just claimed I could move a pull-out sleeper sofa by myself.

"I'm not saying it would be without disaster," I clarified, "but I could do it."

I'm sure Bump weighed the attraction of an afternoon baseball game in the sun, with discount beer and no children, against the impending doom of me driving the van, trying to navigate a warehouse store with a sugar-saturated four-year-old, and picking up two children from elementary school.

Yeah, it would have been a shitfest of apocalyptic proportions.
We had a good lunch, though.