Victory, delusion, heartbreak

Victory

Sister L came over on Sunday to coach me through making a proper meal. Goulash was on the menu, and it was delicious. Two of the girls even took it for lunch yesterday. And Picky Eater willingly dipped her bread 1 millimetre into the bowl to try it. Trust me, this is a victory.

Delusion

I was putting gas in the car yesterday and noticed that the girl filling up in front of me was wearing skinny jeans tucked into her knee length boots, and the boots were still LOOSE at the top. Like, she could've been wearing snow pants, tucked them in, and there still would've been room.

Me? I've got a callous on my finger from yanking the zipper up over my "muscular calves" as one saleswoman so graciously put it.

But I comforted myself with the fact that Loose Boot Tops was probably freezing due to her 0% body fat, whereas I could probably be lost in the wilderness for days and still be fine. So there.

Heartbreak

While doing Just Dance 4 with the kids last night, I noticed that the reflection of my body on the colour-block screen looked not unlike like Igor when he would dance on the Hilarious House of Frightenstein:

The sins of the mother

I was a very picky eater.

So when one of the girls despairs that there is nothing for her to eat, there is a part of me that sympathizes.

A VERY SMALL part.

But when she engaged me in a heated debate the other day about the fact that Alpha-Getti and Zoodles taste completely different, therefore there was no possible way that she could take Zoodles in her lunch, I thought I was going to lose my mind.

Her closing argument (delivered at top volume):

"They taste different TO ME! And you are just going to have to live with that!"

I'd better watch my step

The girls are doing their first communion this year.

So before that comes first reconciliation (or confession, as we called it back in tha day).

They were talking about reconciliation in class the other day. The girls were pretty pumped about the fact that you don't have to tell anyone what you told the priest, and the priest can't tell anyone what you said, and that when he forgives you, it's like you're a blank slate.

S: "But ____ already sinned two times today!"

Me: "Really?? What did he do?"

S: "Well, first during prayers, he just talked about ninjas the whole time. And then later, when I said I didn't want to do something, he called me an old grandma."

We'd better talk about tightening up the criteria a bit, or this kid's going to have a full rolodex file on me...

No biggie...

...I just, you know, drove on the 401 again. In yucky, slushy snow. And didn't die. Whatevs.

The reason for this death-defying feat was a brunch date with two dear friends--A (the person behind my first 401 expedition) and L (a former roommate, along with A).

The best part was the fact that we are slowly morphing into the old ladies we envisioned ourselves to be--sitting on the porch, yelling at kids. The only problem is, we're just not ready to admit that we're old yet.

We kept feeling warm, but would only admit that we suddenly felt "hot" in a "flash"...this was in no way to be confused with a hot flash.

We talked about retirement savings.

And we spent an inordinate amount of time discussing Twitter, and how we just don't 'get it.'

At this rate, we'll end up like these gals eventually. Hopefully. (NSFW)

I give up...but not really

My most recent attempt at Sunday dinner actually reduced me to tears.

Honest-to-goodness shoulder-shaking sobs.

Excuse-myself-from-the-table bawling.

Everyone very gingerly coaxed me back to the table, and enthusiastically told me how great it was. (Liars.)

I resolved at that moment to officially let go of the notion of the Sunday dinner. 

"I give up," I said.

"I hate cooking. I am not good at it. I am clearly not able to produce anything more difficult than chicken fingers and fries," I said. 

I felt better. Lighter. Like a weight had been lifted.

The next day the girls and I went to Costco and - my hand to God - I bought a cookbook.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

This blog contains adult content

The other day we were all sitting around watching the National Geographic channel.

A commercial came on, depicting a man lying in bed, looking...disappointed.

The voice over said that 10% of men could be affected by erectile dysfunction.

E: Pop! What would happen if that happened to you??

DH: Uh.....

E: Would you just not be able to sleep, or something?

DH: Um. Yeah. Just. Don't you worry about that. That's not going to happen to Pop.

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DH is on vacation this week, so he has been picking the girls up from school.

A boy was running around and being a goofball, and there was much giggling and carrying on.

S explained to DH: That's J. He and K had a relationship. But it's over now.

I just liked this one.

The girls were telling a story about a boy who was in their class in K or JK.

He was sitting on "the log" (apparently there's a log in the schoolyard that you can sit on).

One of the girls walked up and said, "Hi, what are you doing?"

And he said, "I'm playing Cash Cab."

Sadly, the girl just backed away because she thought that was a weird answer.

I was hoping she sat down and he asked her trivia questions.

Can you imagine if she came back in from recess $500 richer?