I love Facebook. A lot. Like...a lot, a lot...and for many different reasons; but mostly because I find a treasure trove of comments from friends like the following:
"Chloroform is a highly under-utilized parenting tool." (S.P.F. I heart you!)
It's like having your dope dealer give you free samples just to keep you coming back. Well, FB dealers, it's working. It's also a great place to share the daily disasters that are my life (i.e. the fact that my youngest son just tried to “plug in” a pair of headphones to his uncircumcised aardvark…I mean, “why the hell not?!”).
As to the point of this post, we had a rather entertaining weekend. I had to work Saturday morning, but Saint Jason made up for it by doing all the laundry and making sure I was completely at ease all afternoon & heartily medicated with my fave vino. We took the kids to a favorite dive for dinner and I broke my diet. “Fuck. It.” (I will be back on the wagon tomorrow, but whatever.)
The kids & Saint Jason went to Blockbuster (without me, because the cheeseburger & peanut butter cup milkshake I inhaled decided to wage a mini war on my intestines—HOORAY!) and refreshed our movies for family movie night.
All was well until…the popcorn.
We’re picky about our popcorn in this house. We prefer Jiffy Pop. Yes, it takes longer to make. Yes, it also requires elbow grease, but it is more fun & tastes better. At least, when I make it.
But Saint Jason was again feeling all “sainty” and decided he would make it. I could see his head from my spot on the living room and hear the shuffling of the Jiffy; but I couldn’t see what was actually occurring. About the time we should hear “All done, go grab your bowls you little grubbers,” we hear instead… “Shit! It’s busted out all over the place!”
“Uh. WTF?!” say I, because this has NEVER happened to me. And I, of course, get off my butt to go investigate. This is what I find.
And I start to laugh. And then laugh some more. And the kids come in and they are PISSED! Saint Jason f’ed up the Jiffy Pop! And I’m still laughing.
I, of course, have to grab my phone to take pics (which he spends the next 2 hours trying to steal from me, after he Googles “Jiffy Pop failures” for 30 minutes—which of course he can’t find any entries for—but he can find 101 YouTube instructional videos on how to make Jiffy Pop…which, of course, point out infinitum the error he made.)
"Chloroform is a highly under-utilized parenting tool." (S.P.F. I heart you!)
It's like having your dope dealer give you free samples just to keep you coming back. Well, FB dealers, it's working. It's also a great place to share the daily disasters that are my life (i.e. the fact that my youngest son just tried to “plug in” a pair of headphones to his uncircumcised aardvark…I mean, “why the hell not?!”).
As to the point of this post, we had a rather entertaining weekend. I had to work Saturday morning, but Saint Jason made up for it by doing all the laundry and making sure I was completely at ease all afternoon & heartily medicated with my fave vino. We took the kids to a favorite dive for dinner and I broke my diet. “Fuck. It.” (I will be back on the wagon tomorrow, but whatever.)
The kids & Saint Jason went to Blockbuster (without me, because the cheeseburger & peanut butter cup milkshake I inhaled decided to wage a mini war on my intestines—HOORAY!) and refreshed our movies for family movie night.
All was well until…the popcorn.
We’re picky about our popcorn in this house. We prefer Jiffy Pop. Yes, it takes longer to make. Yes, it also requires elbow grease, but it is more fun & tastes better. At least, when I make it.
But Saint Jason was again feeling all “sainty” and decided he would make it. I could see his head from my spot on the living room and hear the shuffling of the Jiffy; but I couldn’t see what was actually occurring. About the time we should hear “All done, go grab your bowls you little grubbers,” we hear instead… “Shit! It’s busted out all over the place!”
“Uh. WTF?!” say I, because this has NEVER happened to me. And I, of course, get off my butt to go investigate. This is what I find.
And I start to laugh. And then laugh some more. And the kids come in and they are PISSED! Saint Jason f’ed up the Jiffy Pop! And I’m still laughing.
I, of course, have to grab my phone to take pics (which he spends the next 2 hours trying to steal from me, after he Googles “Jiffy Pop failures” for 30 minutes—which of course he can’t find any entries for—but he can find 101 YouTube instructional videos on how to make Jiffy Pop…which, of course, point out infinitum the error he made.)
(I should note here that, twice this week, he completely disassembled & reassembled our xBox360 for cleaning & repair. And that he practically rewired the electrical in our entire house & has rebuilt rooms & changed out the brakes in my car & other really handy shit…because he’s SAINT JASON!)
One of the other really awesome things he does is help the kids conquer fears large and small; like feeding the lorikeets at the zoo. My daughter is not so big on nature. She says she is, but only until nature actually gets close to her, then all bets are off. Not today, however; today, we were all about dodging the bird shit to get a chance to feed those pretty birds.
With the help of little cups of nectar, we were able to get those little rainbow bombers very close and feed them & Elena even got up the nerve to pet them and almost hold one. Until it bit her: she’s now back to her “fuck nature” mentality. Can’t say I blame her.
It was all in all a good weekend. We rounded it off with completing school projects, a homemade Harry Potter Puppet Pals show (complete with Ziploc sandwich bag puppets, because I suck at being a crafty mom); and now, I’m sitting here sharing it all with you, glass of wine in hand. (It's true. I can type 60 wpm one-handed, because I'm freakin' awesome like that.)
You can check out the rest of the pictures and the video of the puppet show here. I’m going to enjoy watching the “Saint-Son” bonding of Jason and Ian now: he’s teaching Ian the following phrase—“Time to lay the smack down on your sorry butt.”
Could be worse…he could be getting his phrases from his mother.
Until next time,
B~
p.s. I’m getting a new phone tomorrow. Going back to the Crackberry & I’m totally stoked!!!
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