My daughter insisted that she would sleep outside tonight, in the backyard, in her underpants, thank you very much. "Night-night, Mommy!" she waved as I opened the sliding glass door and stepped inside.
I called her bluff and when I heard the theme music for SpongeBob Squarepants, I opened the kitchen window and informed her, "Hey, SpongeBob is on!" and she scurried inside. Then, curled on the couch, she let me know that she planned to sleep downstairs, on the couch.
I do love her polite defiance. When I tell her, "Hey, go pick up those toys," she'll say, "No, thank you." After her bath (right before she went to bed in her room, as usual), she said, "I spit water right there, on the floor." I furrowed my brows in the classic Mom Disapproval Glare and she said, "I'm sorry, Mama." But the spark in her eyes and the impish grin said otherwise.
* * *
Today was a most glorious day. I had an eye appointment at Costco at 10:40 a.m., which I managed to stretch into a solitary daylong excursion. More on that in a minute, but first I must tell you about the eye doctor, or as I like to think of him, The Pocket Doctor.
From his tiny white shirt to his little shiny shoes, he was just like a real doctor, only miniaturized. His nose was tiny and perfect sculpted, like Barbie's. I had complete confidence in The Pocket Doctor and couldn't stop thinking about how handy it would be to have a replica of a doctor to just tuck into your pocket or purse.
Oh, and weirdly, my eyes are better, not worse, and so I have a lesser prescription. When we finished, I ordered the contacts, then faced the wall of glasses to pick out a new pair. (My old pair is 9 years old.)
The Costco clerk came out from behind the counter to stand next to me as I contemplated the choices. Too many choices! They were sorted into three areas: Men, Women, Contemporary. I stood in front of the Contemporary section, trying to imagine myself in these little rectangular black frames or those small oval pink ones and the clerk said, "Well, these are cute," just as I started saying, "I don't think I'm cool enough to wear any of these." She said, "Sure you are!" but that was just mercy speaking.
I scooted over and picked out a pair from the Women's section, but not before picking up, putting on, taking off, putting down the same ten pairs of glasses over and over again. I just couldn't decide. But finally, I just picked one. Good enough for the next ten years.
* * *
Last night, my husband and I went to a movie. (Can you guess what we saw?) For the first time, I bought tickets online, which was pretty terrific. No standing in line to purchase tickets . . . and a very small crowd in the concession area. We stood behind three people in a line and I immediately wanted to switch lines. I had a hunch, but my husband, Mr. I-Don't-Like-Change, said, "No, this is fine." So we waited another ten minutes, finally realizing we really should have moved to another line.
As we finally headed toward the theater, I said to my husband, "You know, this one time I saw a movie on the opening weekend and when I first got to the theater, I thought, hey, it's not even full, and then I walked into the movie and it was packed . . . kind of like this!" And we saw that the seats were full. . . and then we found two spots right on the floor, front and center. Perfect.
If I were a different sort of person, a person with a big mouth, a person unafraid of being bashed in the mouth by a stranger, I might have uttered these words:
1) ARE YOU TALKING ON YOUR PHONE DURING THE MOVIE?! SHUT UP!
2) GET YOUR TODDLER OUT OF THIS THEATER! THIS IS NOT A MOVIE FOR TODDLERS! HIRE A BABYSITTER, YOU MORON!!
But, I'm not that sort of person, so I just said to myself, Now I have something to blog about.
Aren't you lucky?
* * *
Oh, and finally. When I returned from my daylong adventure (Costco, Wendy's for salad, Joann Fabrics, Value Village, Trader Joe's), I returned to my driveway in time to see my neighbor holding something at arm's length with her index finger and thumb, hurrying across her yard.
She was walking back when I disembarked and I said, "What happened? Did something die?"
Then I heard the squawking. Two frantic Steller's Jays
were swooping from tree to fence and back again. Apparently, the neighbor's cat had killed their baby bird and both birds had turned into John Walsh, desperate to find their missing offspring. The neighbor kept saying, "I feel terrible! I feel terrible! I feel terrible!" and scolded the cat who did not feel terrible and who was still lurking under a bush, a serial killer longing to kill again.
Did you know that Steller's Jays form monogamous long-term pairs? They were still screeching and hopping from roof to tree to fence and back again when I finished carrying in the groceries.
* * *
Tonight, while I clipped back a wicked bush (with spiky two-inch needle-like thorns) near our gate, the boys played a game in which they threw a ball over the house to one another. If they'd broken a window, I'd really have a tale to tell, but they didn't, so I don't.