(scene opens in cluttered kitchen)
Alpha: (hunting breakfast) Ha-HA! (pulls bag of leftover pizza from ‘fridge)
Me: (pointing) HA! Ha-HA!
Alpha: Ha-ha-ha-HA!
Me: HA! Hu-ha-ha-ha. HA!
Husband: You guys are dorks.
Alpha: (draws himself up) You married her. You made me.
Me: He does have a point.
Husband: I was cool once.
(scene opens in cluttered kitchen, conversation in progress)
Me: I’m really sorry they’re moving. I wanted to hang out with him more and make fun of each other.
Beta: (attempting to be witty) You’re bald! (crickets) And I’m out! (turns to leave)
Husband: Beta, come here.
Beta: (nervously edges toward the door room) No!
Husband: I said come here. (crosses room)
Beta: (whimpers)
(Husband embraces Beta gently, pats him on the back)
Husband: Sorry I missed your concert tonight. I heard you did a great job.
Beta: (confused, whimpers again) What just happened?
Husband: (lets him go, picks up tea mug, smiles)
Me: Good night, Beta.
Beta: (edges out of the room, slightly panicky) I don’t know what’s going on.
Me: (sotto voce) There is nothing he can do to you that is worse than your own imagination.
Husband: (smug humming)
(scene opens in cluttered dining room Beta sitting next to Carrot at the table)
Me: The reason you’re failing is that you’re not turning in your work. That’s it. You’re passing all your tests. Just turn in the goddamn work.
(Husband approaches the table)
Husband: (in calm receptionist voice) Thank you for calling Parent Phone. Press 1 if you want to be yelled at by Dad. Press 2 if you want to be yelled at by mom. Press 3 if you want a vague sense of parental disappointment.
(pause)
Beta: What does four….
Husband: (yelling) I TOLD YOU IF YOU WANTED TO BE YELLED AT BY DAD YOU PRESS 1! DO YOU EVEN LISTEN?
Carrot: (puts head down and laughs)
Beta: What’s wrong with you?
Carrot: (crying) I’m blogging that and you can’t stop me.
(scene opens in frantic parlor, three out of four spawnlings in scout uniforms.)
Me: Everyone got their shoes on? Uniforms on? Find your coats.
Husband: Gamma. Fix your belt.
(camera cuts to Gamma in Webelo uniform, scout belt all twisted)
Gamma: (struggles with scout belt)
Husband: Did you miss a belt loop?
Me: (aggravated) Here, let me help. This part is…. (hesitates) Gamma? You somehow managed to tuck your pants into your pants.
(everyone pauses, exchanges looks)
Husband: (sighs) I’m getting in the car. Head out when you two are ready.
(scene opens in cluttered dinning room)
Husband: Do you like it?
Me: I love it it.
Husband: Does it fit okay?
Me: Perfect. The only gripe I have is that they didn’t put the Admiral pins on the sleeve.
Husband: (pause) You’re bothered by the fact that your cheap silkscreened knock off sweatshirt from China isn’t cannon accurate to the franchise it was taken from.
Me: I’m still gonna wear it.
Husband: (tolerant sigh) Merry belated Christmas, dear.
Its been a while since I’ve shared my oh-so important thoughts about anything, but you really need to see this.
That, my dear readers, is Duke Cannon’s Offensively Large Sunscreen Lip Balm. Don’t be surprised when I tell you…it is offensively big. I can’t tell if I feel like a tiny little child playing with mommy’s lipstick or if I mistakenly grabbed Delta’s glue stick. It does give good coverage. At a mild SPF 30, I feel like I could easily hit my cheekbones and nose in an extra swipe it’s so large.
Okay, backtrack a bit. I am not receiving any goods nor monetary inducement to give this review, just the hilarity in my black little heart.
It smells a little minty but it doesn’t burn the mouth the way menthol related medicated lip balm does. Once I get used to the feeling of putting on clown makeup, I think I’m gonna love it. Also, way harder to lose when its that damn big. Takes up almost the entirety of my girl pockets. I’m giving this a: Worth the Extra Cargo Space.
Continuing on this shameless promotion: The reason I ended up this monstrosity is because I was hunting a replacement jar of Bloody Knuckles Hand Repair Balm. I got a jar for Husband a while back, for he dislikes scented things. Lotions tend to be on the perfumed side and few of them are acceptable, even to for me. It is a scentless lotion that is super creamy and does not leave the hands gross and oily and slick and slimy. Or all of them. And it works really well. Trust me, I’ve got dragon skin. This gets a: No Joke, You Need Some.
Yes, yes, the entire site is Hyper Masculine Marketing. Men can’t have lip balm, they must have tactical lip balm! They don’t use soap, they use Thick Ass Soap! (which I did get myself, but have yet to use) But something deep inside of me tells me that they don’t actually believe their over the top testosterone laden product blurbs. Its part of the joke?
As a final bit of review, I got myself some solid cologne. Yes. For me. It smells of vetiver and oakmoss and now you know what they used to make English Leather cologne (for those of you old enough to have fathers that wore such a thing). One does not buy perfume/cologne without knowing the preferences of the recipient, so I was unwilling to order for any of my stinky boys. So I will share, if they are inclined to be headed into the world of Manly Smells(tm). Meanwhile, I get to smell like a forest god. It’s quite intimidating. And this is a rather large solid tin, so it’s going to last me quite a while. This is rated: Maybe Too Much
Husband is going to love that.
(scene opens in mini-van)
Me: Its your sister’s birthday today.
Beta: Its also Wolfenoot.
Me: It is. So, I heard of a lovely Wolfenoot tradition from a friend of mine, H the Bard*. You hide gifts around the house and play “Hungry Like the Wolf” on repeat until everyone finds a gift.
Beta: Sounds fun. We should do that.
Me: Except that your father hates Duran Duran.
Beta: Huh. I should take forever to find a gift then. Just put it under my chair and sit there going “I wonder where it could be?” while he stands in front of me going “It’s right there!”.
Me: (starts laughing) You’re a terrible child.
Beta: (pleased) I wonder where I get it from.
(*Names blurred out to protect the guilty, but not very well.)
(scene opens in cluttered dining room)
Beta: (describing the gear needed for Welding class)
Me: (looks up from computer at Husband) So…now we’re buying him boots?
Husband: Something like Timberlands. Heavy duty work boots.
Me: (turns to Beta) Are you going to wear them all day?
Beta: No, they’ll stay in my locker.
Me: Finally using your locker? Glad someone knows what a locker is.
Beta: I have a locker in my welding classroom. I don’t use my real locker.
Husband: Only use your step-locker?
Me: (absentmindedly) What are you doing, step-locker?
Husband: (whips around to stare at Carrot)
Beta: (points at Carrot, yelling) NO!
Husband: (whips around to stare at Beta)
Me: Ha-ha. Outted you.
Beta: (flames bright red)
Husband: You’d better go to bed.
(Beta flees, stage left)
Husband: (to Carrot now laughing helplessly) I think this makes you the bad parent.
Carrot: (wipes tears) I’m okay with that.
(scene opens in cluttered dining room)
Me: (to husband) I found one of Gamma’s stories in my Google Docs. I don’t know if it got emailed to me or what.
Husband: Yeah?
Me: It was amazingly complicated. There’s a deep and wide ranging mind in that child. Alarmingly and creatively intelligent.
Husband: I know. I’ve read some of her stuff.
Me: (looks out window, Gamma running around in circles talking loudly to herself and swinging a scooter by the handle) Y’know how some of our other friends have really smart and clever and deep children?
Husband: (warily) Yeah?
Me: How come they’re all self-possessed well spoken polite little mini-adults and ours is swathed in chaos?
Husband: Swaddled.
Me: Swathed. Swaddled. Difference?
Husband: Swaddled is comforting.
Me: (thinks) Fair.
(scene opens in mini-van)
Beta: I think Dad jokes aren’t funny. I bet mom jokes are funny. Mom, tell us a joke.
Me: (wearily) I’m well rested.
Husband: (uproariously laughter behind the wheel)
Me: (takes cue) My children are well behaved.
Husband: (increased laughing) Oh my god! That’s hilarious! I’m laughing so hard I’m crying!
Me: I never have to yell at them to do homework.
Husband: (booming fake stage laughter) It’s too much! Stop! I’m going to have to pull over if you keep going!
Me: My house is clean.
Husband: (pulls over to side of the road, puts head down on steering wheel, hysterical fake laughter)
(cut scene to four kids and a dog staring flatly at the front seat)
Beta: I’m sorry I said anything.
Husband: (to Carrot) Dear, that was wonderful. You should do stand-up.
(scene opens in rainy dining room)
Beta: (shuffles up groggy) Did you get your other cards?
Me: (sips coffee) Yes.
Beta: (hands over pink envelope) I went to the store, looked at cards for ten seconds and decided this was the one.
Me: Oh boy.
Husband: (from kitchen) Thanks for getting me in trouble, Beta!
Me: He’s not wrong!
(flashback)
Me: So, do we call this one Epsilon?
Husband: (reprovingly) No. I want there to be some difference made between the kids and the dog.
Me: I’ve already called him Delta three times today.
Husband: (firmly) There needs to be a difference between the kids and the dog.
(cut-scene to evening dinning room)
Me: (settles self with hot drink, prepares to write, turns on Spotify)
Dog: (picks head up, side eyes) Woof.
Me: (looks over) What.
Dog: (deeper) Woof!
Me: Oh, I’m sorry, is my music bothering you? (shuts it off)
Dog: (more side eye, lays back down)
Me: Yeah, you’re Epsilon. I don’t know what Husband was thinking.
Baby Carrots 