Sunday, July 12, 2009

Complete sentences are foreplay

This was a spectacular birthday weekend because Mama loves me and knows me better than I know myself, which means that it was a mellow weekend from start to finish without any party, shindig or celebration--and no, I'm not counting that unfortunate episode with the huge gold sombrero and the free shot of tequila with a candle in the lime slice at dinner. The mellowness was also nice since I was still recovering (read: cranky) from my fever and sore throat.

The day started with a nice set of gifts and cards from Mama and 3B, which came with some donuts--I told you she loves me. We headed off to the "other" playground, meaning the one down by the river with sand to dig in and ropes to climb and some of the highest and fastest swings around. On the way there, we had stopped at the bagel shop, where I got a nice birthday gift--a parking spot directly in front of their door.

So, when we got home, we were ready to sit down for lunch and get right to our nap. And then, all through the Bradstein house, not a creature was stirring, except this little mouse. Nap time was short for Mama too, thanks to 3B's verbal outburst, the house being too hot, and her having a six-pound child in her belly. She came out to the living room and we talked through some of those things I wrote about, then got ready for our hot date.

And by getting ready, I mean doing what all married dads do: trying to remember when I last showered, failing that, sniffing my armpits, wondering when I last put on deodorant, wandering back to the bathroom, getting distracted, ending up in the car, again sniffing my pits, wondering if that smell was me or an old snack of 3B's that he had left festering under the driver's seat.

It was a hot date. We did such things in public that we haven't been able to do in public or private for years: completed sentences. Sat in silence. Chewed our food. And I got some flaming hot fajitas to help with my sore throat, an old trick that I learned from a good friend in high school. I ruined the trick by getting some frozen custard at Obama's our ice cream shop, but it's not my fault. Not even the President can resist the charms of the Dairy Godmother.

Then we headed down to the water to listen to our fair city's symphony orchestra play the 1812 Overture, accompanied by fireworks over the river and four cannons fired by Marines from just down the coast. We got there late, but ended up about 50 paces behind the cannons--that's the side you want to be on, in case you're wondering--and so got to see them fire in rapid succession as the score requires. Impressive. Loud. And...what? I can't hear you.

Today we took a trip to our farmers market to get some fresh food for a lunch salad for KC, 3B's babysitter while we go to hypnobirthing classes these last three Sundays. 3B wasn't as psyched as he usually is to see the farmers and their flora, but he was happy to go to the playground right next to the market, even though the slides were hot enough to fry eggs--or legs--on.

Of course, we couldn't let all that healthy eating stay with us, so after hypnobirthing class, we went to get more frozen custard with some of the other couples from class. We did bring some home for KC and 3B--I assume that because of our goodwill we can deduct the calories from theirs from the calories we ate at the shop, right?

By this point, however, Mama and I were no match for 3B, who had enjoyed a four-hour nap. Yes, all you other parents out there, you read that right: four-hour nap. That's longer than his standard, but not unusual. It's OK; you can be jealous. Of course, I have nothing to do with his nap habits, since I'm at work five out of seven days that he takes one, but I'll still gloat about it.

So, when 3B did "his privacy" in the bathroom with Curious George and Mickey Mouse--they sat on the potty, he squatted next to it and deposited his "privacy" into his diaper--then went to dump it in the toilet, leaning on the bathtub, smearing poop on the tub while I managed to smear some on my thumb from the diaper just before trephinating myself on our towel rack...well, let's just say that wasn't my finest parenting moment. Fortunately for all involved, Mama is full of grace and took over for me while I stomped about the house.

I did eventually settle down. After all, now that my illness and birthday are behind me, it's back to the same old shit. Might as well get right down to it.

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  1. That was quite a treasure hunt finding out all that mouse had been up to.

    Funny story for you.....
    So I was out shopping and spied the perfect present for 3B who has abirthday coming up soon, then I thought that his mom shares a birthday with him, so I snagged a little something for her too. Wasn't until recently, like Friday, that I remembered someone else had a birthday coming up soon too... keeping him older than me still. Things will be in the mail to you all soon.

    Still love you even if I am so old I cannot remember.

  2. Cannot remember what? Wait...who are you? What are we doing here? Hello? Hello? Did I call you?

  3. Hey PB! Happy belated birthday! Sounds like you had a great weekend - minus the crap you had to put up with. ;)