Sundays with Stretchy Pants

It’s like Tuesdays with Morrie, without all the wisdom.


Slow-Moving Sleepy Zombie People

We’re back! And we are tired. Lots (but not enough) of friends and relatives, a funeral and a wedding, some camping with the inlaws and lots and lots of driving. I feel like a zombie so, instead of posting, I’m going to give a you a link to a zombie dating site because it’s my blog and I can do what I want with it. And then I’m going to watch Shaun of the Dead and go to sleep in my very own bed. It’s funny if you like that kind of thing (the movie, not my bed). I swear you’ll like it even if you don’t like zombie movies. If you don’t, you can have your money back.

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Where Was I in 1998?

My God, why haven’t I been watching The Big Lebowski every day for the last 10 years? I know you all know this already, but that’s a good movie. It makes me feel like I gotta get me some more Jesus, though. Not that Jesus, this Jesus:

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No More Auto-Play (ETA: The Racialicious link is fixed. Finally.)

I just took my music player thingy off of auto-play. I wanted it to play These Are the Days automatically in honor of our anniversary because that’s what I walked down the aisle to, but it’s back to same ol’ same ol’ now. Because it’s not our anniversary anymore. Everything’s back to same ol’ same ol’. Well, almost everything. We’re dragging it out just a bit longer because Kristen will be watching our kids tonight while Bryan and I go to Studio 35 to drink hard cider and watch Run Fat Boy Run. It’s just a big ol’ 3-night anniversary extravaganza! Saturday night, we stayed close to home and watched Dan in Real Life together. Last night, we ate ice cream and watched 30 Rock and The Soup on TiVo (enough links already, look it up on your own if you don’t know what those shows are. Sheesh.) We like to watch tv/movies and eat snacks. Don’t judge us. You guys probably do boring stuff, too.

Anyway, now I’m going to the grocery store without my kids because I spend less money that way. Also, if they don’t come with me, I don’t have to undo all of the damage that the magazines at the checkout line do. This article (ok, one more link) at Racialicious talks about one kind of issue that needs to be undone, but I also have to work really hard to undo the images caused by headlines like, “Stolen in the Night! Why Your Child isn’t Safe at Home,” or “What You Need to Know about the Dangers of Breathing Air!” or “What Would Your Child Do if You Died Right Now? It Happens EVERY DAY! You, Yes You Reading This…You Could be ORPHANED!” My kids don’t like that crap. And I’m not good at assuaging fear since I’m a Fearful Fannie, too. It’s likely that we could very well end up huddled on the floor, crying and holding each other after a trip to the checkout lane. If they’re not with me, I don’t read the headlines and I can go on living in my little bliss bubble. Ta-ta!

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Oh, Children

Maya was crying really hard last night because she wants to be a baby again, “Yena and Yiberty were nice to me when I yas a baaaayyyybeeeeee!” *sob* I’m going to stop letting her watch home videos. Or, I should make her watch recent home videos where it appears that Lena and Liberty are much nicer to her than they are in real life. She doesn’t quite understand that I learned from my sister to turn the video camera off before all hell breaks loose. That way, when the kids are grown and they have complaints I can say, “Let’s go to the tape!” and they won’t be able to prove anything. For the record, Lena and Liberty are plenty nice to her as it is. I’m not really sure what that was all about last night, but I’m sure there’s some 4 1/2 year old thing going on. It did come on the heels of a park day where Maya played with some friends for about 2 hours without ever checking in with me. Or, maybe it’s because I suggested she could wipe her own butt from time to time. I don’t know. Anyway, we cuddled and cuddled and looked at her baby book while she pointed to all the things that she misses about being a baby. These things include, but are not limited to: being born, having Daddy cut her umbilical cord, floating in the midwife’s lovely herbal bath, being dressed in her first outfit, being carried in a sling, wearing a diaper, eating pureed carrots, and of course nursing. She also mentioned with contempt that nobody ever helps her get dressed. I resisted the urge to point out that the only time she ever allowed me to help her get dressed was when her brain was more comparable to a slug’s. Once she found out that she had control over her own arms and legs, if I so much as came into the room where she was getting dressed, she would screech at me in such a way that there was no mistaking that if I tried to help her, she would find a way to kill me. So we cuddled, she slept in my bed (as usual, but without first falling asleep in the bedroom that she shares with her sisters), I rubbed her back, and I didn’t point out all of the things she can do now that she’s big because it seemed like she needed to vent and it didn’t seem like I would be able to convince her that it’s better to be big because, really, it probably isn’t. *sigh*

Lena and Liberty also had a little flash of, “Hey, why don’t you mother us better?” yesterday. Thursday was homeschool gym day and I look at homeschool gym as a class, not a spectator event, so I don’t go into the loud, loud, poorly lit gym to watch. Contrary to popular belief, it isn’t just because I like to talk to my friends out in the halls. It’s also because it’s a class. I don’t watch them do their beading class. Or pottery. Or art. I was informed yesterday at dinner that this is unjust and will not be tolerated any longer. Fine. Fine! I said it was fine. I will watch homeschool gym (sporadically) from now on, I promise.

No matter, I’m still riding high on the wave of pride induced by the fact that after gym yesterday, Lena and Liberty were looking through a box of freebies that another homeschool mom brought in for all of us to go through. There were some books and a bunch of VHS tapes, but Lena and Liberty both grabbed for the Monty Python and the Holy Grail tape. In my family, we enjoy this kind of thing, so seeing them fight over that tape was akin to the pride I feel when I’m told they look like me. They watched that movie once a long time ago and they remembered the black night saying “It’s just a flesh wound,” after losing his arms, and the fact that everybody’s running around pretending to ride horses. I’m pretty sure a little tear fell from eye when I overheard their reminiscing. Watching it this time, though, was a whole new thing for them because they couldn’t read the first time they watched it. The opening credits had them rolling with laughter. “A moose once bit my sister,” hahahahahaha! Again, I say *sigh*

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Twitterpated

Daniel Day Lewis, if you want me to have your baby, I will. I mean, I’m all done with that because it’s kind of a pain and stuff, but for you I might change my mind. Better yet, you could have my baby. It could happen, I read it on the internet. (P.S. only read the title to that post that I just linked to. Don’t bother with the rest of the details, like the fact that the man has a uterus. We’ll worry about that later.) Seriously, though, you’re kind of awesome. My husband and I watched There Will Be Blood last night and I didn’t even realize how boring the first half of it was because I was so distracted by your beauty. Really awesome second half, btw. Good job on that. Call me.

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