Nothing like sitting down to a fresh screen, staring at a
blinking cursor. They still call it a cursor, don’t they? I’ve been trying to
sit down to write for days. My brain is forever multitasking and fresh ideas
pop in there constantly, and I swear I’ll try to remember them before they get
lost in the current … only to forget that brilliant and hilarious thing I just had share. I recently unearthed a little
notepad that’s really pretty with my initial on it – that I decided would do
nicely at taking down my random thoughts. Guess where it is now? (On the
ironing board in my walk-in closet. Next to a pile of shirts I don’t want to
iron.)
It’s 8 a.m. and I’ve been up for two hours and I can’t even
tell you what I’ve been doing. Drinking coffee and …. and….. and….. staring at
my kitchen table wondering how I managed to cover it with crap. Again. Ava is
sitting at the island doing homework – doing
homework – she was supposed to have done last night. To say she’s not a
committed student wouldn’t be fair, would it? But, alas, she’s been warned not
to do this before, and here we are again.
Later now… had to drive her to school because
surprise!...she missed the bus. Again. What IS it with these kids? Her room
looks like her dresser exploded and she still manages to dress like a homeless
person with old t-shirts and leggings with holes in them…add to that her hair
which she prefers to air dry and only brushes it after I remind her, and the
look is complete. Why I spent all that money on new clothes this fall – ALL of
which are still hanging in the closet with tags attached – I wonder. Always a
hoarder, recently her under-bed vomited up every notebook she’s ever had since
birth. I ordered her to clean that shit up before she killed me in the middle
of the night. There you have it folks, diabetes kills another parent.*
If that doesn’t do it, my son’s hair will. His hair is as
coarse as horsehair and, at 15, he has chosen to wear it spiked up like a
wayward boybander. We bought this stuff that can only be described as glue, to
sweep his hair up to resemble hanging upside down. But it’s a tricky operation because too much glue and
then the hair gets glumpy and not spikey and then we have to wash and start all
over again. Yes, we’ve had mornings like this. And now his hair is getting “puffy”
on the sides because he needs a haircut, and so there is much fussing about the
placement of hairs and some days it looks exactly the same as yesterday “not
right” and we have to “fix it.” And, if you’re confused right now, let me
clarify that I am now a hair stylist.
I was actually excited to get our tree on Black Friday. I
realize that this was a terrible transition in topics and that trees have
nothing to do with hair, but I’m drinking decaf. I have never gotten a tree
that early. Like ever. A beautiful, warm, and dry day – coupled with
houseguests who came along to make it more fun – warranted a drive to the tree
farm to cut down a 10-foot Frasier for our living room.
You know how there’s always that one aunt… well, I’m that
aunt. I have taken on this role with more bravado than Kanye West brokering
Grammys for Beyonce, and more pride than Nicki Minaj has for her backside. And
now you’re wondering what trees have to do with aunts, or even what any of this
has to do with obnoxious musical artists… and I’m gonna tell you.
I’m that aunt. I’ve
always wanted to be one. I’ve idolized my own “that aunt” since the very first time she stuck olives on all of her
fingers and called herself a tree frog (see! There it is! The connection
between aunts and trees! And I didn’t even have to reach far for that gem) and have
waited centuries to be just like her.
So, I started – well, maybe not started (I've been an aunt now for almost 5 years) – with cultural corruption.
I took Nephtoo (Nephew2) to the tree farm and made him cut
down a Christmas tree. Now, you might say that cutting down the tree is itself a
crime, but I say nay nay. Because my cat loves the delicious water in the tree
stand and he is completely enraptured by naps under the twinkling lights – I do
this for him. Because I’m selfless
like that.
So anyway… I made my Jewish nephew go Christmas tree hunting.
And THEN Todd handed him the saw and let him cut it down. I took a
commemorative picture of Nephtoo’s “first Christmas tree.” We decorated later
that night and he helped hang ornaments like a BOSS. (And I also do realize
that “Nephtoo” sounds like some ancient mummy or an extremely wet sneeze, but I like it.)
Neph (Nephew1) missed out on all this glory because
apparently he actually has friends who were home for the holiday. He seemed
nonplussed, though he was bummed that he was missing out on my very extra super
special Challah French toast the next morning because all he thinks about is
food. (It’s killer. Come to brunch
this Sunday and hollaaaa!!!! – you’re all invited.) In my that-aunt assaults on him, he has proven to be a tough nut to
crack. Mostly because he is that oblivious. Seriously, I worry about him
thinking too hard sometimes…. Imagine the wheels turning in there are in need
of a little oil. Case in point: he will ask you a question that no one who was
raised by humans couldn’t possibly know the answer to. As of this posting I can’t
remember a specific example (which is weird since we seem to be showered with
them almost daily), but I’m sure I will have one by tomorrow morning.
Anyway, I tried to corrupt get him to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed
Reindeer and he – get this – said he wasn’t
interested. He’ll spend 8 hours a day playing Marvel superhero games but
can’t be bothered to pay homage to the superhero of Christmas for one hour??
Plus he “had some stuff to do,” which is highly suspicious since the only thing
I can see him really needing to do is clean.his.room. Which he has not done.
And I know this because I was down there in the rec room the other day and he’d
left his door open, and there was a very ripe odor jaculating from it.
Jaculating is a real word, by the way. And it is not missing
an “e” so stop right there, you filthy-minded perv. It was yesterday’s word of
the day and I’ve been dying to use it in conversation ever since. Perhaps I can
hurl that at a customer tonight in a way that is sure to render the sous chef
dumbstruck. I live for those moments.
Finally, in keeping with the tradition of offering up more
mundane and completely useless information with which to sue me, I want to tell
you about the most amazing purchase I made last weekend at the Walmart (yes, I
went there on a Saturday). It has a little glass bottle and you attach it to
this other thing and then plug the whole thing into an outlet (preferably near
Neph’s bedroom). It’s a plug in air freshener – the gift that keeps on giving!!
The rec room now smells like clothes line-drying on a warm summer day… with a minor
note of boy schtank. (Just kidding.) Seriously kids, this plug-in is the Bomb
(no pun intended). It’s like a fresh air apocalypse. Absolutely nothing can
compete with it. And with that, the cat just emerged from the tree
to accept the challenge...
*It’s a joke, GET OVER IT.
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