Spoons. wooden, plastic metal, soup, tea, sugar, slotted, absinthe. All kind-o-spoons. The last one on the list I have no personal connection to, but, have heard from a VERY credible source they hold magical healing powers.
Anyhoo. About ten years ago Martha was in the kitchen making dinner. Peas were part of the fare. Martha spooned up up an extra big helpin' o' peas. With a non-slotted spoon. Ah, for the love of God and all that is holy! Imagine the horror. Pea water running loose all over the plate communicating with it's superior dinner counterparts. Not right I say. I suggested (instructed if you believe Martha) that a slotted spoon would perhaps work better. There might or might not have been a short discussion on the inner workings of the slots and how when combined with gravity the slots separate peas from pea juice. Whatever the discussions was, I only recall the end of the discussion. A short rebuke. Something along the lines of "Don't you have something better to do?" A good question I add. If I had nothing better to do, it suggested I was trite and irrelevant in the world (which may still hold true). . . If I indeed had something better to do, clearly the question implied I ought to be doing it.
Fast forward ten years to ten minutes ago. I was getting the boys a little yogurt and melatonin. The melatonin is ground up and powdery. It gets mixed with the yogurt. We have special little spoons for the boys. . . they are curved (so easier to grasp) and have a bunch of small little holes (help keep sauces and stuff from slipping onto laps or floor). When I selected a special little spoon, guess who had an opinion on my spoon selection? (Allegedly, the little holes were going to interfere with the melatonin delivery). Would you believe it? Ten years, full circle. Now, there is only one thing to say: Baby, do you have something better to do?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Art imitates life
Before we get to the main topic of the post, let me just revisit the flying thing paranoia. This Sunday we were brunch bound as per our custom. We neared the usual spot, the site of last brunch's untoward encounter with a brunch decimating fly. Two hundred yards out Ethan started with the "finished" bit. As we pulled nearer, it grew worse. We aborted the mission and headed to IHOP. Seemed to do the trick. Fly free. For now. What happens when we have seen a fly in every restaurant in Collleyville? I guess we save a bunch of money eating in?
Now to art and life. . . Ethan won the second grade award for "most friendliest." Personally, I love this perfectly used improper grammar. But, point is: Ethan IS most friendliest. In life, and, art. By art I mean Wii. We (Ethan) have a Wii character for all his friends. The next door neighbor boy, little brother, big brother, big sis, our dog, sissy's dog. . . and even "Sophia" from Golden Girls. Ethan likes wii fit. He likes to jog. When you jog on Wii fit, you pass other joggers -- including your Wii friends. Ethan waves and says hi to all his Wii friend joggers. All of them. It can be overwhelming. If you're in the same room and trying to do something like say, oh, I don't know, write a blog, you'll be interrupted countless times to acknolwedge the passersby. The two dimensional digital passersby. One after another. Over and over. Here's the thing though: Ethan is genuinely happy to see a two dimensional digital representation of a friend. Merely thinking of a friend inspires him to friendliness. That's pretty impressive. I'll take a tip.
Now to art and life. . . Ethan won the second grade award for "most friendliest." Personally, I love this perfectly used improper grammar. But, point is: Ethan IS most friendliest. In life, and, art. By art I mean Wii. We (Ethan) have a Wii character for all his friends. The next door neighbor boy, little brother, big brother, big sis, our dog, sissy's dog. . . and even "Sophia" from Golden Girls. Ethan likes wii fit. He likes to jog. When you jog on Wii fit, you pass other joggers -- including your Wii friends. Ethan waves and says hi to all his Wii friend joggers. All of them. It can be overwhelming. If you're in the same room and trying to do something like say, oh, I don't know, write a blog, you'll be interrupted countless times to acknolwedge the passersby. The two dimensional digital passersby. One after another. Over and over. Here's the thing though: Ethan is genuinely happy to see a two dimensional digital representation of a friend. Merely thinking of a friend inspires him to friendliness. That's pretty impressive. I'll take a tip.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Obama, we need you!
Ethan. Has an issue. Birds. Flies. June bugs. Anything that flies.
Did I tell you the story of Sea World? Five minutes. We were there five minutes, when a bird materialized about twenty feet from us. In Ethan's defense, it was kind of a funky looking bird. You know the kind -- knees that bend backward, beak two times larger that it's body size. Funky or not, it was only a bird and had no interest in us. No matter, it had wings. Ethan took off and ran about fifty feet and went turtle. Going turtles is to kneel, fold your arms and bury your head. At fifty pounds, its hard to get Ethan out of the shell. But, he recovered and we had a fine day.
This morning, we hit our brunch spot after church. This is something we do. We brunch every Sunday. Today was no different. With one very small exception -- we had an uninvited visitor. A visitor with wings. Therefore, a bad visitor. I did not notice the visitor. I did however notice Ethan crawling behind me on the booth. Knee in the back and all, how could I not notice? Then he went turtle on the booth. I still did not understand why, until Martha told me it was a "fly."
A plate full of chicken strips and fries, ketchup freshly poured, sat idle on the table. For those of you who know Ethan, nothing comes between him and his fries. Unless it's a teradactyl. Or a fly. This time, there was no recovering. We had to leave. With a to-go box of nature's fried bounty, headed to the security of home.
Mr. Obama, we need you. We need your fly striking expertise. It would really help us out. I know you are too busy to come to Colleyville to hang out with us everywhere we go keeping watch for winged things. Perhaps you could give me a private tutorial on the art of fly swatting? Thank you in advance for your anticipated gracious cooperation.
Did I tell you the story of Sea World? Five minutes. We were there five minutes, when a bird materialized about twenty feet from us. In Ethan's defense, it was kind of a funky looking bird. You know the kind -- knees that bend backward, beak two times larger that it's body size. Funky or not, it was only a bird and had no interest in us. No matter, it had wings. Ethan took off and ran about fifty feet and went turtle. Going turtles is to kneel, fold your arms and bury your head. At fifty pounds, its hard to get Ethan out of the shell. But, he recovered and we had a fine day.
This morning, we hit our brunch spot after church. This is something we do. We brunch every Sunday. Today was no different. With one very small exception -- we had an uninvited visitor. A visitor with wings. Therefore, a bad visitor. I did not notice the visitor. I did however notice Ethan crawling behind me on the booth. Knee in the back and all, how could I not notice? Then he went turtle on the booth. I still did not understand why, until Martha told me it was a "fly."
A plate full of chicken strips and fries, ketchup freshly poured, sat idle on the table. For those of you who know Ethan, nothing comes between him and his fries. Unless it's a teradactyl. Or a fly. This time, there was no recovering. We had to leave. With a to-go box of nature's fried bounty, headed to the security of home.
Mr. Obama, we need you. We need your fly striking expertise. It would really help us out. I know you are too busy to come to Colleyville to hang out with us everywhere we go keeping watch for winged things. Perhaps you could give me a private tutorial on the art of fly swatting? Thank you in advance for your anticipated gracious cooperation.
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