Amber Dusick, the force behind the always brilliant PARENTING Illustrated with Crappy Pictures, challenged her readers to have their kids interview them, because kids are hilariously wackadoo and have no idea what's going on.
Here are my results:
Q: What is my favorite food?
Boy: Everything
Girl: Ice cream
Okay, maybe they know exactly what's going on.
Q: What do I do for fun?
Boy: Reading
Girl: Ice cream
Girl wins.
Q: What's my favorite TV show?
Boy: Grown up TVs [sic]
Girl: Diego
Boy wins.
Q: What do I drink?
Boy: Wine
Girl: Water
Both of these are accurate. Had they added "coffee," they would have captured 99% of my fluid intake.
Q: What do I do with my friends?
Boy: Play
Girl: [A blank stare indicating, "You have friends?"]
Q: What do I wear?
Boy: (rolls eyes) A dress, silly!
Girl: Clothes
Thank you, Girl.
Q: Who is my best friend?
Boy: Trainer
Girl: Trainer!
Okay, I love Trainer, but I like to think my best friend is someone I have known for more than three months. He is the only adult I regularly see, though, so I can see why they might come to that conclusion.
Q: What do I do after you go to bed at night?
Boy: Clean
Girl: Clean
Boy: We're both right!
"Fall asleep on the couch" would have been the most accurate answer, but I'll accept clean. Not because that is what I am doing, but because that's what I tell them I have to do after they go to bed. At least they're listening.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Metro Revisited
I sat in the handicapped seats, suitcase between my knees, trying to remain out of everyone's way and keep a continuous scan going in case someone with a legitimate need for the handicapped seats showed up. The metro was filled with metro sounds--on a June Saturday that's usually kids and their parents, the sounds of fanny packs planning outings to the Smithsonian. The first stop after I got on was National Airport, and my neighbors glanced first expectantly and then in confusion at my suitcase as I remain seated. I stayed there, headphones in, picking up the ambient noise in between songs on my playlist. I was hunched over, hand cautiously on the suitcase, arm tattooed, nose ring in. No wedding ring on. It occurred to me in that moment that people might make certain assumptions about me: probably that I was younger than I am (thanks, Muse Salon), that I was aimless. I wanted to hold a sign announcing that I am a mother, a diplomat, that this is my one chance to have headphones in, and that on another Saturday two years ago I would have brought my own roiling cacophony onto the train, also headed to the Smithsonian while wondering why my day off felt like so much work. No fanny pack, though. No tattoos yet.
I paid inordinate attention to the landscape in front and then below us when the plane took off from Denver. The front range stretched before me, snow marking the famous fourteeners. The dips and marks of the ground stayed within view for several thousands of feet. God's own country, no doubt. I felt in awe and thankful that--for now, anyway--I can call this place home.
Coming in over the Potomac pulled a different string. Washington always was and always will be my true north. I saw the neat rows of headstones in Arlington and the glittering water and placed a tick mark in the D.C.'s pro column. I stepped into an immediate soup of humidity--not bad by local standards but brutal after a few months in Colorado. One tick in the con.
Friends, acquaintances, classmates, alums wanted to know where my brood was, and I answer that they were in Denver. I'd loved to have shown them off, but I was relieved to have my headphones in, to process the whats and the what nexts on my own. We video-chatted in the middle of a reunion event, Girl blowing raspberries and Boy inserting "poop" between words. I bought a new Georgetown shirt. I lamented the removal of the my favorite tree, the one that I would climb instead of attending Western Civ. I wondered if I would ever step foot in FSI again, if I would ever write another EER, if I would ever keep up with the amazingly talented people I know and love from college. I wondered if I wanted to keep up.
And then No Diggity came on, and I danced. A lot. Class of 2003: Word.
I paid inordinate attention to the landscape in front and then below us when the plane took off from Denver. The front range stretched before me, snow marking the famous fourteeners. The dips and marks of the ground stayed within view for several thousands of feet. God's own country, no doubt. I felt in awe and thankful that--for now, anyway--I can call this place home.
Coming in over the Potomac pulled a different string. Washington always was and always will be my true north. I saw the neat rows of headstones in Arlington and the glittering water and placed a tick mark in the D.C.'s pro column. I stepped into an immediate soup of humidity--not bad by local standards but brutal after a few months in Colorado. One tick in the con.
Friends, acquaintances, classmates, alums wanted to know where my brood was, and I answer that they were in Denver. I'd loved to have shown them off, but I was relieved to have my headphones in, to process the whats and the what nexts on my own. We video-chatted in the middle of a reunion event, Girl blowing raspberries and Boy inserting "poop" between words. I bought a new Georgetown shirt. I lamented the removal of the my favorite tree, the one that I would climb instead of attending Western Civ. I wondered if I would ever step foot in FSI again, if I would ever write another EER, if I would ever keep up with the amazingly talented people I know and love from college. I wondered if I wanted to keep up.
And then No Diggity came on, and I danced. A lot. Class of 2003: Word.
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