Backhanded Compliment o'the Day

Darling Husband, after eyeing me eat a (Vegan, mind you) chocolate chip cookie. "Yeah, I like you better when you aren't skinny."

Me: "And I like you better when you aren't 'giving me compliments'."

I've Got My Eye on You...

I took Baby Boy out to his favorite diner for Vacation Chocolate Chip Pancakes this morning.

As to be expected he ate two bites and was full.

I told him when the waitress came over to, "Ask for a doggie bag. Make sure you say 'please' and look her in the eye."

When she approached, BB started whipping his head wildly back and forth.

"What are you doing??" I hissed.

"I not sure what eye you want me to look in," he replied.

Is THIS What It's Come To?

I know I am in the minority here, but I HEART me some Valentine's Day. It helps that DH, historically, has been very good at it: jewelry, candy, flowers, lingerie...someone trained him well.

This year, I said to skip the jewelry and candy. But I was very excited to see a shiny pink tell-tale box from Vicky's.

DH is one of those men that loves lingerie. So imagine my surprise when I opened it up and saw a long-sleeved, knee-length (the most unflattering of lengths) red NIGHT SHIRT in a size LARGE with LOVE in gold letters across it. (See that model is like 90-pounds and SHE can't even make that look sexy!)

As I kept the vomit from rising and shook the house frau-esque garment hoping at least some M and M's would fall out, I realized he was serious.

Married eight years and THIS is what it's come to??

Steak and BJ, what?? He is SO getting a tie and socks for his birthday.

The Tourists

There is a hotel around the corner from us that has a cool roof top bar that looks out over the city.

We have been promising Baby Boy we would take him on an elevator ride to the top "to see the mountains" (since the sun sets at at 4:30 and the bar doesn't open until 5, seeing the mountains translates loosely into "watching mommy and daddy drink very dry martinis). Last night was his special date with 14 vertical floors up.

After the utter disappointment with the lack of mountain views and too-much-vermouth martinis, we decided to grab a cab across town for dinner. Noticing us waiting, and mistaking us for guests, the concierge called the complementary hotel town car.

Playing the part of grateful tourists, we queried the driver (in thick southern accents) on how business was this time of year, asked about local hot spots and commented on how much brick there is in the city. We told him all about Atlanta (a city we have never been to), the snakes in our pool and the humidity.

The car was at a red light when Baby Boy loudly pointed out that we were stopped right next to our house.

Getting busted for scamming free rides in the hotel car? I wish I could say it was priceless, but it cost a humiliated $20.

Basketball Diaries Week 5

Baby Boy missed the previous two weeks because of the flu. That is the equivalent of missing a day of high school biology, coming back and realizing everyone is ready for the MCATS. While we were absent, the kids learned to run and dribble…at the same time.

“In your final week,” boomed Coach. “You will put together all of the skills and play a real game!”

This was terrifying enough. But then he grabbed a red mesh bag and started rummaging through it. Oh no. Flash backs to gym class dumped over the parents like a Gatorade bucket of seawater. The children took a subconscious step back.

Pinnies.

These horrible, never-ever-to-be-washed, germ laden, disgusting items were being chucked toward our kids. Some screamed. Some ran. One lone ranger donned his with pride.

After a warm-up wrestling match to get the Reds and Yellows in their battle garb, the game began.

Every skill that Coach had patiently gone over in the preceding weeks was forgotten. It was every man for himself. Kids kicked and hissed to get the ball. Their hands turned into Death Grip mitts. They flung the ball into whatever hoop was furthest away. They squealed and hit the deck if the ball landed anywhere near them.

It was brilliant.

And even better? Tee Ball starts next month.

Pee Times Three

When I picked Baby Boy up from school, I was informed that he had peed his pants three times today.

He has been potty trained for like a year.

Out of embarrassment, I said, "Well, that's OK. I peed my pants until I was in third grade."

And while that is 100% the truth, I am not sure it was the reassuring answer the teacher was hoping for.