Sunday, March 8, 2015

It was the weekend and I was boring, Sriracha edition ...

The first thing I did on Saturday morning is accidentally feed a toddler a liberal dose of Sriracha. It's a long story, how it got in her mouth, but suffice to say she ran out of eggs so I scraped the excitement off of mine and dumped them on her plate. I missed a glop of sweet-sweet spice.

She made noises. Her face when from zero to bright red in half a blink. I think she whinnied. Did I imagine the wing-flapping?

It was nothing that whole milk couldn't fix, but now she probably has PTSD about yolk-based foods, so. It's so weird how *some people* have shiny new taste buds, all sharp and reactive.


There is this thing that happens at our neighborhood coffee shop. This man, who is more muscle-y and Chili Pepper-ian that one would imagine for someone in his position, wears animal ears and plays children's songs. He packs a family-band worth of instruments: triangles, xylophones, microphones, percussion sticks. Some kid berated him because the guitars don't run on batteries, rather, they run on imagination.

Fun fact: Lots of parents took advantage of the shop's liquor license. Confusing. What do you do with a midday wine buzz at a childrens' concert? Flick a Bic and request "Puff the Magic Dragon," I guess. Anyway, our kid fake strummed on a fake guitar, which means she totally knows how to show up an elementary school-aged battery addict.


I let the kid free range at the mall. She asked me to identify every single thing currently in stock at Younkers. Then we paid a buck to let her ride the duck in a mall carousel.


We ate pizza with dill and ricotta and watched a movie about a fiery red-haired Scottish lass with a dexterity with a bow and arrow. So many bear fights.


Did I mention that now, after nine years of knowing Chuck McChuckerstein, we finally have a day off in common? Good times ahead.


The Girl woke up at 4 a.m. and was ready for the day. Like, ready-ready. I used every trick in my arsenal, and finally just brought her into our room where I thought she would maybe get knocked to sleep by the powerful Essence of Sleep. And she did. Out cold. I thought. Until she tapped my face and says, awake-like, "Nose."

Then she quietly pointed at Chuck. Quietly pointed at me. Quietly pointed at herself. Repeat.

Eventually I made a nest of blankets and pillows on the living room and fell to sub-awake levels with Elmo influencing my every weird dream-thought.


We went to the lake to see all the ice formations everyone is all Look, Art about, but we were a day late.

The "It's (fill in the blank day) and I'm Boring" series is something Jodi and I do to pay homage to the beauty of old-school blogging. 

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