I’m about to head to the coast for a family vacay, so I thought I’d leave you with these thought-provoking things. Welcome to a week in my life. . .
(1) Stop it already with the swim coaches referring to the freestyle stroke as some sort of exaggerated ice-cream-scooping maneuver. This is the third swim coach who’s yelled at my daughter to “Scoop! Lift those arms and scoop that ice cream!” Who comes up with these hair-brained examples that all swim coaches feel compelled to use? When’s the last time you raised your arms above your head in a swan-like fashion and dug your bare fingernails into a vat of ice cream? Any normal person would use a metal device with much less work involved, put the chocolate directly into a cone, and sit back licking it before it melts. A normal person would not fervently kick while scooping over and over again, only coming up to breathe. That person has a horrible bulimic binging problem and needs therapy.
(2) My son this morning decided he didn’t want to wear clothes. A battle ensued with a slightly grey-haired 37-year-old and a 2-year-old. I won, but only by a hair. He beat me on the shoes. I had to give a little.
(3) My daughter had another swim lesson today. “Scoop, sweetie!”
(4) My daughter watched a movie this week called “Polly World,” whereby small Polly Pocket dolls come to life. In this movie, which I assume is meant generally for children since the characters are pink and sparkles come busting out of their behinds, Polly’s mom died and her father was about to get remarried to an evil woman who wanted to ship Polly to boarding school. Polly lands on stage at the talent show with perfect hair, along with her all-girl band, wearing a strapless dress. I’m so pissed off at the writers of this movie, whereby I have to explain things like “moms dying” and “not all children get to grow up being in a rock band” and “you can’t wear a string bikini. You’re five.”
(5) My daughter has announced that for her birthday, she would like every single Polly Pocket set ever created on this planet. Alert: you’re getting a set of molding clay, an unabridged version of Heidi, and a set of oil pastels. Deal wit it.
(6) I have a sudden urge for ice cream. I just want to wallow in it.
(7) Stupidly, I answered a work phone call this week while I had both children with me. Apparently my son wanted a certain book that my daughter took away from him and he was shrieking for it back and my daughter was holding it hostage. “Excuse me one second,” I said into the receiver. “Give that back to him right now!” I yelled at my daughter. “I need to take this call!” Whatever works to create five minutes of quiet. My daughter gave me the most dejected and panicked look. “But it’s the New Testament!” she said. “He’ll ruin it!” I grabbed it and handed it to my son. It’s fine. Jesus will understand.
(8) Of the food items that I’ve packed to go to the beach house, paprika made the list. Who knew paprika would ever make a list of anything but useless spice one puts atop deviled eggs? Who knew?
(9) “You really don’t have many wrinkles,” my daughter tells me. “You have a few. But you don’t look that old.”
(10) It’s the weirdest thing. The Polly Pocket movie has gone missing. I think Polly might be off scooping ice cream in an endless sparking river of cotton-candy with sprinkles. She’s kicking like a movie star to make it to the other side, where her deceased mother has come back to life in order to hand Polly her first training bra and a designer glitter-bag chock full of inappropriate topics for children. Yeah Polly! Scoop that ice cream! You can do it!