Wednesday, March 16, 2016

Backyard Antics, Car Keys Fiasco, Sassiness, and Tassels

Oh, hey, remember me? What happened? Midterms happened. I've just emerged from the cave of grading, but I still have a stack of ungraded papers on my desk. It never ceases!

At any rate, I'm here to write about Daylight Savings Time. No, not really. I swore I wasn't going to write a post about it, because what is there to say?

We lost an hour of sleep and we felt tired and out of sorts all day Sunday.

WI mean, that basically sums it up, minus the details about attending a get together with friends that consisted of day drinking white wine, and nobody took a nap even though we all needed one, and Zuzu had a hard time falling asleep but David fell asleep at 8:00 pm while lying down with her, and then she wandered downstairs and told me that Daddy told her to go downstairs if she was going to goof around, but he was actually unconscious at the time.

Did he say mutter this in his sleep?

Did she invent this on the spot?

Who's to say?

At any rate, she had a hard time falling asleep Sunday night and (surprise) a hard time getting up Monday morning.

Monday evening, though, we enjoyed the lingering daylight hours and the girls played out in the back yard after we all got home.

I was standing at the kitchen sink, slicing strawberries for dinner/snack prep, watching them out the kitchen window. They fought over the Cozy Coupe and puttered around the toy kitchen that David found out in the alley and dragged home (we love city living so much!) and busied themselves going in and out of the Little Tykes playhouse and running up and down the side walk. It was such a sweet scene, and I felt lucky on a weird number of levels--like lucky to have them, and even lucky to know how lucky I am, and lucky to be able to enjoy this moment.

So while I was standing at the sink, feeling a huge swell of maternal love and pride and marveling at my good fortune in a weird metaphysical way, I suddenly blinked in disbelief as I watched my three-and-a-half year old pull down her pants.

I called David to come to the window.

She hobbled around for a moment with her leggings and underwear around her ankles.

"What is she doing?" I asked David. "Go out there and tell her to pull up her pants!"

We laughed, watching her. She shuffled over to the Cozy Coupe and helped Coco close the door to the car, then shuffled back over to the edge of the sidewalk.

"What if she poops out there?" David joked.

"Go out there and tell her to get her pants up!" I said.

And then we both stood there and watched as she popped a squat and dropped a deuce in the backyard, just off the edge of the sidewalk, in front of God and everybody.

David ran outside (too late) to intervene clean up and sent her in to wash her hands.

"I'm sorry for pooping in the yard, Mommy," she said, very contritely. Then she giggled. "I just wanted to be like Cooper! I was like a doggie!"


I assumed that a rogue pooping incident would be the weirdest thing to happen to me this week, but then yesterday morning, my routine hit a snag.

It was the usual morning rush, which you'd think could easily be avoided if I'd just get up fifteen minutes earlier, but the problem with that is that then I have this sense of having allllll the time in the world to get myself together and I wind up just as late because I've let myself dawdle.

So anyway, I got myself and Coco up and dressed and downstairs and got coffee made and shared some yogurt with Coco and then we headed out the backdoor.

Except I couldn't find my car keys.

They are supposed to be hanging on a hook by the backdoor (I actually ordered a hook like this from Etsy with our initials on it so my keys always hang on the B hook). But they were not where they belonged.

I quickly checked all the usual places--in my work bag? On the dining room table? On the kitchen counter? In the cupholder in the arm of the girls' little recliner? On the floor behind the bench in the entry way?

Then I had to get more creative. Under couch cushions? Upstairs on my dresser? Somewhere in my closet?

THEN I remembered that I'd had them in my hand when cleaning out the backseat of my car (which had become a nest of discarded winter weather gear and Zuzu's artwork from school, as well as a collection of binkies and a couple odd receipts).

So I ran out to the car.

But it was locked.

Which meant my keys couldn't be in it, because I only lock my car with the remote lock button on the key.

I gave up the search and called David, asking if he'd seen my keys anywhere and explaining the situation.

"I thought I'd left them in my car," I explained, "But it's locked, so they can't be there."

"Uh, I locked your car with my key," he said. (No explanation as to WHY he would do this, since he never DROVE my car.)

I walked back out to my car and peered in the back windows. There were my keys! Resting in the door handle of the backseat passenger side door.

(Side note: David never apologized for locking my keys in my car, and claims he doesn't need to apologize because it was my fault for leaving them in the backseat. The real issue, though, is that he views an apology as an admission of fault rather than an expression of regret for causing someone else undue stress/injury/inconvenience. And really the issue is that he's an entitled white dude who doesn't like to say he's sorry ever because... he's an entitled white dude. We've agreed to disagree on this issue, which I feel comfortable doing only because (1) I'm right and (2) I can passive-aggressively discuss this on my blog at length.)

Anyway, called our insurance company, got road side assistance, and got the car unlocked. Got to work an hour and a half later than planned, but didn't have to cancel class, so everything worked out just fine in the end. Except I felt frazzled all day.


My mom is in town on her spring break to hang out with Zuzu during her spring break (and keep Coco at home too just for the fun of it). This morning, she was helping get breakfast for the girls and Zuzu was whining and harrassing Grammy for more pancakes or yogurt or whatever.

I said, "Listen, Grammy is busy right now and you need to be patient and polite."

Zuzu said, "Mommy, you need to leave for work!"

The sass, you guys. It's so aggravating, but it also makes me laugh.


Final question: Have any of you saved your tassels from high school graduation?

My mom brought me my tassel and the ropes I wore over my gown at high school and college graduation, and I don't know what the heck I'm supposed to do with them. WHY? WHY would I keep these? (Except keep them at my parents house where sentimental things I don't want to bother with should live for all eternity, like a museum to my youth.)

My mom suggested the girls might want to "look at them someday."

Just like how I was always wanted to look at her high school graduation tassel.

I mean, seriously.

Maybe I can incorporate them into gift wrapping?


  1. This post basically covers all your labels.

    This: "The real issue, though, is that he views an apology as an admission of fault rather than an expression of regret for causing someone else undue stress/injury/inconvenience." Yes.

  2. Thanks for the chuckles. I like to keep my old room at my parents' house as a museum to my youth too. I don't actually want that stuff enough to bring it back to my house but I would like my mom to keep it right where it belongs, at her house. Thankyouverymuch.

  3. I have somewhat of a David living in my house too. We've come a long way and now he will say sorry because it is important to me to hear it but we both know deep down inside he doesn't really MEAN it.

    I love how you write your life.

  4. Pitch the tassel and never look back.

  5. Man, those kids are something else. Glad you have a great sense of humor. Sorry to hear about the key thing, but I guess that's what roadside assistance is for, in a way. Glad it worked out!