Funny Guy

You've probably seen him, or at least, someone just like him.
There's this guy who walks around the town where my husband works. He's always, always wearing a big, fur-lined parka and big heavy boots. Even when temperatures climb into the 90s and 100s. He's obviously homeless.
In the past, my husband and his co-workers have made fun of this guy for wearing the darn parka all the time.
One of MrDartt's co-workers also is really involved in his church and recently participated in an outreach project for local homeless people. The parka guy showed up. MrDartt's co-worker got to talking to him and at one point asked, "Doesn't that parka get hot?"
Parka guy explained that he was homeless by choice, and lost his son when his son was five years old. He has some reason to believe his son might come back. He said his son had last seen him wearing the parka, so he always wears it in case his son comes looking for him.
We've all made fun of people we deem "crazy" or whatever, but this sure puts things in perspective.

Getting Beat on Thinking Ahead

Isn't it awful when you think you're thinking ahead, but despite your best intentions, things don't turn out as you expected them to?
Here's what happened: we've been hunting for a kid-sized table for Big Boy (and Little Boy, when he gets bigger). We wanted to put it in the play area so he could sit there and color, or so he could play with his big castle or his blocks there.
We debated about which kind to get -- should we get a wooden table with four little chairs? Or should we get one of those inexpensive fold-up card tables with two chairs?
Finally, we decided on a little picnic bench whose seats are attached -- we were thinking that way, Big Boy wouldn't cart the little chairs all over the house. He already carts the big barstools all over the house, so he can climb on them to reach things. You go to sit down at the barstool and it's not there; you then find it in the bathroom (no idea).
So anyway, we bought this little picnic bench that's supposed to seat four kids. We put it in the play area.
And despite our best intentions, Big Boy is dragging it, benches and all, all over the house!
I keep finding it haphazardly placed between the play area and the living room, half on the wood floor and half on the carpet. Or in the kitchen.
"Why do you keep moving the table?"
"Because I want to."
So much for thinking ahead.

Superman in the ER

Yesterday was Big Boy's second trip to the ER.
It was my day to sleep in, and at 7:45 I heard Big Boy start crying, loudly. He was saying, "I want my grandma! I want my mommy!"
MrDartt came blasting through the bedroom door and announced, "I think we might need to take him to the hospital."
In my just-woken-up daze, I didn't see anything wrong, so I asked, "What happened?"
Just then, I saw the huge goose egg on Big Boy's forehead.
He'd been playing on the couch and he fell and hit his head on the coffee table. It immediately started swelling and it turned practically black.
We decided to take him to the ER just to make sure he didn't have a head injury -- with that much swelling so quickly, we thought, he must have hit his head pretty hard.
Of course he was wearing his Superman pajamas, so there were multiple crash landing jokes.
Then, when the nurse came in and asked him what happened before he fell, he said, "I was flipping over."
Then, the doctor came in and was chatting it up with Big Boy.
"Hey Superman," he said. He asked Big Boy a few questions and then asked, "Do you have any cool tools in your belt?"
"Just some guns," Big Boy said.
What is with this kid and guns? He's constantly talking about guns.
All's well that ends well -- Big Boy doesn't have a head injury. He didn't pass out or throw up.
They told us to watch out for irritability, but that is Big Boy's almost-constant state of being, so we weren't too concerned with that.
We ended up having a pretty nice day. We went to the donut shop after our hospital trip, and then we went to Peter Piper Pizza (it's kind of like Chuck E Cheese's, but not quite as cool) for dinner.
Big Boy is irritable right now. All's well.

Real or Fake?

Last night, I dragged MrDartt to the annual Rodeo Dance downtown. He had fun despite himself. In addition to his rendition of the two-step, which he called the three-and-a-half-step, we had fun people watching. We played, "Real or Fake," in which we looked at people and guessed whether they were real cowboys or fake ones.
You see, every year, there's a five- or six-day rodeo in town. It's a big deal and the local bars are swamped with participants (the real cowboys). This rodeo and all its associated events (like the Rodeo Dance, which is in the parking lot of a shopping center, and is complete with hay bales for seating around the dance floor) draws a lot of locals who dress up in Western wear just for fun during the weeklong festivities (those are the fake cowboys).
Some things to look for when playing:
The hat. Is it black and shiny? Does it have rhinestones? Does it have feathers? If the answer to any of these is yes, then the hat is probably not on a real cowboy. If it's a baseball cap, it's probably only on a real cowboy if it is fitted -- and if he's wearing the right shirt. Read on.
The shirt. Is it tucked in? Is it plaid? If yes to both, probably it's on a real cowboy. Here's a contradiction, though: one guy was wearing a super-tight black and white striped shirt that showed off his big muscles. He had on what looked like a real cowboy hat. And real cowboy boots. But the shirt was so goofy! It was SO tight (I know I already said that, but seriously. It was SO TIGHT). And it was tucked in to his jeans, which were so high on his waist. We decided he was a real cowboy because of the way his jeans fit and because of how well he could do the two step.
The belt. Does it have a big buckle? Not all cowboys wear belts, and some fake cowboys wear the big buckles, so this one is not a dead giveaway.
The jeans. This is a big one. Are they baggy? If so, this almost certainly is not a real cowboy. Cowboys wear those nice, tight, perfectly-fitted jeans. This is one of the best things about cowboys and about the rodeo and about the Rodeo Dance. I know MrDartt will read this, but I have admitted openly that cowboy bottoms are often nice-looking.
The boots. Are the boots squeaky clean and brand new looking? Or are they dirty, scratched, dusty and mud-caked? There was one young guy who almost had us fooled. He was wearing loose jeans and a loose name brand T-shirt, and he had spiky hair (no hat, and no hat hair). But the dirty boots gave him away.
The dancing. Any decent cowboy has perfected the two step to any song, fast or slow. He can twirl a girl around the dance floor -- darting here and there, to and fro, between other couples who do not do the two step very well (read: MrDartt and MrsDartt), and all the while, he looks totally bored.
So next time you're at a rodeo dance, or next time you see a cowboy walking down the street (which happens more often here than it does in other parts of the country), you'll be able to spot whether he's a fake.
Remember, if he has rhinestones on his hat, he's probably a fake.

"The Ignorant"

I love people.
Today as I was driving Big Boy and Little Boy to our music playgroup, I stopped at a stop sign to turn onto the road that leads to the highway. A woman driving a Honda Civic Hybrid drove past us, and I waited for her before turning onto the appropriate road. As she drove past, she was looking in the mirror, fluffing her hair with her hands. I pulled onto the road behind her and was alarmed at the sheer number of bumper stickers she had on her car.
They said things like, "The Ignorant Should Not Reproduce."
"You are not the car you drive. You are not your f**king khakis."
And so on.
It doesn't really matter.
The two things she did that I found noteworthy, especially after I read the bumper stickers, are: she was driving like a maniac! She was tailgating and at the first opportunity she decided to pass someone so she jammed her car between the one she was behind in the fast lane and a slightly slower one in the slow lane, so she could go around the one she was behind.
Then, she was smoking.
Really? Are you serious?
So here is this girl insinuating that she is not ignorant and that she is not her Honda Civic Hybrid and not her khakis, either, and she is driving like a maniac and she is smoking.
Driving like a maniac shows that she is not as Zen as her bumper stickers were trying to make her sound. They were shouting, "I am Zen! I am relaxed! I am better than you even though I am implying that you think you are better than me. I am better than you because I know I am not better than anyone." And her driving is shouting, "But I am driving like a maniac so get the HELL out of my way! Because I am better than you and your driving sucks!"
And then she is smoking! Her smoking is shouting, "I am so ignorant! I am smoking even though everybody knows by now that smoking is terrible for you and it can kill you! But the ignorant should not reproduce!"
And don't forget the hair-fluffing. She may not be her Honda Civic Hybrid or her khakis, but she is definitely her hair style.
I love these people.
I hope she is not reproducing.

The Big Tweeze

When did the shape of women's eyebrows become a matter of concern?
I have very hairy eyebrows. The darker main part of my eyebrow looks okay, but then down below that, there's a ton of blond hair. All these teeny tiny little blond hairs. And a few big fat dark ones. I wax them about once every three weeks, and pluck in between. But it's a hassle. Between showering, putting on my makeup and doing my hair, I rarely have time to tweeze.
I don't see many men tweezing, waxing or shaping their eyebrows. I don't see them applying mascara in the rearview mirror. I don't see them shaving or waxing their bikini areas. I know some men wax their back hair or chest hair, but when's the last time you saw one shaving his legs in the bathroom sink before rushing off to the pool?
It just seems unfair.
I'm going to take a stand and stop shaving all together.
Yeah, right.
I'm really just going to keep shaving. I'm going to keep tweezing. I'm going to keep waxing. For the rest. Of. My. Life.

The Fastest Grocery Store Trip EVER!

I've found a new way to increase the speed at which I complete a grocery store trip: sheer panic.
Yesterday, for the first time, I left Big Boy at the Kids Corner in our grocery store. He's been asking for weeks to go in there, and since we were running late, I finally caved and turned in the paper work I'd filled out several weeks ago. It's a locked room, where a fingerprinted childcare person watches the kids and lets them play with toys or color or watch movies. Both the child and the parent have to wear bracelets, and only the person who dropped the child off can pick him up. Only two ways exist to get into the room: a keypad outside the door and a button inside the room both open the door. So it's pretty safe. Also, there are monitors throughout the store you can look at and see your kid.
But when I left my little boy there, very cheerfully, I might add, I felt like crying! He's just so little and I've never left him with strangers in a strange place. Not that the grocery store is that strange of a place, but you know what I mean.
So I rushed through the store, at a run (not really, it was too crowded). I grabbed the yogurt, the bread, the meat and the tuna. I threw the apples, bananas, and celery into the cart. For once, I didn't miss anything as I went through the store, and I never had to turn back. I was done, including checking out after a woman who wrote a check (yes, people still write checks), in less than 30 minutes, with our weekly shopping trip.
Less than 30 minutes. It's a new record.
Amazing.
That's what panic will do for you.
And when I went to get Big Boy, he came out, happy to see me and ready to go, but having had a great time building a road with the Kids Corner girl.
He talked all the way home about the sticker he got and the road he built and the games he played.
And we both survived.