For tonight’s performance, the Dinner Detective [DD] will be played by my husband.
Me: Hey Xander, dinner is ready, I have an extra large taco salad with your name on it.
Xander: Cool… grab it when I get home…. after practice later… [ Hmmm, I swear that’s where he just came from…]
Xander: That was weight training, we have a team practice at 7:00.
Did I say that out loud? I really need to get a grasp on that! [Manchild disappears down hallway].
As I sit looking dazed and confused, Dinner Detective takes over.
DD: So Pixie, how was your day?
Pixie: Gooood [Note: She is 43 pounds soaking wet and has the voice of a female chipmunk sucking helium]
DD: What was good ? Anything special ?
Pixie: Welll…….[deep breath] we had a substitute, Mzzz. Brown. She was strict and her dress was fancy and she was pretty. She did just what our teacher did, and told the boys to be quiet. And they were ! And then we had gym and played volleyball and I got hit 3 times and the other team took a point they shouldn’t have so we lost the game. I did all my long division in math and Sara was my reading buddy today and she smelled like cinnamon and then I wrote more of my fairy tale on my blog. Oh! And at recess we pretended Isabella was a pogo stick until Maya wanted to play dragons again so we did until my toes got cold.
I sit again dazed, trying to digest her day, never mind my dinner. My plucky hubby decides to press onward, hoping the momentum will carry through to the next child.
DD: How bout you Diva?
DD: How was your day?
Diva: Same as usual.
DD: Really ? Today was exactly the same as yesterday?
Diva: [ Iinsert trademark Huff and Eyeroll ] Uh, I guess !
DD: How about math ? What did you do ? [Got to applaud the man for his tenaciousness !]
Diva: Same ole stuff. [ We still don’t know what that means, haven’t seen a paper in weeks]
DD: What about art or choir?
Diva: You mean, like we sit there and sing or draw stuff .
Pixie: We are learning a new song ! It’s about one litte candle ……
Diva: Gawd ! No ones talking to YOU !
DD: Diva, we are trying to talk to you but not having much luck here [This is becoming painful !!! ]
Diva: She thinks everything is about HER !
Xander: [Reappears with gear bag over shoulder] Hey Ian called and his car won’t start – can I get a ride?
Oh Thank God ! I don’t remember getting up from the table and running for the door. The next thing I knew I was pulling out of the driveway as the man-child brought up an appropriate Nine Inch Nails tune.
He has my sarcasm gene.
Not an easy feat, to wax sentimental when your favorite spectator sport is Hockey. What can be more Walton-ish than gathering the kids around as one of our favorite teams takes the ice. Is there anything more heartwarming than Pixie, our sweet, 45 pound moppet, screaming “Drop the gloves !”?
Yet even at such a time as now, well into the season and days away from the Winter Olympics; these men wielding sticks and spitting teeth do not inspire sonnets.
I considered a controversial post, perhaps “Why Hockey is better than Football” just to ruffle afew feathers.
Or I could do a “Top 10 Reasons I eat-sleep-obsess About Hockey”.
But I’ve decided to write about my favorite side amusement, The Most “Hockey-ish” Names:
10) Fluery, Marc-Andre. As in snow flurry. Makes you think of ice. Oh c’mon – its ironic!
9) Oduya, Johnny. “Hi my name is John, I play hockey”. Reply: “Oh, du ya ?”
8) Abdelkater, Justin. It reminds me of words such as “antagonize- er” and “instigate-er”.
7) Kronwall, Niklas . I’m pretty sure he not only plays for The Redwings but was a King beheaded in book 2 of Game of Thrones.
6) Jagr, Jaromir. Name bares similarities to “daggar” without all those silly added letters, don’t you think?
5) Markov, Andrei. The Russian translation for Markov is “I see bulls eye on your head”.
4) Scott Hartnell. Ok, not a great name, I just like to watch him fight. Don’t judge, if you’ve been to a Flyers game, you’d understand.
3) Ignatushkin, Igor. I just don’t think it’s wise to mess with a guy named Igor. Or Vladimir [Malenkykh].
2) Bergeron, Patrice. Not a threatening name. But when I watch him play, I often wonder after beating another opponent in a face-off if he does not leave them with a “I laugh down my nose at you” in a French-Canadian accent.
And my favorite:
1) Quick, Jonathan. Goalie extrodinaire. Goalies need to be quick, watch 5 minutes of a game.
Could he have a more threatening, tough-guy last name? Sure, but “Don’t make me shove the puck down your neck” is not going to fit on the back of a jersey now is it?
I could add more, but spell-check is not liking this post and all the red wiggly lines under the names are starting to give me a headache.
I am no stranger to the rebelious streak.
Not mine so much, but I had the privilege to grow up in the shadow of a genius brother who never missed an opportunity to disembowel our parents 8 track player the second they backed out of the driveway for their Friday night movie with the neighbors. As the adults watched the lastest Burt Reynolds film, I was made an unwilling accomplice as Official Time Keeper and Look Out while my [younger!] sibling studied the inner workings of that weeks victim. Nothing was safe; record players, speakers, toasters, plumbing…
All these years later, I take back most of what I said about sending my brother to evil medical school. That’s a real thing, right ? As fate would have it, he is gainfully employed as an engineer. So I like to think living in fear for those years were not in vain.
Now having children, I realize many have a curious streak. However, I am starting to wonder if I missed that line in the sand between ‘normal behavior‘ and ‘we should install serveillance cameras’.
Our 11 year old started innocently enough, with the lab “How fast will different lip gloss brands melt in the sun”. Once the wax filtered out of the pool, she was forgiven.
Then it was on to “How many ways are there to explode a full can of soda”. Oh, and lets not forget Part II : “Which method will yield the largest splatter area”. It was discovered dropping a brick exploded the can well enough, but a single nail quickly driven through resulted in the highest spray. We had the last laugh, it is now our excuse for not keeping soda in the house.
Last night took a sinister turn. She was found wandering the halls like a villager warding off vampires, carrying a narrow log she somehow managed to pull from the fireplace, burning bright at one end. She claimed she was merely lighting the candles across the mantle and thought she’d take a moment to light any others around the house.
Her defense was simple: If we would let her watch TV on school nights, she wouldn’t be forced to come up with her own means of amusement.
This is MY fault?
Should I be concerned? Should we be sleeping in shifts?
So many things I will never understand about the world of high fashion, so what’s a girl to do?
Mock it !
I have a fasination with fashion mags and have wasted way too many hours wondering “Who wears this stuff & what fabulous lifestyle commands one to have such a wardrobe?”
Hope you enjoy a glimpse into how I read Vogue in my “Catwalk” section. My first entry, ‘Shopping’: