Usual Sunday Type Shit.

(Thrilling conversations.)

14.) Regular flu season type shit.

Him: What are you doing?

Me: Making homemade NyQuil.

Him: What did you put in it?

Me: Whiskey.

Him: That checks out.

Me: Duh.

13.) Regular Sunday type shit.

Her: That’s a beautiful dog.

Me: Thanks.

Her: What’s he for?

Me: She’s a seizure alert and response service dog.

Her: Oh, that’s terrible! I’m sorry to hear that. You don’t even look like an epileptic person. Do you believe in Jesus Christ?

Me: Do you believe in unicorns?

Her: What?

Me: You have a great day now.

12.) Regular weekend type shit.

Him: You drink beer through a straw now?

Me: Only when I’m drinking beer in bed.

Him: You drink beer through a straw all the time now?

Me: Can I help you with something? I’m in the middle of something important here.

Him: Drinking beer through a straw and watching Netflix?

Me: That’s none of your business, and I’ll thank you to stay out of my personal affairs.

11.) Usual Thursday type phone calls.

Him: (answers phone) Hey.

Me: Hey.

Him: How are you feeling?

Me: Fine. Hey, listen. Can you swing by the Neuro unit at Luke’s and pick up my mail? Donna called.

Him: Donna?

Me: Front desk.

Him: Pick up *your* mail.

Me: Yep.

Him: Nothing about you is normal, you know that?

Me: I made you a scarf.

10.) Usual Wednesday dinner conversation type shit.

Grace: Mom, has anyone ever invented a bagel sandwich with chocolate covered bacon? Just a bagel, bacon, and chocolate.

Me: Not that I know of.

Grace: YES! THIS IS MY CHANCE TO SHINE! (looks up and reaches towards the ceiling while singing the unmistakeable “Laaaaa!” of the heavens opening up)

Me: Well, I guess it really is your time to shine.

Grace: We’re talking Hershey’s chocolate, ma. (Again with the looking and the reaching and the Laaaaa-ing)

Me: You crack me up, kid.

Grace: I know I do, mom. I know.

9.) Usual after-school type shit.

Grace: (Defensively) Saying you don’t like Minecraft is like saying no to Elvis Presley.

8.) Usual Sunday type shit.

Nora: Mom. Last night Grace got out of bed and slapped me across my face and yelled “Slap Cam!” Then she ran back to her bed laughing.

Me: What did you do?

Nora: Well, it hurt, but it was funny, so I laughed. I mean, even if it kind of hurts, if someone gets you and it’s funny, you can still laugh until it gets better. You can’t just cry about it all the time.

Me: No. I suppose not.

Nora: And she did it when I was still awake. I’m going to wait until she’s sleeping.

And THAT is the moment when you know that every parenting decision that you have made up until now has been FUCKING SPOT ON.

7.) Scene from a parking structure.

ME: Mama, I want you to come around and walk on the other side of me.
NORA: Ok. Why?
ME: Because I want to walk closer to the oncoming cars. Just to make sure you’re safe.
NORA: You mean so if a car hit us, you would die instead of me?
ME: Something like that.
NORA: But then what would I do? I can’t drive

6.) Usual Sunday type shit.

Him: You gonna get dressed today?
Me: I am dressed.
Him: Didn’t you wear those sweatpants to bed?
Me: It’s kind of an endurance thing. I’m doing it for a good cause.
Him: Charitable laziness?
Me: Don’t judge. I’m changing the world.
Him: How about changing your clothes?
Me: I don’t expect you to understand the rationale of an endurance athlete.
Him: What’s the name of this charity, anyway?
Me: Sweatpantsing for America.
Him: And what, exactly, are you doing for America?
Me: What am I NOT doing for America?!?!
Him: Well, you got the uniform right, I guess.
Me: We refer to it as a “kit”.
Him: *rolls eyes*
Me: You’d be less judgy if you were wearing more comfortable clothing. Perhaps jersey or other stretch material. Don’t underestimate the joy of an elastic waistband.
Him: So you’re not getting dressed, then?
Me: I prefer, “Not getting dressed, for America.”
Him: I’m walking away now.

5.) Usual Thursday type shit.

HIM: Hey! Wait! Aren’t you the girl who posted a photo of a vagina last week?
ME: Heh. No. That was a mussel, actually. A whole plate of ’em.
HIM: Ha! Too funny.
ME: You haven’t seen many actual vaginas, have you?
HIM: Mussels, eh? They any good?

4.) Usual Friday morning shit.

Him: What the hell is wrong with your feet!?
Me: Oh that? Those are blisters. Walked a lot during the conference.
Him: Blisters? Shit girl, you got “Swamp Foot”.
Me: (chuckles) Maybe I should get a pedicure.
Him: And a tetanus shot, and some Cipro, and a skin graft, and…
Me: —YEAH, ok. I got it. Look away from the abomination then, Captain Outbreak

3.) Usual Tuesday night shit.

Me: What a fucking idiot. Look at this… Who the hell puts a random wheelchair on their LANDSCAPING business card?! He’s not even disabled. Does he specialize in lawn care for disabled property owners? Does he do Rascal repairs on the side? This makes no fucking sense. Who would even think to do this? Seriously. Unless you repair fucking wheelchairs, maybe. I mean, what the hell?
Him: *glances at card* That’s not a wheelchair, that’s a ride-on lawn mower.
Me: *snatches card back* Shut. Up. Now I kinda want one.

2.) Usual Sunday type shit.

Him: Were you yelling at me last night?
Me: Yeah. You started making this awful noise, then it sounded like that fucking cpap was going to short out. It was weird. And loud.
Him: Heh. I was dreaming that I had to pretend to be a zombie to escape a pack of walkers. I had to mouth breathe and groan like them.
Me: How’d ya do? Get away?
Him: Dunno. Dream morphed into a giant Medusa-like creature commanding me to “Shut the fuck up and fix your cpap.”
Me: Heh. The zombies wouldn’t have bought it anyway. I guess you could say that *I* saved you from a pack of walkers last night. That’s love, right there.
Him: *rolls eyes, looks back at screen* Right. Thank God you were there.
Me: Anytime, buddy. Anytime. Got any more bacon over there?

1.) Emails from my sister.

Email begins:

“How is your morning going? Don’t worry, I feel like slapping everyone in the face, too.”

[blah blah blah]

Email ends:

“Mark it eight, Dude.”