Drops of Awesome

Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson

Family Time

Presidents Day and Jeff the Canadian

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In honor of Presidents Day on Monday we fled the country. We live a couple of hours from the Canadian border and poutine seemed like a good idea. It turned out that they also had a national holiday on Monday, Family Day, and we think families are worth celebrating.

Heading to Canada also gave us several opportunities to talk about the President on Presidents Day because, and I’m not exaggerating, every single person we spoke to for more than 30 seconds brought up President Trump.

***SPOILER ALERT***

They do not like him.

Everyone we talked to basically expressed condolences, like our uncle had died. Or, I guess, like a crazy uncle had taken over our house. One of those things. We did the best we could. And we luckily live in a place where I’m allowed to type this post on the internet and where we the people get to overthrow the government every four years without shedding any more blood than might be caused by a papercut from a mail-in ballot.

We ended up taking a detour down a side road and stumbled across this gem. It lives up to it’s name.

We stopped by the temple even though it was closed. It was gorgeous and the kids thought the angel statue on top looked extra huge because the temple was so small. #FamiliesAreForeverDay

From there we went in search of poutine. This was rough because we actually favor the poutine at the Costco food court, but they were closed for the holiday. Apparently, Costco employees have families too.

A friend recommended a little French-Canadian poutine place in downtown Vancouver so we headed there. They… seemed surprised to have customers. And not a good surprise, like your grandmother taking you to The Care Bear Movie for your 8th birthday. It was more like, “Why are there dirty socks in the cheese drawer?!”

There was a sign as we entered that said, “Please wait to be seated,” but then they seemed annoyed that we didn’t just find our own seat.

Curling was on TV. Thumbs up.

Line cook with an Oilers hat on. Thumbs way down.

Growing up in Calgary, it was important part of my culture to have an irrational and fervent dislike of Edmondton, Oilers, and anything tainted by Wayne Gretsky.

I can’t totally describe it. It was just a funny place. It looked super sketchy from the outside and then the inside was just sort of crammed with stuff. People, tables, multiple full-sized traffic lights, nude paintings, some with lift-the-flaps to see the most exciting parts, portraits of drag queens, hockey memorabilia.

The employees were hilariously crusty, like we were being punked, and I did not see one table get the food they ordered on the first try. We sat at our table eating poutine and laughing as over and over the servers apologized for the mistake in a tone that said, “I’m sorry you suck,” and then went back to the kitchen window and yelled for something to be changed.

Our order came missing Laylee’s poutine and Magoo and Wanda’s hotdogs. Throughout the meal, the server kept yelling at the line cook for the two hot dogs. (What can you expect? He was an Oilers fan.) They didn’t come and they didn’t come. All our other food was done and still no hot dogs.

“I NEED THOSE TWO HOT DOGS,” he yelled, “WITH MUSTARD AND RELISH!!”

Wanda was crestfallen. She and Magoo had asked for mustard and KETCHUP. We told her to cut her losses. Then when the food showed up, the hot dogs came with ketchup and relish. Nice.

Wanda samples relish for the first time and it is a hit!

But the poutine was decent and if it hadn’t taken 15 years to get our food and two more decades to get our check, I wouldn’t have met the super interesting people at the table next to us, a very chatty older French-Canadian man and his friends who had strong feelings about the president, were very passionate about Dan and I taking our kids to Science World, and were giving Laylee the hard sell about choosing a Canadian university.

We tried our hand at 5-pin bowling. It’s something I grew up doing but when I mentioned it to Dan and the kids, they thought I was kidding.

I wasn’t. It’s real.

And it has inexplicable rules. Each pin is worth a different amount of points. Usually you get to roll the ball 3 times but sometimes you get to roll 4 times and you never know why.

The ball is so small that I think it blows around in the wind because it never went where I expected or desired it to go.

Laylee took advantage of the confusion and emerged victorious. She is apparently a Can-natural and I would like to have her try other Canadian sports, curling, bobsled, badminton pronounced correctly.

We rounded out the trip with some sightseeing in Vancouver. It was a city like most other cities but it felt special because we needed passports to go there and because of donuts.

Wanda purchased a stuffed bear-monkey who she named Jeff The Canadian because he “looked like a Jeff” and he is obviously Canadian.

We raided the grocery store shelves for chocolate and ketchup chips and ichiban noodles. And that’s what we eat for breakfast now because we are middle school boys and our name is Magoo.

I’m Sorry, Tired Baby Mamas, I Forgot

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I woke up this morning feeling twice as tired as I’d felt when I went to sleep. My eyes were blurry. My head felt stuffed with cheese. I wasn’t thinking clearly. In fact, the only clear thought in my head was a strong urge to never leave my bed again.

I had been up in the night with a sick kid.

And I don’t really do that anymore. Maybe three times a year. Usually, they tell me in the morning, “Mom, I felt sick last night.”

And I, fresh and chipper as a non-morning-person can be say, “Oh man. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help you now, today, in the beautiful light of actual morning?”

All is as it should be.

But last night, my 7-year-old was up with a bad cough. And, after I’d had 4 hours of sleep (which I realize is a long stretch to most moms of young babies) she came to the side of my bed, coughed wetly into my face and said, “Moooom. I feel awful. Can I sleep with you?”

Sure. Why not? Awful is my favorite kind.

She then proceeded to sniff loudly every single time she breathed in and cough explosively every fourth time she breathed out. She shifted around and asked for water… with ice… and begged me to take her temperature. She hugged me and pushed me away and smushed up against my back.

Now there’s something cute in all this. There’s something fun about being needed. But, a few hours later, when my alarm went off and I felt like dead trampled dog meat, nothing was cute.

She sat up cheerfully and hopped from the bed.

“Get back here,” I said, “I can’t justify staying in bed and not helping the middle schoolers get ready if you are no longer sleeping. And I am incapable of moving because my brains are missing. We will sleep for two more hours.”

She sighed and climbed back next to me.

**SNIFF**SNIFF**SNIFF**COUGH!!

Right now it’s noon and I’m still in my pajamas.

The breakfast dishes are undone and I can’t quite wrap my head around showering.

And I think of you, moms of babies. And I realize that I forgot. Many things.

I remembered the cuteness and the squishy thighs. I remembered the closeness of nursing a sweet little baby in the peace of the dark night. I remembered everything wonderful about my little sweet snuggle lumps.

But I forgot the brain fog. I forgot the intense, all-consuming desire for sleep and the way your days are ¼ as long because you are not mentally aware enough for the hours to count as “waking”. I forgot what it’s like to sit and wonder whether your eyes are all the way open because everything is such a blur.

I just forgot.

And I salute you. Whenever you get dressed. Or show up on time for your older kids’ music class. Or make something for dinner that’s not cooked in the microwave. You are rock stars. And don’t let the fact that no one else remembers what it’s like make you feel bad.

I’ve often thought it would be cool to go back and write a time management book for new moms, now that I’ve got things figured out a bit more.

This morning I realized that the book would have to read something like this:

How to Get Your Crap Together as a New Mom

1. Wait 6 months until you can get more than 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
2. Take a shower.
3. Resume normal activities.

As for today, I will accomplish… Octonauts.

The Birthday Bird and Other Gifts of Love

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Last week we celebrated the day Dan’s mom went to great pains to bring him into the world. His birthday’s always close to Mother’s Day so I always think of his mother. Bearing and raising kids is no joke. Raising good ones is miraculous.

He’s a good one.

And thusly do the peasants rejoice.

We rejoice with songs and cakings and trappings of all kinds. This year I gave the kids complete freedom in their gift giving. Well, with one exception. I did point Magoo in the direction of the T-Rex salt and pepper shakers and he was more than happy to ride that train to the last stop.

They were a perfect gift because Dan loves salt and pepper and he wears bowtie and… T-REX! Appropriately these came from Magoo, Magoo for whom Dan composed and performed a special dad song, entitled, “There’s a Big T-Rex Coming Down the Mountain to Eat Me,” nearly every night of his young life.

Wanda’s gifts were not song-related, unless you’re referring to bird song. She gave Dan this.

If you guessed that it’s a motion-activated singing plastic bird in mini real estate fashioned from reclaimed barn wood, you are correct. We found it at a craft fair. Bird $12. Bird WITH real estate? $15 A no-brainer, really.

But the bird + house was not quite enough for Wanda so we stepped into a local gift shop where she saw this and her eyes lit up.

“You know, how sometimes in church, you want to say something to someone on another bench but you’re not supposed to talk? This would be perfect! We should get it for him.”

And so we did. And a shiny rock from a shiny rock bin. The rock is not pictured here, as I was unable to locate it. Most likely Dan has spirited it away to his collection of very special things and it is therefore beyond my reach.

Dan wrote the current note on the sign to wave at recent dinner guests as they left, as to avoid verbal communication. Wanda thought it was for when you “aren’t supposed to.” Dan prefers to use it when he’d “rather not.”

And finally, Laylee Practicing-Is-Lame Thompson came up with the idea for this awesome gift.

He loves Laylee. He loves hearing her play. He loves jamming and talking music with her. So, she with her tenor saxophone and he with his alto, can duet the night away in dad and teenage daughter musical bliss.

Seriously though, how thoughtful is that? I could not think of a better gift idea. The girl has skills. For reals.

We’re glad he’s alive. He’s probably the best one that I know of.

And now any time he or anyone else steps on our front porch, they hear this:

A Stranger Things Birthday Party for Laylee – BARB IS ALIVE!!

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A couple of weeks ago my friend’s husband came to pick my kids up for church youth night. He is also my friend but this story feels more dramatic if I refer to him as “my friend’s husband.” While he was waiting for them to get ready, he asked me a question.

“Does this Saturday work for Laylee’s birthday party or would you rather do it next week?”

I had no response to this.

A. I’ve never had one of my friends’ husbands approach me about the timing of my teenage daughter’s birthday party.

B. I had momentarily forgotten that she had a birthday.

“I mean,” he continued, “We’ll want to have it fairly close to her actual birthday. We could do it at my house, but I’d rather do it at yours.”

What.

This only made it worse. I mean, he’s a good friend, but. What?

It turns out that, as he was driving the jazz band carpool, he had been talking to Laylee about the “locked room” party craze. He’s super creative  and wanted to plan an elaborate puzzle like that. And so they hatched a plot. Mike would spend hours creating a locked room/puzzle birthday party for Laylee and her friends, one of whom was his daughter.

It was just that no one had told me about it. So. The confused face.

Once I was up to speed, we got to work. Mike did all the mad genius stuff and I set the mood.

The mood?

Retro 1980s Horror Show That Half of Laylee’s Friends Aren’t Allowed to Watch Because it’s Practically too Scary for Me. Perfect. Here’s how it went down.

The girls arrived at our 80s abode and we fed them dinner. Eggos. 80s dance music was playing.

As they were finishing dinner, I knocked at the front door, dressed as Joyce Byers. This was convenient because I just recycled my Halloween costume.

Joyce was crying as usual and told them to come out on the front porch. It was an EMERGENCY! You see, she believed that Barb was ALIIIIIIIIIVE!

While we were out on the porch, Dan and Mike threw grey thrift store sheets over everything to make it Upside-Downy and then dimmed the lights and flipped on some blue ones.

Joyce told the girls they had to go into the Upside Down and save Barb.

Back inside, Chief Hopper awaited to tell them how the puzzle worked. Everything they needed to unlock the secret door under the stairs and save Barb was on one specific book shelf and table. Then he gave them a walkie talkie and told them to contact him if they needed assistance.

The way Mike set up the puzzle, there were three numbers they needed to find that corresponded with three stickers next to a padlock.

The first riddle involved them sorting books by height. Each book had a letter on it. When sorted properly, the letters spelled Tolkien. When they looked in the Lord of the Rings books, they found a clue to another detailed puzzle. Once solved, that puzzle gave them the quote “rings for mortal men.” There are 9 rings for mortal men in LOTR, so the number was nine.

The second riddle involved an unfolded cootie catcher. Remember those little paper folded fortune tellers from when we were kids? When they folded it and held the points together, it contained a musical staff with a line of music. When they played the song on the piano, it was the theme from Star Wars.

In the Star Wars VHS tape on the shelf was an oddly cut out piece of paper. There was another piece of paper with similar markings on the table. They had to hold up the cutout paper a foot above the table paper with a flashlight shining through it.

The combination of the projected light from the first paper and the symbols on the second paper spelled out the word “quinze”, which means 15 in Portuguese. Good thing there was an English/Portuguese dictionary on the table. The second number was 15.

For the third and final clue, there was an 80s Troll puzzle half-assembled on the table. They had to put it together, squish it between two cookie sheets, flip it over, and read the message on the back. The message contained 4 quotes they recognized from Harry Potter books. Now, I know Harry Potter is not 80s appropriate, but we needed to pick books the girls would all be familiar with and time is irrelevant in the Upside Down.

They found the correct books and in their pages were the pieces to a brightly colored Sudoku puzzle. The colors matched the colors of M&Ms in a jar on the shelf. They had to solve the Sudoku puzzle, count the number of M&Ms and then do a math problem with those numbers, giving them the final number for the code.

They unlocked the door.

And found this VHS video from Barb inside.

She was ALIVE!!! And she’d left them some rad treats. Scrunchies, Coke glasses, hot pink nail polish, and makeup bags with Nerds inside.

Here is a picture of the girls watching Barb’s message. I love the older kids’ delight contrasted with Wanda’s horror. Eaten by monsters? Gross.

And I let them eat cake.

And monsters ate no one.

Halloween and Bible Videos

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This post was originally written a couple of days after Halloween 2016 but I guess I was too tired to post it because I never did. I just found it on my hard drive so I thought I might as well “throw it up” on the blog. No pun intended…

Wanda slept on Dan’s face Tuesday night.

He did not like it.

She had stayed home from school with a cough on Monday, one of those annoying coughs that probably sounds worse than it is. And it sounds plenty worse. So you keep your kid home so people won’t hate you and your stupid offspring.

Generally, and specifically actually, we have a rule that you can’t go out and do activities in the evening if you stayed home sick during the day. Too sick to go to school? Too sick to go to moonlight pony camp. But, being Halloween, I broke down and told her she could trick-or-treat as long as she didn’t cough on anyone.

The good thing about letting her trick-or-treat when she was sick was that she tired out before too long and we got to call it a night, not because I hate fun and love bedtime, but because she was done. I had to respect her wishes.

The bad thing about letting her trick-or-treat when she was sick was that she stocked up on candy. Candy suppresses your immune system. Candy, in overabundance, makes you sick to your stomach. And let’s be honest. We might as well rename it, “Overabundanceween,” because it’s a day dedicated to too much. Also, excessive sugar can spike anxiety.

We didn’t let her eat any on Halloween night and the next day she seemed well enough to go to school. That afternoon, she made up for lost time, consuming every sugary chocolate morsel she could shove into her candy hatch. Her capacity is high.

By dinner time, she was all filled up. By bedtime, she was vibrating. Aaaand… she didn’t “feel so well.”

I laid with her in her bed. I laid with her in my bed. I sat next to the toilet with her while she said repeatedly for an hour, “I’m gonna do it. I know I’m gonna do it! It’s HAPPENING!!”

It didn’t happen.

And eventually I sedated her with bible videos.

We laid in my bed with the iPad and some little kids explaining baptism. Good times. As each video ended, she’d say, “I think I’m gonna barf!” and I’d hit play on the next one.

Dan joined us in bed, and Wanda, lulled into submission by the flickering screen of doctrine and the midnight hour eventually fell asleep. On his face.

Maybe next year we’ll just skip the trick-or-treating and go straight to the bible videos. I bet that would go over well.

A Great Rapper

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I like to fancy myself a great rapper. Not because I am one, by any stretch, but because… Actually, I don’t know why.

I just do.

So, kiss my shoe.

See how I spit a rhyme there?

I’ve blogged before about hosting family rap battles. These involve sessions of awkward rhyme around the dinner table. None of us even beat box, although I frequently threaten to. And over the past year we’ve added Hamilton to the mix, so we don’t have to make up all the words anymore, which helps.

You haven’t lived until your seven-year-old has broken into a spontaneous rap solo about the constitution.

All of this is a lead-in to me receiving the greatest compliment of my life a couple of weeks ago. Several friends purchased gifts to donate to the International Rescue Committee in Seattle to celebrate “Winter,” which is suspiciously like Christmas, but for refugees from various countries and religious backgrounds.

I was nominated to drop the gifts downtown because all my kids are in school and I am now a lady of leisure. It took me a fair amount of time to find a non-parallel parking spot near the drop-off point, only about 4 blocks away.

Luckily, I’d brought my wagon, still full of sand from the softball field. So, I loaded it up with food and gifts and started to slowly, slowly, ever so awkwardly, make my way over the sidewalk cracks and crosswalks to the building.

As I inched across one crosswalk, holding the presents onto the wagon with one hand, pulling it with the other, a woman pulled up in front of me, gave me a huge grin and a thumbs up. It was as though she “liked” me on Facebook, but IRL.

She unrolled her window and yelled out, “YOU ARE A GREAT WRAPPER!”

There I was on the streets of downtown Seattle and people were calling out to me about my great rapping skills. I prefer to spell it without the “W”. As does Lin Manuel Miranda.

It made my day.

Make America Engage Again – Santa, McMullin, and Me

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santa (2)I’ve often been asked, “How do you tell your kids that Santa isn’t real?”

Actually, I don’t.

As my kids mature, I just change the way we talk about Santa. When they’re little, they think of him as a powerful entity with endless resources and the ability to make their dreams come true.

Frustratingly, he doesn’t always use his powers to fulfill their fondest wishes. Sometimes he brings socks or a boring lunchbox. And they grieve. But their power is limited so they write letters and wait and hope for good things to happen.

But, as they grow, we have a frank discussion. Santa is real, but he’s not just one guy. He’s millions of people who use their time and resources to make magic happen. I’m Santa. They’re Santa. And they become actively engaged in spreading holiday joy.

It’s an earthshattering and exciting transition.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve experienced a similarly disruptive and thrilling change in the way I think about presidential elections.

As a moderate conservative, human person, who believes in equality and civility, I watched with horror as Donald Trump snagged the presidential nomination before the Washington State primary.

My last choice Democrat was running against my last choice Republican. And I felt completely powerless. It was like hiding and watching Santa fill my stocking with lima beans. Slowly. For months. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Because Santa is in control. And we say, “Thank you,” and move on.

I turned off the news. I blocked friends who posted political rants. I gave up.

The two major parties are like our parents, telling us that Santa is The Man, and we are welcome to write him letters but they probably won’t make much difference.

The major media outlets are like that mean kid in first grade who tells you there is no Santa.

In September I started hearing about Evan McMullin, an independent candidate who’s gaining ground quickly in Utah and other western states. I clicked on a link. And I could not stop clicking.

Evan McMullin actually has the momentum and credibility to say, “There is a Santa. And we’re all him. And if we work together, we can realign America with its founding principles.

His chances of winning the White House are slim. He needs to win enough electoral votes to stop both Trump and Clinton from reaching 270, sending the decision to the House.

It is the longest of longshots, but I have never seen anything like the groundswell of support that follows whenever he opens his mouth. Americans recognize truth. We crave it. And he’s in a virtual tie with Clinton and Trump in Utah and gaining supporters daily. In a tight race, that could be the ballgame. If the race isn’t tight, it still sends a clear message to the Republican Party that we demand candidates who reflect our values.

So, suddenly I transitioned from discouraged and apathetic to outspoken activist. Many of Evan’s supporters are people who have never taken a public stand politically, attended a rally, or drummed up political discussion at the bus stop. But, suddenly we are engaged and we are on fire.

And every day I hear, “A vote for McMullin is a vote for Clinton,” and “A vote for McMullin is a vote for Trump.” The truth is, when you realize your actual power as a voter, you can’t vote the odds anymore. You can’t practice statistical democracy.

A vote for Evan McMullin is a vote for civility, patriotism and a new generation of American leadership. A vote for Evan McMullin is a vote for Evan McMullin.

I don’t tell my kids there’s no Santa. I explain what Santa looks like to caring, engaged adults.

I won’t tell you there’s no hope for change in American politics. I’ll tell you what hope looks like to caring, engaged adults.

Hope looks like Evan McMullin and his millions of supporters who are proving it is possible to Make America Engage Again.

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Debate Night

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I let the kids stay up and watch a bit of the debate I’d DVRd on Monday night. Hillary vs. The Donald. My kids’ excitement at witnessing the event soon turned to incredulousness.

“Are you kidding me?” they said more than once.

Because, even in middle school, they understand basic civility and the need to give concrete evidence to back up your position. And we didn’t witness all that much of either.

Eventually, Dan suggested that we all talk over each other as loudly as possible for a couple of minutes to immerse ourselves in the spirit of the debate and then we sent them off to bed.

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There are a few things I liked about this debate.

1.       The debate. I like that we still hold debates. No matter how much one or both candidates plan and prepare, in a debate setting we get to see how they react to pressure, how quick they are on their feet, and how clearly and concisely they can state their position. Debates still hold value for me as a voter.

2.       The split screen. I loved watching their reactions to each other on the split screen. You want a president with a good poker face sitting at the negotiating table across from Valdimir Putin.

3.       No breaks or interruptions. I like that we don’t cut to commercial or give them downtime. The tension builds and the candidates get tired. And they have to deal with it. Watching the second half of a debate is especially telling.

There are a few things I disliked about this debate.

1.       The candidates. I’m not a fan of either of these people personally or politically. I am a fan of America. That makes things difficult.

2.       It felt like I was already watching the Saturday Night Live spoof of the debate. Both candidates almost seem like caricatures of themselves.

3.       Implication by correlation. Have you ever noticed that in the debates, they imply things by correlation? Like listing how many people have been killed since President Obama has been in office. Well, how many people have eaten a burrito since Dan and I have been married? It’s sobering.

When I mentioned this on facebook, one friend said, “I think the more sobering question might be, ‘How many people haven’t eaten a burrito since you and Dan got married?’ Because eating burritos is happy, and not eating them is very sad.”

To this, I responded, “You’d need to fact check that on my website to be 100% sure. Maybe the 400 lb hacker ate them, leaving none for the 99% of Americans who got no burritos.”

I don’t love this election. I really don’t. But I love this country and I’m trying to be as informed as I can about all the candidates and issues and vote for who and what makes the most sense. This year I feel like my real power to make a positive difference comes on the local level. That’s probably where my real power lies every year.

I’m just glad I get to vote at all.

Don’t let frustration over the current candidates get you down. Don’t waste the gift. Remember how many people and issues are on the ballot, aside from the presidential race. Let your voice be heard. Vote!

Do Something Good

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On days when I exercise, I’m much less likely to snarf a huge bowl of Mac and Cheese for lunch. On those big workout days, I tend to eat more veggies, lean meats and whole grains.

It’s not because I think, If got up at Stupid o’clock in the morning to burn 800 calories on a spin bike, I’m not going to eat back that entire amount in cheesy carbs!

It’s generally because I feel awesome about working out and I want to keep that high going. It’s about momentum and it’s about tasting victory.

One good choice in my life almost always leads to another good choice because doing good feels… what’s a good word to use here? AWESOME!

If I wake up and train like an athlete, then I feel all athlety and fierce and it’s only natural that I’ll want to fuel my athletic body with the right kind of fuel.

Choosing to be athletic makes me feel like an athlete. And when I feel like an athlete, I act like an athlete.

The same goes for my parenting. If I make a conscious effort to reach out to one of my kids and ask about his day, then I’m a nicer mom in our next interaction. I feel closer to him. We understand each other better.

Choosing to be nice makes me feel like a nice mom. And when I feel like a nice mom, I act like a nice mom.

So what do you want to be like today? Do one thing that a person like that would do. Savor how it feels and let that momentum carry you away on a pillowy cloud of Awesome.

Take one step forward. Do something good today.

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A Tiresome Day

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A few weeks ago I took Wanda and Magoo into the next town over to get some new tires put on the Swagger Wagon. The next town over is awesome. It has a Wal Mart and a movie theatre and a state prison. It has a cute downtown main street district, almost like our town, but with more snazzy jammie retailers, tattoo parlors, smoke shops and places that will pay you cash for gold.

We chose a mom and pop tire shop over the big retailers because we like to support local business and they were much cuter on the phone AND equipped to do both the tire install and the alignment in one visit. Their prices were almost competitive. And they said they could get it done in a little over 2 hours.
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So we dropped off the car at 11am and they told me it might take a biiiit longer than they had originally thought. That’s cool, I thought. We’ll walk over the train tracks, along the busy highway, and past several strip malls to the movie theatre and catch a show.

Although the next town over has a dollar store, it does not have Uber. Weird, right?

The walk to the theatre was a little over a mile, my longest distance since the surgery. Woot. And we had a great lunch of nachos, popcorn, and slushies while we watched The Secret Life of Pets. Good. Not great. The kids loved it.

We stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few things, walked past a couple of loudly screaming teens with expletives on their t-shirts, enjoyed the sun, and carried our groceries the mile back to the tire store, by way of a couple of very cool little vintage shops.

Altogether, kind of an awesome day, a bit weird, but awesome. However, it had been three hours and I had super ripe peaches at home waiting to be canned. It was time to get this show on the road.

But the car wasn’t done.

So we stalled at a used book store and bought a few things. They were serving Slytherin Iced Tea in honor of the new Harry Potter Play. Nice people. And when I said we were waiting for our tires to get done, the bookstore owner looked at me appraisingly and said, “The Big Chain Store or Mom and Pop.”

He approved of my choice.

But the tires still weren’t done.

So, to round out our Next Town Over-ish day, we stopped at 7-11 for boxed hot dogs and microwaved burritos. The hot dog box said, “100% Delicious” and Dan later asked Wanda if those words were true.

“Not really,” she said, “Maybe 99%?”

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But the kids were 100% awesome. Because we spent the next couple of hours in the shop waiting room. It smelled like a mechanic shop and flies were buzzing everywhere. And the seats were old and dirty.

But Magoo could not get over how comfortable they were. And Wanda happily did magic tricks to herself with an old deck of cards while I read my book.

At one point the mechanic invited me back to show my why he was having trouble getting the alignment right and asking if he could put some after-market parts on the car to help it out a bit. He was kind. And he explained things well. And everyone in the shop treated us like we were family.

When it was time to go, about 6 hours after we’d originally dropped off the car, the elderly owner of the shop pulled my kids aside and lovingly told them how special they were.

“And do you know how you get special kids?” he asked.

They smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

“With very special parents.”

He gave me a warm smile and handed each of the kids an intricately detailed die cast car. They were thrilled. And they are special kids. It’s strange to say, but it was one of the best days I’ve had in a while. Just hangin’ out in a Podunk downtown, eating at the Sev with my peeps.

And the lateness of the hour saved me from having to can peaches in the heat of the day. It was not hot at midnight as I finished up the last batch.

As we left  tire shop, my special son informed me that my special daughter had put stuffed her special trash into one of the towers of tires. So I got to stand on a chair and do a handstand inside the tires to fish it out.

Special times.

A bit tiresome. But special, nonetheless.

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