We've survived half of the birthday weekend. Emma's party was today at the skating rink and a good time was had by all. After rounding up the gang for cake I asked how many of them had fallen down on the skating floor and all 9 hands went cheerily up. They started relating their best wipe-outs to the complete fascination of the others.
When do you outgrow falling down? Because they made me put on a pair of skates and all I cared about was NOT FALLING DOWN! (I didn't, but came close!)
Tomorrow we will complete birthday weekend with a swimming party for Karl. And then Monday is that blessed of all the blessed days. The first day of school!!!! (That's right! I'm shipping my kids off to their classrooms in the middle of August. And I only have one leg. Jealous?!)
I have two legs.
And I love SNL references.
A cat wandered into our house today.
That's not a SNL reference. A cat really DID wander into our house today.
But enough about all that. The central question remains . . . why do I need groceries when I can just eat my foot?
Wait - then I'd only have one foot. Jealous?!
Because despite the fact that I had ZERO energy, we also had ZERO food for dinner so I had to go to the grocery store. And what happens when you go to the grocery store at 6 pm on a Saturday night is you find it luxuriously empty. Like you don't have to wait at the deli behind some lady who wants a half a pound of everything. And you don't have to wait to check out.
So I was particularly giddy, what with my no-wait roast beef, as I cruised right up to an open check-out line. And I got even more giddy when I remembered that this particular checkout lady was deaf. I gave her a big wave and didn't try to talk to her like I usually do, at which point she completely ignores me because she's looking down at the cart and can't, you know, hear me.
There wasn't a large bagging staff on duty, what with the store being relatively empty, so I stepped to the end to start bagging, knowing that it was going to be a short-lived funfest because if there's one way to attract a bagger, it's to start bagging your own groceries.
Even if you LIKE bagging your own groceries, which I do.
Because it's kind of fun, don't you think? All those groceries spilling off the conveyor with only seconds to decide how you're going to group them. Seeing that small space in the bag you're working on and diving for the parmesan cheese that will just fill it. Bagging things together in logical order, rather than the fruit in with the meat. I could go on and on.
Only I couldn't go on and on because the bagger came over and relieved me after I'd packed one measly bag. I said, rather sadly, "I guess you're here to take over, huh?" and, naturally, he said "Yes, ma'am"
But my spirits would not be dampened. I was on a no-wait-for-roast-beef-or-check-out-remember-the-deafness high that could not be dampened so easily. I pointed out the one bag that had three perfectly balanced boxes of cereal in it and said "I did a good job on that bag, huh?" And he laughed and said "Yes, you did."
And this should have been the end of the conversation. Only sometimes a high can be intoxicating and cause you to blurt out something that seems perfectly amusing in your head, but doesn't seem nearly as funny once you've uttered it.
Because I said "Yeah, and I have no training, either!"
This sounded completely funny in my head, mind you. Once out there, though, I realized that I had just called his job menial and suggested that (A) an untrained driving monkey can bag groceries as well as the professionals, and (B) there's nothing professional about being a bagger.
He said, rather coldly, "Well there really isn't much training involved," as I melted into a blushing pile of goo.
I couldn't even talk to the checkout lady to ease the silence because (A) I don't know sign language, and (B) she has to concentrate on the screen to make sure everything scans because she can't hear the beeps.
One time she checked me out and something expensive didn't scan. I happened to be paying attention, I think because I was curious how expensive that expensive thing was, and noticed that it didn't register when she scanned it. No beep. No expensive price added to the total.
So what I did was to grab that item off the conveyor and hand it back to her, telling her via charades and hand gestures that it didn't scan. She thanked me in sign language and scanned it.
And I pretty much thought I was a saint. I sat there throughout the rest of the transaction congratulating myself on my honesty. I imagined the checkout lady going home and signing to her husband about the kindness and upstandingness of one of her customers. Yes, yes I did. The honesty was not its own reward - I wanted a medal.
But today I was just rather glad that she was deaf and didn't hear the stupid thing I said to the bagger.
I'll sign off with a comparison photo. Amazing what 9 years can do to a couple of preemies, huh?
RKQOTD (Emma: Mom, I've known you for 9 years, but I've known Karl for almost 10!)