That was the first thing my almost 8 year old Miles said to me the other day upon waking. Alright, I get that morning breath is the stuff of death warmed over, and I’ll admit that I sometimes feel like I flossed with the fear of humanity, missing a spot right around the bicuspids and finally rinsing with the tears of lost souls, but man, that was deep, kiddo.
His breath? Sweet as the Spongebob bubblegum toothpaste he’d just hastily brushed with. Why can’t grown ups have fun toothpaste too, I often wondered, until I found the mojito flavored stuff in aisle 7 with accompanying breath spray! Just need to remind myself not to use it if a cop ever stops me on the road. “No, it’s mojito breath spray. See?” I’d breathe in his face “huh huh” and he’d reply “Nonsense! Grown ups don’t have fun flavored toothpaste!”
10 am: I’m half heartedly applying the day’s war paint and 14 year old Max strolls in with “What’s with all the make up? There’s so much. It looks terrible. Are you gonna be one of those old ladies who pencils her eyebrows in?” Apparently, that ship has sailed.
Of course I blamed it on the bathroom lighting, but the truth is, I’m so sick of putting on makeup, that I haven’t done it in months. I haven’t really gone anywhere during the Endless Winter Of 2014. I’ve been in hibernation mode wearing the same pair of clichéd unwashed yoga pants every day – with a hole in the ass after I bent down in the play room and caught my behind on one of the sails of The Black Pearl. Why bother replacing them when I can just wear dark underwear. Nobody’s the wiser. But makeup? I know I’d probably feel more put together, more vital, or some such shit. But it’s a monotonous endeavor, spreading layer upon layer of lotion, primer, concealer, foundation, etc., etc. And really, do they make a concealer for the soul? How’s that for deep?
There are other unspecified but equally uninspiring tasks happening, but in the background, there needs to be the kind of incessant chatter that makes one feel they are not at home alone, but in fact, a very real part of the communal fabric of life. And so…
11 am: The View
12 pm: The News
1 pm: The Chew
2 pm: The Talk
3pm: The Kitchen
3:30 – 4 pm: The Kids. Oh, that’s not a show, they’re home, dammit.
All day…dragging through the motions like a Stepford zombie in search of my own brains.
6 pm: Did I really forget to go to the grocery store again? For the third week in a row? I’ve got half a dozen chicken tenders, a bag of frozen peas and carrots, a box of spaghetti, and a can of cream of chicken soup (for some reason). Didn’t the Pioneer Woman whip up a tasty chicken spaghetti last week? She said it was her children’s favorite and they sure looked excited as they filed into the kitchen from a day of “working cattle”, digging in, all smiles and compliments. “Garsh Mom! This is the best meal I’ve ever eaten!” said the youngest. Damn, that frontier is one happy place.
My kids filed into the kitchen after a hard day of “working video games”, and the mood was decidedly less happy on this frontier.
Max: What’s that?
Me: Chicken spaghetti!
Max: Chicken spaghetti? What is this – Honey Boo Boo?
Me: No! I got the recipe from The Pioneer Woman. Her kids love it!
(Sadly, it didn’t turn out for me the way it did for The Pioneer Woman – like everything else in life.)
Me: I guess in terms of reality TV show recipes, it’s like…what’s that thing the Duggars make?
Me: No – tater tot casserole.
Max: Well this is horrible.
Miles: I’m not eating it.
Kevin: Just chew quickly and swallow it fast. You won’t be hungry anymore.
But somehow we got through it and I finally made it to that glorious part of the day we all long for…
8ish: Time to swap the clichéd yoga pants with pj’s and a good book. I’ve been on page 78 for three days now, reading the same three paragraphs before passing out. Tonight will be the night I make it to page 100, so help me God. I’ve just gotten through the mind numbing childhood part of this memoir and I know the good part is on the horizon! Ah…page 78 at last and it’s getting really….zzzzzzPhoto “Mother and Daughter – EXPLORED #155″ by JOHN CORVERA licensed by CC 2.0