This afternoon I took Nate and Baby O with me to run a couple of errands while the other kids stayed home with John. We were driving along, yapping about whatever, when Nate starts talking about one of his favorite extended family members, fourteen year old A, who was just here for a visit. A lives FAR away, and Nate only sees him every year or two. He said, "Mom. A has underwear that say, ‘Playboy!’"
"Really?" I say. "Who told you that?"
"Nobody told me."
"Well, how do you know then?"
"Because, Mom, he shags."
And, yes, this is when I sucked that Small Altoid right into my right lung and nearly ran off the road.* After I recovered, I
shrilly, hysterically nonchalantly said, "Hmmm. So, do you know what ‘shagging’ means?"
I know that he knows all the facts about reproduction, but it still bugs me when the stupid slang creeps in.
"Pffft. MOM, you know, it’s when guys let their pants hang down. I could SEE it said ‘Playboy.’"
"OH! OH!" I said, "SAGGING!!! YES! SAGGING! It’s ‘SAGGING,’ not ‘SHAGGING!’ Hahahaha! Yeah. Sagging. Okay."
*Just to clarify: I didn’t think A was doing anything whatsoever to the boys. I was briefly worried that he’d maybe bragged about a conquest or something. Don’t want you to get the wrong idea about why I was inhaling my mints.
Tonight after we dropped the big kids off with their dad for supper, John and I took Willow to the farmer’s market. I wanted to go get some local honey to see if it would help me with my stupid allergies. I take my generic claritin every morning, and yet I suffer from this nasty (but thankfully clear, ’cause, eww) stringy snot in the back of my throat all. the. time. and my ear constantly hurts and I think it’s starting to take a toll on my mental health. My stepdad has been using local honey with good results, and I figure it can’t hurt. I was planning to bring the camera, because you can’t go wrong taking photos at the farmer’s market, but not only did I forget the camera, John told me there seems to be a bad scratch on the lens and that maybe the little thing has reached the end of its life. *sob* While we were parking, I saw a guy making balloon animals and I asked Willow if she wanted to get one. She didn’t say much about it, and she didn’t stop at the guy’s booth while we were there shopping.
You know, I want to point out that my Friday hippy organic produce delivery thing (which I was feeling a little guilty about, since, hey! I could probably get my ass to the farmer’s market for cheaper) is a MUCH MUCH better deal than the real live farmer’s market. Seriously. Like a quarter of the price better deal.
Alrighty, then. We got white nectarines, black plums, sugar snap peas, tomatoes, honey, garlic naan and an eggplant, and then headed for home. We reached the end of the row of booths and Willow spun on her heel and announced, "Balloon Animals!!" We went and found the guy and asked him for one. He asked Willow what color balloon she’d like.
"Um um um um um um BLUE!"
"Okay! Blue! And what animal would you like? A dog? A cat? A bunny rabbit?"
"Um um um um um um. A zebra!!"
The guy looked at her for a minute. "Okay! A zebra! What a creative girl, I’ve never been asked for a zebra." And he then made a little
horse zebra for Willow. He even painted little black stripes on it. He rocks. Totally.
All the way home she kept saying, "I’ve ALWAYS wanted one of these," in this mystified and happy voice, like all her questions had been answered and all her problems fixed.
While I was doing the dishes I heard a loud pop. Oh shit, I thought, here we go. But apparently she was so fulfilled just by getting the zebra that his head popping didn’t phase her. He’s in her room now, wedged in with the collection of Beatrix Potter books, his little striped legs sticking up in the air.