Focus, Focus…


He was practicing his aim while I was folding laundry and watching a French movie:


(image via imdb.com)

Do you know how much laundry doesn’t get folded when you’re reading subtitles? Still. I wouldn’t have traded it. The movie was well worth watching, mostly because the main characters look REAL. You love them because they’re flawed and natural and one is balding and the other isn’t plastered in professional make-up.

All I’m trying to say is that you have Netflix instant, you should watch it. Preferably while “folding” laundry.
This morning I’m not nearly as focused as my son. Watch:

Here’s some soup my daughter made me. The broccoli and fries was a surprisingly delightful combination:

My sister ate chicken intestines. I’m mostly just happy she wasn’t directly hit by the tropical storm they just had down there. But I’m still grossed out a little.
Okay, a lot.

Last night I had two dreams.
In one, we were living with my parents. It was Christmas morning, BUT there was NOTHING Christmasish going on… there was no tree! no gingerbread house! no decorations! no stockings! I was a having a tiny panic attack, and everyone around me was gloomy and bored with me.
“It’s no big deal. We’ll get all that out next year. It’s just a pain to go through getting it all out only to put it all away again.”
What a disaster!
The second dream, I was suddenly in the middle of an episode of “Prison Break” and I was escaping out of a house with the hot brothers that star in the show. We were breaking windows and jumping through them, sliding on roof tops… and then we STOLE a semi, trucked down the highway where a sports car in front of us was blown up by a team of feds behind us (who, incidentally, wanted nothing to do with us). We ended up at a Comic Show where there were outdoor showers and my friend, Jay. I was so excited to see Jay… and I couldn’t help but wonder: what was he doing in a comic show, comforting a crying baby someone had pitched over the fence to him?

After my husband buzzed his head (*insert “Taps” here*), my kids decided they would play barber shop.

A few days ago, my husband went for a quick jaunt into the city without telling me. He thought he did, but I just thought he went into work ridiculously early which is why I didn’t expect him to walk in the door at 11 am.
If I would have known he was coming, I would have been standing at the sink or something.
As it was, I was sitting at the table with a jar full of green olives (or “yuckies” as my kids fondly call them), teaching my kids how to suck the pimiento out of the middle.

I’m happy to report that they are both pros.

We have a gigantic pumpkin plant growing in our garden. We did not plant it. It just popped up on day on the side of our first row. We could tell it was some kind of squash or something, so we just let it grow. and grow. and grow. and grow.
And now we can see green pumpkins sprouting. But seriously. This plant is huge.

It reminds me of life’s trials… you know, the kind we can’t control… the kind that take our pregnancies, our loved ones, burn down our houses, or send diagnosis our way that we never wanted to hear.
Theses kinds of things just POP up on the side of a row without any warning. We didn’t put them there. But they grow. They grow and grow and grow, and what we never once gave the slightest thought to suddenly takes over 1/3 of our entire life, pushing out things we actually PUT there and WANTED there.
And in the end, when the plant has grown and festered and choked out things we thought we really wanted… we are given fruit -bigger and juicier than anything we ever expected.
What’s more: we find out we love it more than what we actually thought we really wanted in the first place. And we’re so glad that someone knew better than us. We’re so glad that someone PUT that plant in our garden.

If I’m not making any sense it’s because you’re the lucky one who hasn’t had a festering pumpkin plant plopped in the middle of your garden. If I am making sense, it’s because you’re feasting on pumpkin pie.

Lastly: today is my last hurrah as a 26 year old. As my daughter said as she raised her plastic princess cup filled with Kool-Aid this morning (and I’m not making this up), “to LIFE!”

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