Easy Like Tuesday Morning (and other tales of corruption)

Nothing like sitting down to a fresh screen, staring at a blinking cursor. They still call it a cursor, don’t they? I’ve been trying to sit down to write for days. My brain is forever multitasking and fresh ideas pop in there constantly, and I swear I’ll try to remember them before they get lost in the current … only to forget that brilliant and hilarious thing I just had share. I recently unearthed a little notepad that’s really pretty with my initial on it – that I decided would do nicely at taking down my random thoughts. Guess where it is now? (On the ironing board in my walk-in closet. Next to a pile of shirts I don’t want to iron.)

It’s 8 a.m. and I’ve been up for two hours and I can’t even tell you what I’ve been doing. Drinking coffee and …. and….. and….. staring at my kitchen table wondering how I managed to cover it with crap. Again. Ava is sitting at the island doing homework – doing homework – she was supposed to have done last night. To say she’s not a committed student wouldn’t be fair, would it? But, alas, she’s been warned not to do this before, and here we are again.

Later now… had to drive her to school because surprise!…she missed the bus. Again. What IS it with these kids? Her room looks like her dresser exploded and she still manages to dress like a homeless person with old t-shirts and leggings with holes in them…add to that her hair which she prefers to air dry and only brushes it after I remind her, and the look is complete. Why I spent all that money on new clothes this fall – ALL of which are still hanging in the closet with tags attached – I wonder. Always a hoarder, recently her under-bed vomited up every notebook she’s ever had since birth. I ordered her to clean that shit up before she killed me in the middle of the night. There you have it folks, diabetes kills another parent.*

If that doesn’t do it, my son’s hair will. His hair is as coarse as horsehair and, at 15, he has chosen to wear it spiked up like a wayward boybander. We bought this stuff that can only be described as glue, to sweep his hair up to resemble hanging upside down. But it’s  a tricky operation because too much glue and then the hair gets glumpy and not spikey and then we have to wash and start all over again. Yes, we’ve had mornings like this. And now his hair is getting “puffy” on the sides because he needs a haircut, and so there is much fussing about the placement of hairs and some days it looks exactly the same as yesterday “not right” and we have to “fix it.” And, if you’re confused right now, let me clarify that I am now a hair stylist.

I was actually excited to get our tree on Black Friday. I realize that this was a terrible transition in topics and that trees have nothing to do with hair, but I’m drinking decaf. I have never gotten a tree that early. Like ever. A beautiful, warm, and dry day – coupled with houseguests who came along to make it more fun – warranted a drive to the tree farm to cut down a 10-foot Frasier for our living room.

You know how there’s always that one aunt… well, I’m that aunt. I have taken on this role with more bravado than Kanye West brokering Grammys for Beyonce, and more pride than Nicki Minaj has for her backside. And now you’re wondering what trees have to do with aunts, or even what any of this has to do with obnoxious musical artists… and I’m gonna tell you.

I’m that aunt. I’ve always wanted to be one. I’ve idolized my own “that aunt” since the very first time she stuck olives on all of her fingers and called herself a tree frog (see! There it is! The connection between aunts and trees! And I didn’t even have to reach far for that gem) and have waited centuries to be just like her. So, I started – well, maybe not started (I’ve been an aunt now for almost 5 years) – with cultural corruption.

I took Nephtoo (Nephew2) to the tree farm and made him cut down a Christmas tree. Now, you might say that cutting down the tree is itself a crime, but I say nay nay. Because my cat loves the delicious water in the tree stand and he is completely enraptured by naps under the twinkling lights – I do this for him. Because I’m selfless like that. 

So anyway… I made my Jewish nephew go Christmas tree hunting. And THEN Todd handed him the saw and let him cut it down. I took a commemorative picture of Nephtoo’s “first Christmas tree.” We decorated later that night and he helped hang ornaments like a BOSS. (And I also do realize that “Nephtoo” sounds like some ancient mummy or an extremely wet sneeze, but I like it.)

Neph (Nephew1) missed out on all this glory because apparently he actually has friends who were home for the holiday. He seemed nonplussed, though he was bummed that he was missing out on my very extra super special Challah French toast the next morning because all he thinks about is food. (It’s killer. Come to brunch this Sunday and hollaaaa!!!! – you’re all invited.) In my that-aunt assaults on him, he has proven to be a tough nut to crack. Mostly because he is that oblivious. Seriously, I worry about him thinking too hard sometimes…. Imagine the wheels turning in there are in need of a little oil. Case in point: he will ask you a question that no one who was raised by humans couldn’t possibly know the answer to. As of this posting I can’t remember a specific example (which is weird since we seem to be showered with them almost daily), but I’m sure I will have one by tomorrow morning.

Anyway, I tried to corrupt get him to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and he – get this – said he wasn’t interested. He’ll spend 8 hours a day playing Marvel superhero games but can’t be bothered to pay homage to the superhero of Christmas for one hour?? Plus he “had some stuff to do,” which is highly suspicious since the only thing I can see him really needing to do is clean.his.room. Which he has not done. And I know this because I was down there in the rec room the other day and he’d left his door open, and there was a very ripe odor jaculating from it.
Jaculating is a real word, by the way. And it is not missing an “e” so stop right there, you filthy-minded perv. It was yesterday’s word of the day and I’ve been dying to use it in conversation ever since. Perhaps I can hurl that at a customer tonight in a way that is sure to render the sous chef dumbstruck. I live for those moments.

Finally, in keeping with the tradition of offering up more mundane and completely useless information with which to sue me, I want to tell you about the most amazing purchase I made last weekend at the Walmart (yes, I went there on a Saturday). It has a little glass bottle and you attach it to this other thing and then plug the whole thing into an outlet (preferably near Neph’s bedroom). It’s a plug in air freshener – the gift that keeps on giving!! The rec room now smells like clothes line-drying on a warm summer day… with a minor note of boy schtank. (Just kidding.) Seriously kids, this plug-in is the Bomb (no pun intended). It’s like a fresh air apocalypse. Absolutely nothing can compete with it. And with that, the cat just emerged from the tree to accept the challenge… 

*It’s a joke, GET OVER IT.
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