Wendy's: You know when it's real.

by Patti

Last Saturday after ballet class, Cathy, Miche and I took our girls for a post-lesson lunch. En masse we went, a loud cloud of estrogen as we tumbled into a nearby Wendy's. The girls immediately grabbed a table, and we moms set our purses down at an adjoining table and headed to the front to order. When it was finally my turn, I ordered my usual apple and pecan salad with a cup for water, and S's Son of a Baconator, fries and Frosty. "That'll be $9.38," the pimply-faced cashier announced. I swiped my debit card and waited for my receipt. His brows drew together in concern. "Yikes! It says it's declined."
I looked up, shocked. "Wha..?"
Suddenly he doubled over, slapping his thighs. "JUST KIDDING!"

I stood there, stunned. Really? I mean, I seriously have a pretty awesome sense of humor if I do say so myself, but this? Was just so not funny. He straightened up and handed me a cup for the water I had ordered, still snorting with residual laughter at his own delusional "comedy".

I headed to the supersonic, bionic-looking drink machine that now lives in most fast food restaurants. Have you seen these contraptions?

I not only serve you drinks, I can take you to the moon!

Besides doing yoga next to a lithe, flexible 18-year old girl, there is nothing that makes me feel more 100-years old than using these things. Next thing you know, we will be drinking hologrammed beverages.

you THINK I'm real.... 

As I filled my cup, I looked over to see an employee wiping down the condiments area. She looked at me, shaking her head in disgust, then she gestured to the "comedian", who was standing at the cash register in a stupor -  probably trying to come up with his next joke. "He does that to everybody!" she said, her eyes revealing years of having to "put up with this crap".

I went to the table and quickly told Cathy and Miche about my encounter, and as I did, I tried to open the bag of pecans I had gotten with my salad. Only thing was, the pecans were not pecans - they were sliced almonds. Annoyed, I headed back to the counter, and asked the "comedian" for some pecans. "Oh, sorry 'bout that!" He handed me a little bag of pecans, and I asked if I could have another. His coworker was by the "stash", so he grabbed a bag and handed it to me. As I reached out to take it from him, he pulled one of those "psyche!" moves - you know, the one where somebody hands you a five-dollar bill, and as you eagerly reach out for it, the trickster yanks it from your reach? He handed it to me again, and I, fully ignoring the "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me" rule, reached out for it. That's right: HE YANKED IT FROM ME AGAIN. The "comedian" laughed in unison with his coworker, as the coworker basked in the glory of his own genius. Seeing my completely un-amused face, he finally handed me the bag, which I now snatched out of his hand.

I went back to the table and told the girls, and Cathy's eyes widened in disbelief. "What is this? ROMPER ROOM WENDY'S?" The three of us sat there, feeling like we'd fallen into some surreal Twilight Zone hole, where everybody is in on the joke but you. As we pondered the weirdness of it all, a man at the table next to us suddenly stood up, clutching his throat. His friends all shifted in their chairs uncomfortably, torn between doing something and continuing to shovel in the fries. The choking man eventually un-choked himself, and he sat down, red and sweaty, while his friends laughed that "holy crap you almost died in public" laugh.

Was this part of the practical joke festival that seemed to be going down this day at Wendy's? Would I find a plastic spider in my salad or a whoopee cushion on my chair? Could I expect for the manager to come greet us with a buzzer-rigged handshake?

I gotta tell you, Wendy's. This thing you say?

Is pretty clever.

Thrown Under the Bus

by Cathy

"Kids say the darndest things."

So cute, so innocent and so...truthful. However, this so-called harmless honesty is not always the best policy.

The other day I was left to take Ari to her bi-weekly Kumon class - an academic summer camp of sorts that Joe signed her up for and was responsible for taking her to. Since I was not the one who sat through orientation on the way things work there, I got an ear-full when Ari showed up with only half of her workbooks completed and incompletely at that. After I got my instructional lecture from the director of the franchise, I made a note to self: always get involved in everything from the get-go.

Apparently, I wasn't the only parent that wasn't following directions. Ridden with guilt, or perhaps wanting to avoid the lecture from Ms. Trunchbull of Matilda, another mom volunteered to step into the line of fire.
"I promise, we'll be better about completing the workbooks too." She chuckled and looked at me as if wanting to commiserate. Then she added with a sigh, "It's like we're throwing our kids under the bus."

"The school bus!" I hooted as we both inappropriately broke out into fits of laughter.
The receptionist glared at us disapprovingly as she shoved even more workbooks into our kids' pouches.

 As if on cue, a dad and his young son walked into the waiting room and the boy plopped his pouch onto the receptionist's desk along with his book for the week. Without being prodded, he blurted out, "We didn't read that book."  
"Why not?" asked the receptionist.
"Because my dad forgot to read it to me." BAM! Under the bus!
"Hey!" retorted the dad quickly and in an effort to save his ass from being run over by said proverbial bus, he did what any other husband would do - he went into survival mode and threw his wife under it. "Mom was supposed to do that with you!" BAM! And she's not even there to defend herself.
Nice.

This tactic is nothing new. As parents, we are well aware the we are constantly being thrown under the bus by our own kids. Like if the phone rings and they get to it first and you tell them to say 'Mommy isn't home now,' of course, they say, "Sure. Hold on," and pass you the phone. BAM!

In the past week, Joe got thrown under the bus by each of our kids.

While dropping the kids off at a friend's house for a playdate, the little girl brought out some crocheted hotpads she made. As she was gushing on and on about how hard they were to make and didn't we looooove them??? Joe asks her if he can have one - just to be nice.

"I can use it for my morning cup of coffee!" he said politely.
The little girl's face lit up but quickly turned down when Bella screeched, "Whaaaat!?!?"
Everyone looked at Bella's oblivious face, contorted with confusion.
"Papi, you don't use hotpads for your coffee."
BAM! Thrown under the bus on Politeness Street.


Then, the other day he took Ari on a CTA bus and because he hadn't gotten a chance to fill up his bus card to comp her fare if necessary, he naturally lied about her age - even though he didn't have to because she was young enough. (Again, that survival mode kicking in.)
"How old is she?" asked the driver, just to be sure.
"Sheeeee's.....fooouuuurrrr," said Joe sounding rather unsure of himself.
Ari fists promptly fly to her hips and she blurts out, "Papi! I'm six!!"

BAM! Being thrown under the bus, WHILE ON the bus.

If kids can throw adults - their own parents - under the bus, they will have no qualms about throwing other kids under there either. This last Saturday, while waiting with Ari in a packed dance studio for Bella to finish her Nutcracker audition (yes, you heard right; and yes, it's still only August) she and Miche's four-year old son were finding ways to quell their boredom. Suddenly, we hear a loud crash near the reception desk. Miche instinctively jumps from her seat in time to hear her son say, "Uh oh." The large dry/erase board and the easel holding it up were both strewn face down on the floor. Ari was scolding him by repeating his name, in a manner which didn't allow him  to even think about throwing her under the bus for something she didn't do. Smart girl.
"What happened?" asked Miche.
"She let me do it," I overheard him say, not sure if he was trying to pin Ari or his sister, whom was nearby and he was squabbling with just seconds earlier.
 Now, if his response wasn't a clever way to attempt to get his little butt as far away from that oncoming bus, I don't know what is.

This is proof positive that throwing another under the bus is a natural, reflexive instinct we ALL resort to while in survival mode. Just keep in mind that that bus? Will always turn back around and come your way because it's forever traveling down a two-way street.

Stumped: The awful effort it apparently takes to throw away an empty container

Why is it that when I reach for a cookie, I find crumbs? When I go to pour some milk, nary a dribble dribbles out? When I dig in for a frozen waffle, I find... air?
Is it that hard, really, to throw out the empty container?

IS IT?


~Patti

Stumped, Part 2

I'll see your stumped, and raise you a stump.

Is there some invisible procreational force in this house that makes every object MULTIPLY?

It doesn't matter if I've spent the WHOLE day cleaning, washing, cavemanning, vacuuming, doing laundry, folding, dusting...every time I turn around, there is/are:

- Dishes piled sky-high in the sink
- Scraps of paper, school papers, work papers, catalogs, envelopes, newspapers, post-its, construction paper, printer paper, toilet paper on every surface of the house.
- Shit ALL over the floor - even two minutes after I just cavemanned my ass off
- Clothes, jackets, belts, towels, shirts, socks, bags of toys, blankets, hanging from every existing doorknob and chair in the house
- Laundry hamper busting at the seams and spilling over onto the floor
- Cheerios and other sticky foods and liquids stuck to the kitchen floor, which end up on my socks, or worse on my bare feet
- Crumbs all over the carpets and dust on every inch of every shelf
- The contents of cabinets, the refrigerator and drawers strewn about and covering almost every inch of kitchen counter space
- And let's not even talk about the bathrooms, okaaaayy??


-Cathy

Stumped

by Patti


Tell me this:

How is it that I can wake up my kid, take a shower, get dressed, put on makeup, and blow dry and style my hair, only to walk back into my kid’s room to find that she is still in the exact same position I left her in ½ hour ago: one leg shoved into her pants with the other leg dangling in mid-air, her mouth hanging open in a morning stupor.

ARE WE ON DIFFERENT SPACE-TIME CONTINUUMS?