Saturday, September 29, 2007

of bowling balls and kings

We had two birthdays this week.

Oh, yes.

Because one batch of crazy wasn't enough, no sirree, we had to go and serve up two.

On Wednesday, it was official: the Sprout is no longer an infant. I can not pretend anymore that I might could maybe still swaddle him if he would just stay still for the love of GOD stop kicking your legs while mommy wraps you up.

Oh, fine.

One year ago, I was nervous and excited and nervous. Now, I'm just sleep deprived.

Today it was Peanut's turn. (Oh, and no. I won't be going back to fill in the details of the Sprout's birthday because it was made of Suck and Fail. And that is all that will be said, discussion terminated.) We went bowling! It was fun. Peanut had a couple friends over and we loaded them up in the car and took them down to a bowling alley that was, sadly, not seedy at all. I was really hoping for some conversations along the lines of "Well, honey, sometimes people just don't have much to live for and it's the simple things like bowling drunk at 10AM on a Saturday that really mean the world to you when you're lonely and smell bad. And, no, I don't think that you should try to put your nickle in the crack of the man's ass on the barstool." Instead we bowled granny-style very loudly. It was awesome.

Later, we had cake from here. You should go there. It rocks.

Later, my parents took the kids here, which is where my brother works, except he works at the one in Chico, not the one in Petaluma. Which is where the kids went today. To see him. Working. It's a long story. Something about blah, blah, training newbies to work the taco bar, blah. I don't know. All it means to me is that I get to see my brother tomorrow before he has to head back to Chico, and that means we get to try to volley Venture Brothers dialogue off each other. Mostly, I lose. But I do it on purpose. Sssh. Don't tell him.

P.S. I'd like to give a big shout-out to my homies, Mom and Dad. There was much exhibiting of vast stores of patience while watching bowling balls roll at a glacial pace down highly waxed lanes when the Bean was having his turn. I would have been running behind, blowing, but the G-ny and the G-pa were models of kindness and understanding without earthly match.

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