Discovery Zone

Not the place. Although I'm fairly certain those are now extinct ... but I could be wrong. And I'm also fairly certain that there is at least one other post on this here blog that goes by the name of Discovery Zone as well. Live and let live and move on. Now, Grace.

Tonight was the last super depressing Sunday afternoon of 2k13 that Simon had to trudge into the trenches. The float will be waiting for him in January but let's focus on the positive and the present that is the last week of this rotation that will not kill us dead. Oh, it's tried rill hard. Won't work.

In the mean time ... some things from the weekend. 

The movie Safe Haven ... right. More like Horror Haven. Nicholas Sparks is treading in some very dark waters these days as I genuinely could not watch a very large chunk of his latest novel-turned-movie last night. Simon got to pick the last movie we watched (Safety Not Guaranteed ... which was admittedly WAY better than I anticipated ... even though I fell asleep after the first 8 minutes ... I liked the beginning) so he agreed to watch the romantic drama before he realized it was a Sparks masterpiece. Theo loved it. Simon tolerated it.

And I'm still having nightmares about it even though I couldn't even begin to tell you what the villian looked like because I distracted my eyes by snapping quality cellular images whenever I sensed he was coming on the screen (often - it was often).

Tone it down next time, Sparkie. I should disclose that I could never in a million years read any of The Hunger Games books alone at night so .... my scary standards are 96 yards below the lowest low. Seriously.

I'm not the lazy piece of trash I thought I was. Well not as lazy. Maybe. I found myself with some freeish time (?!) after Julia ruined a family outing to a playground on Saturday morning because she suffered a paper cut of a scrape to the shin and acted as thought we were going to have to amputate at the sight of .05 drops of blood. After we drove the bleeder home Simon made it up to Bash by walking him to a nearby playground, Theo was sleeping off the PTSD of listening to her screams, and the patient was talking herself off a ledge in her room. So I went outside to attack the weeds in our driveway's crevices -- you know the ones that creep and grow and all of a sudden it's sort of Jungle Booky looking? Yes. I hated pulling weeds when I was younger but found the task to be ... enjoyable. Almost. Definitely gratifying and why is she typing about this? I don't know. Not that I'm any sort of Cinderella (laughlaughlaughlaugh .... if you've ever come over) but the change of pace from light (VERY light) housework and child rearing and feeding and bathing and mediating and diaper changing was really nice. So basically if you want me to come pull weeds --- I'm game as long as you watch the kids which should be a real picnic for you. I have to add that Simon came home and finished the job and swept the driveway back into tip top shape so I really shouldn't be waxing boasty about my 27 minutes of yard work. But ... I yam. If I ever take up gardening ... I just don't know if the internet has enough word space for me because you know I'll be walking you through every painful 'tail. Every one.

Self-timer family portraits attempts are rarely futile.

 Sebastian had dashed five miles by auto-snap numero dos.

 Theo graduated to the big kid bath club and dramatically improved my quality of life.

I love chucking the baby bathtub into the storage room around this age because what a buzz kill that thing is. It's always in the way and it's so nice getting them all bathed in one fell swoop of a session and Theo's new happy sound is a roar and he just roars up a storm from his perch as caboose because he is clam-level happy. The getting them all out and dressed while trying to avoid a cluster of meltdowns is still a work in progress but ... we'll get there.

We'd starve in Hollywood. We made a little movie for Wendy's flatbread sandwich (we tried the Asiago Ranch and it was so good) on Saturday night. Our acting was atrocious and people thought Sebastian was cursing (never out of the realm of possibility) and I've not a creative bone in my bod so ... watch and cringe. And then cleanse your palate and watch about a billion more creatively hilarious clips and even add your own right here. I know you can do so much better.

In a moment of dizzying thirst and insanity I bought a bottle of kombucha. I gave it five thoughtful sips and came to the conclusion that it tastes exactly like carbonated feet. Sweaty Sebastian Feet. Never ever again.

I'll stick to my old faithful and familiar carbonation (sparingly, I swear). Forever.