The Shake Debate

Yesterday, when Donny got in from picking up Kali from school, Jack was having a fit.

“What’s wrong with him?”

I thought he was refusing to get out of the car because he was watching a movie in the backseat. That happens sometimes. We fix it by taking the disc he was watching into the house.

“He wants to go back out.”

“Why don’t you take him to McDonald’s and get him something small? He didn’t eat lunch and dinner still needs a little time.”

I was referring to the roast, potatoes, and carrots that had been cooking in the slow cooker all day.

“He wants pee-za.” Donny pronounces the word the way Jack does.

Once or twice Donny has picked up a pizza pie after getting Kali and now Jack thinks that’s the norm.

“Well, get a $6 pie and the kids can eat that. We’ll have roast.”

So, off they go and I’m just happy to be able to get some work done in quiet.

They return a few minutes later with McDonald’s.

Donny says, “I wasn’t going to get pizza when we have a roast!”

But he’ll get McDonald’s? Sometimes, my husband’s logic makes me question whether he is, in fact, a woman.

I shake my head and go back to work. A few moments pass and I find a McDonald’s cup shoved into my face, a pale orange liquid dripping from the straw.

“Try this. It’s awesome.”

What it is, actually, is a sweet potato or pumpkin or cinnamon or something else seasonal, milkshake.

“No thanks.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Kali, I don’t want it.”

“Fine.”

I go back to work. I hear the sound of something hitting the floor and look up to find Kali pouting outside the powder room door.

“I dropped my shake! Jack made me drop my shake!”

“Clean it up,” Donny and I say.

“I really wanted that shake.”

“I’m sure you did,” I say, “but you still have to clean it up.”

She goes into the laundry room for a towel from the hamper. The whole time she’s in the bathroom wiping, she’s grumbling about Jack and how good the shake was. When she’s done, she joins me at the dining room table. I don’t look away from my laptop, but I know her sad eyes are upon me. I can feel them.

“I really wanted that shake. I can’t believe Jack did that.”

“What did he do exactly?”

“I was in the bathroom and he banged on the door and it made me jump and I dropped my shake.”

“I’m not really sure that’s his fault.”

Silence.

“Why did you have the shake in the bathroom anyway?”

“Because I wanted to drink it and pee at the same time.”

That’s it. I lose it. I’m laughing and she’s laughing.

“What?! It was that good!”

“Apparently.”

I minimize my work and click on the Facebook tab. Kali slaps her hands down on top of mine.  We’re both still laughing.

“Don’t tell your friends!”

“Why not? It’s funny!”

“Because I’m mad.”

And she is. In a fraction of a second she went from giggling at her misfortune to stern-faced.

But I can’t stop laughing.

“Wait. You’re serious. You’re mad now?”

“Yes!”

“No. No. You can’t do that. That’s not fair. You can’t be all funny about it and peeing and drinking is funny, and get me all riled up laughing, then decide you want to be pissed so we all have to be pissed. That’s not right.”

I’m laughing the whole time I say this and even though she tries to remain pissed, she laughs, too.

“OK. But you still can’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, come on!”

“No. I’m still mad. Even though it’s funny, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But you won’t be. We will!”

“No!”

I go back to work, defeated, but laughing. She goes back to pouting. Donny is on the sofa, channel surfing.

I hear the beep-beep-beep of the alarm system signaling someone has opened a door or window on the first floor. I look up to see Jack opening the garage door… and leaving the house.

“Donny, where is your son going?”

“Jack!” Donny hops off the couch to get our toddler.

Kali says, “He’s going to get me another shake.”

I lose it again.

“Oh, come on! I can’t keep this to myself!”

“No!”

Grrrr.

“Mommy, can you take me to get another one? I really want that shake.”

“Maybe. Not now though. I have to work. Maybe after dinner, but before Glee.”

“Pinky promise.”

We hook pinkies, but before we can twist and break away I blurt out very quickly, “But you have to let me write about it!”

We sit there, pinkies and eyes locked. I can tell she really wants that shake.

“FINE!”

“YES!”

We twist and break away.

We never did figure out where Jack was going.

If anyone would know if they put crack in those things, she would.

Hookers and the Stink Eye

Lately, I’ve been complaining that my car smells like ass. We’re a one-car household and Donny takes it to work everyday and I’ll use it for my secret shops and merchandising jobs in the afternoon/evenings.

“Jesus Christ, Donny! Why does this car smell like ass.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what are you doing in it?”

“Driving!”

“Driving what? Ass?”

So, one evening we’re all piling into the car to run some errands after Donny had gotten home. Kali is already in the backseat, driver’s side, and Donny is strapping Jack into his carseat in the back passenger side. I open the driver’s side door when I get assaulted by this heavy perfume.

“Mommy, the car doesn’t stink. Daddy did something to it.”

“Yeah, it smells like a hooker. Donny, why does my car smell like a hooker?”

“I picked one up on my way home.”

And Kali busted out laughing, looking at me like, “Well, you asked.”

Note to self: Find out how my daughter knows what a hooker is.

***

Two nights ago, Donny, Jack and I were leaving Walmart when I decided to stop at the McDonald’s near the exit to get Jack some french fries. I had two more errands to run before going home to make dinner, and I wanted something to keep Jack quiet in the car. Of course, there weren’t any fries ready so we had to wait.

I stood off to the side so a lady with two little girls could place her order and Donny walked off to get a Coke from the serve-yourself fountain. The two little girls walked by me to toss something in the trash and then went back to stand next to their Mom. The oldest looked to be about 8 and the other 3 or 4. The oldest starts talking to the Mom and I notice that the youngest is staring at me. Like, really staring at me. Like, really, really staring at me.

And not just any stare. Not like a creepy-little-kid-from-a-horror movie stare or a special-needs stare. Not even like a I’m-a-rude-lil-bastard-with-no-home-training stare.

This little girl was looking at me like she hated me. Like she didn’t want anything to do with me, and furthermore, like it both confused and disgusted her that I was allowed to walk amongst other people.

This little girl was giving me the stinkest of stink eyes.

At first I ignored it. I’d look away and then look back a few seconds later to find her still staring. Then, thinking maybe she was looking past me, I checked over my shoulder, but no one was there. Finally, I couldn’t take it.

“What?” I asked with a smile.

Nothing.

I looked at her mother who was still busy talking to the other girl.

“Awww, come on! What?!”

Nothing.

Donny returns with his drink and Jack.

“Donny, look how that little girl is looking at me.”

Donny looks and nearly chokes on his Coke. At this point, we’re both cracking up with tears running down our faces.

“Oh my God! She won’t stop, Donny!”

“She’s looking at you like, ‘Bitch, you ain’t shit.’”

And she was!

Now that I examine the photo again, it seems her sister wasn’t too fond of me either.

Happy Friday!