I spent half the weekend curled up in a little ball under my desk. Oh, haha! Not really! God, there’s crumbs and dog toys and stuff under there. I do my best fetal position checking-out-of-life withdrawal either in bed or on the Man Couch. (Man Couch has recliner seats. Obviously.)
At one point while I was doing my very best impersonation of a couch cushion, Otto sat down with me and we watched Best In Show, which I’ve somehow never seen before, but actually made me laugh quite a bit. I’m glad I can share this sort of breaking news with you. (Make sure to see this movie from twelve years ago, y’hear? Also, I hear that gas recently went up in cost a little, like it’s more than a buck a gallon now. Let me check into that and get back to you.)
So there is no One Grand Event that took place this weekend, unless you ask Monkey and Licorice
It technically happened before the weekend, but I did finally get my hair cut again. Remember when I cut it all off back in April? It was a lovely cut. I mean, for being nearly bald, and also for having such curly hair that I always sort of look like whatever my hair is doing is some sort of unfortunate accident. My stylist warned me that maintenance of the cut she gave me would require me to get it cut about every 5-6 weeks, and I said okay, and then later I realized that I’d cut it all off because I was tired of dealing with dying it, but then I did something that would require cutting it MORE often than I’d been dying it, and that seemed… kind of dumb. So the only logical thing to do was to just forget about getting it cut. For four months.
In the intervening time I decided that really, I wanted to grow it out again, anyway, so that’s what I did. On purpose. Sort of. But eventually my hair reached Critical Poodle Mass at around the same time that it became clear that I was actually sporting some sort of bizarre clown mullet. It wasn’t pretty.
So I got it cut. She lopped off the mullet-y portion and did that thing where the scissors fly and hair tumbleweeds descend from my head AND YET my hair doesn’t get any shorter. It’s magical. And scary. But now I look slightly less disheveled than I did before. Maybe I’ll go get it cut again in another four months.
Oh, I just remembered (that’s a lie; Otto reminded me) that we actually watched TWO movies this weekend. We keep seeing all these commercials for The Expendables 2, so we watched the original so as to ascertain if the sequel should be added to our ritual of discussing seeing a movie in the theater like grownups and then never actually doing it. Anyway. The movie was terrible. So, so terrible. Like, awful dialogue, people-being-blasted-into-bloody-chunks kind of terrible.
We enjoyed it immensely.
I did pry myself off the couch for a while on Saturday to go run some errands, by which I mean I spent a couple of hours at Goodwill and then went grocery shopping. (Truly, the excitement never stops!)
At Goodwill, I realized why I haven’t been there in so long; I kept finding things I knew Chickadee would like. So instead of a delightful afternoon thrifting for myself, I ended up with a pair of jeans for Monkey, a couple of t-shirts, and a raging case of homesickness for life as it used to be. Whoops.
Then I continued on to the grocery store, where I wandered around and loaded up my cart, then realized as I watched the man in front of me at the checkout buy several large bottles of olive oil that we, too, needed olive oil and I had forgotten to get any. And rather than going back and getting some I just figured “Eh, I’ll probably go to the other grocery store tomorrow for a few more things, I’ll get it then.” I actually DID go to the other grocery store the next day, and no, I didn’t remember the stupid olive oil then, either. I haven’t mentioned this to Otto because he likes to make fun of me for never using a shopping list. I COULD use a shopping list, I tell him, but then what would I blog about?
While I was at Goodwill on Saturday, Monkey was discovering that he’d gotten two questions wrong on a unit test he’d taken for one of his online classes. Now, the FIRST time he got something wrong it was pretty much the Most Horrible Thing Ever because he’d “ruined” his average, he told me. He got a question wrong on a quiz and brought his 100% average down to a 98%! Why didn’t I UNDERSTAND how TRAGIC this was?? We’d had MANY discussions, after that, about how these online classes are a new experience, and several grade levels above where he’s “supposed” to be, and there’s a learning curve, and P.S. no one is perfect and you don’t need to be, either. The point of the classes is to LEARN. What a switch for him, to go from grade-free Hippie School to having grades again. I really worried when he’d flipped out over that first error.
But! He’d gotten two questions wrong, and when I got home and found him looking at his graded test, he was perfectly calm. “This one I got wrong because I must’ve just chosen the wrong letter, or something,” he said. “I knew the answer. That was just dumb. But THIS one is just WRITTEN wrong.” So I looked and you know what? He was right; the question was poorly written. I was so delighted that he wasn’t freaking out (over either question) that I congratulated him on his calmness and asked him what he thought he should do next. “I’m going to send the teacher an email,” he said. We discussed the possibility that she might not change his grade, and he said that was fine, but he wanted the chance to make his case.
The email he sent was awesome. Basically the question said something about how John watched cars going by and noticed an average of six cars an hour, so which of the following statements is true? The “correct” answer was “in twenty minutes, two cars will go by” and the other three answers were totally oddball. Monkey selected “John’s data is flawed,” which was incorrect. In his email, he explained that he knew his answer wasn’t necessarily correct, but technically an average can’t give you reliable prediction for such a small data set. Maybe John watched traffic for an hour and no cars went by for 59 minutes and then in the last minute, six cars went by. In that case, watching traffic for twenty minutes cannot be considered a guarantee of two cars passing by.
It was the height of Vulcan nerdery and I was so proud of him for (calmly!) taking the time to make his case. The teacher emailed him back the next day, explaining how averages work. In other words, she completely missed the point. (Maybe he should’ve just said, “I think the answer should’ve said ‘In twenty minutes, it’s likely that two cars will go by'”). But he dealt with it fine. I think it may have made him a little smug, even. He’s so weird. And totally delightful.
I baked many things this weekend. I’ve finally mastered a gluten-free chocolate muffin I quite like—milk-soaked oats are the secret to keeping it all moist—and that was both good news and bad news. Good news because YUM; bad news because really, do I need to be eating chocolate muffins? No, I do not.
We did not see Chickadee this weekend. We received a phone call from a staff member that she’d been placed on unit restriction just about an hour before we were slated to leave to head to Atlanta. It’s a long story that basically ends with everyone being unhappy and me just getting back into bed for a while because, really, there is a limit to what I can take and that day I exceeded it. The good (?) news is that she has a doctor’s appointment this morning (irony: picking your kid up from the hospital to take her to a different hospital to see a specialist) so I will be spending most of the day with her today. And she will absolutely not run out into traffic or anything while she’s with me, probably. I hope.
Well, now that we’re all depressed and stuff, allow me to clarify that footnote from waaaaaaaay up at the beginning of this post: