Bring Him Home- To the Nearest Assisted Living Facility

I went to the movies by myself yesterday, which is something I like to do because I don't care if people think I'm pathetic. I'd been wanting to see The Martian for about 5,000 weeks now, but it isn't the easiest thing to find a way to abandon my children for three straight hours. I mainly go to the movies for the popcorn- our movie theater has an "annual bucket" thingy. If you're unfamiliar with the annual bucket, it's basically a plastic trough that you purchase in January and they refill for like $4 instead of the usual price of a large popcorn- which is calibrated to the price of one 3D ticket x 27. They also sell a lid so you can take home what you don't finish. Note: If you can't finish a bucket of popcorn during a two hour movie, you're an insult to everything that America stands for.

When I bought the ticket, I was told to take two rights and head to the end of the hall, which is code for "this movie came out 42 damn weeks ago and you should have come sooner if you wanted to see it on a screen larger than your TV." As soon as I walked in to the theater, I knew it was going to be a long movie, because Florida. The average age in the room was hovering somewhere between Carter and HW Bush. (I just looked this up, actually. HW is older than Carter by 90 days. Both are 91. Still 5 years younger than most people at this movie.) Hearing aids were adjusted. Prostate pills were swallowed. Somewhere in the theater, a cellphone was blaring and absolutely no one could hear it- except me, because I'm a whippersnapper or youngin or some other old timey word like that. Below is a synopsis of the entire movie, as screamed by the charming couple seated behind me:

Man: "EDNA. EDNA! IS THE YOUNG MAN ALIVE? IS THAT WHAT HAPPENED?"
Edna: "I DON'T KNOW, DEAR. IT'S A MOVIE. YOU HAVE TO WATCH IT TO FIND OUT."
Man: "IF HE'S ALIVE, HE'S GOING TO HAVE TO LIVE ON MARS.THEY LEFT HIM."
Edna: "I KNOW THAT, DEAR. I THINK THAT'S WHAT THIS MOVIE IS ABOUT. THE YOUNG MAN HAS TO LIVE ON MARS BY HIMSELF."
Man: "WELL, HE'LL BE LUCKY IF HE SURVIVES."

While I will not spoil the end of the movie because I don't want to have to tell you that Matt Damon dies in a fiery explosion, I will tell you that everyone in the theater survived. At least long enough to make it onto the retirement home bus that was parked out front. Because Florida.

Where the Vacuum Cord Ends

For the last several days, my kids have asked for bowls of Lucky Charms with no milk. I pour the cereal into a plastic bowl, hand it to them, and they scamper away. They keep asking for more, and I keep handing it over. I was pretty surprised that they were eating so much, because I'm pretty surprised when they eat anything that isn't a Freeze Pop. I shouldn't have let my guard down. I should have known they were plotting something. But more on that later.

Some famous person (Jerry Seinfeld or his wife?) once said that having a two year old is like running a blender without a lid. Which is true, except that if you're Jerry Seinfeld, your blender is full of fifty dollar bills, cage-free acai, and prosecco*. If you're me, the blender is full of dog hair, a piece of something that could be poop or possibly chocolate, and those really long Target coupons. That blender keeps right on running, all damn day. Juice box straws are shoved in sock drawers, a missing shoe is wedged behind the toilet tank, and there's some kind of fuzzy ball of something near the door- possibly human hair, possibly dog hair, possibly plant material, possibly from the insect kingdom, or possibly a conglomeration of all of the above. (Protip: Spray it with Raid for good measure and kick it under the couch.) None of this can ever be cleaned up unless the kids leave the house, and let's face it, if your kids actually left your house, would you spend your free time cleaning? Hells no.

Some annoying person is reading this right now and saying one of two things: 1. My little angel never makes a mess! What is wrong with this lady's kids? or 2. Teach your kids how to clean up!  Here is my rebuttal. First of all, one kid can make a mess. For each subsequent kid, that mess increases exponentially. I know about exponential growth models, because I used to be a math teacher and stuff. Second of all, I agree that kids can "pick up" their messes. If by "pick up" you mean shove stuff in places it doesn't belong and create five times the amount of work that it would have taken if you had just put it away your own damn self.

So where does all of this leave me? I mean, besides bitter. It leaves me in a perpetual Hoarders episode, punctuated by moments of sheer terror when the doorbell rings- because WHAT IF THAT PERSON WANTS TO COME IN HERE??? WHAT IF SOMEONE COMES IN THIS HOUSE AND SEES THIS??? WHAT IF SOMEONE LOOKS BEHIND THE TV AND FINDS THE PILE OF LUCKY CHARMS WITH THE MARSHMALLOWS PICKED OUT??? Seriously though, they've been picking out the marshmallows and making a pile of the leftover cereal behind the living room TV.

I can't take much more of this.



*Acai and prosecco. I don't know what either of those things are, in all honesty. I feel the need to declare that publicly. I did hear that Crystal Pepsi is coming back though. So there's that.