Last in the Rat Race

She’s always gotta be sticking that cold wet nose in my business…

If a piece of fruit has no flavor, does it still hold nutritional value?

Winter sucks.

Every once in a while, I find myself wrapped up in a project and forget that I have a little person who needs checking.

This oversight has resulted in:
* Paddi – the yellow lab – becoming truly yellow, courtesy of Kate’s tempura paint set.
* Kate’s bedding being transported from her upstairs room to the downstairs bath.
* A jungle-gym apparatus installed in the kitchen in pursuit of a snack on a high shelf.
I’m getting heartburn. You get the picture…

Still, do I learn? No.

This past weekend, time spent upstairs striping and making various beds pulled me away long enough that I wondered what she would have been up to in the interim. (in the interest of full disclosure – if the tv is running, chances are pretty good that the damage will be light)

Here was the result:

(you’ll of course note the tv on the background. i’m convinced this was the only thing standing between this getup in the living room and finding her riding the range in the muddy back yard. btw – what in the world is that cartoon?!?)

Sometimes, it’s obvious. Glimmer in the eye and cookie jar in sight. (even the dog could figure that one out. just after she knocked Kate over to get one for herself.)

Other times, it’s not so clear.

Do the chair legs represent various islands? Are they going to hop from one to the other? Is this a Cretaceous version of Wipeout? (which by the way is to-date the only show that has made me pee my pants. Just a little.)

And what, exactly, is the T.Rex going to do? The suspense is killing me…

Sunday morning Kate wanders into our room, still in her jams, Dinosaur Atlas in hand.

An hour and a half later, we finally make it downstairs for a little breakfast.
“Eggs?” I ask.
“Sure! Dinosaurs love eggs!”

A little TV.
“I want to watch Forest Park.”
interpreted
“I want to watch Jurassic Park.”
(MRA let her watch this once. I’m sure it totally scarred her in the sense that she’ll (a) think dinosaurs really exist on some beautiful, tropical island, (b) truly believe you can fall out of a car 30 feet off the ground and still be fine and (c) never use an outdoor toilet – you remember what happened to the lawyer, don’t you?)

Two hours later, I’m getting twitchy. We need to do something outside our four walls. A movie? Hm. Not a great option, but the weather sucks. We scanned the listings together and checked out trailers online. Nothing really struck a chord. (in retrospect, I realize none of the options had dinosaurs in them…)

“Can we go to the Science Museum?”
translated
“Can we go to the Science Center?”

Ugh. We had just been there 6 days prior – but with it then being a holiday, the exhibits were packed and I couldn’t get her out of the hordes of people fast enough. Didn’t fully scratch the itch.

So, off we go. Two miles down the road, she realizes she left Rexy – her stuffed T.Rex – at home. Tears, tears, pitiful tears until we turn around to collect her little dino pal.

Off again.

Thankfully, our recent membership in the Science Center is starting to pay off.
We park for free and head in.

Discovery Room? Free and only 5 minutes to wait. We trek up to the entrance and hit the first play exhibit she finds: flowing water, floating toys and diverting mechanisms. After 15 minutes she’s on to something else.

Dinosaurs.
(Shocking.)

We spend the next 30 minutes playing with T.Rex puppets and plastic dino toys. Another little girl watches us and, catching her eye, I invite her over to join in the play. “Lexy” is just as crazed about dinos as Kate – she’s full on with her T.Rex t-shirt and a T.Rex key fob hanging from her belt loop. It roars. (dear god, I hope we don’t go that far)

Good times and then time’s up.

Off to Dinosaurs Unearthed – for the third time since the exhibit opened last month. Thankfully, Kate is still young enough to get in for free. (they may not realize it, but they’re clearly losing money on this visitor!)

She dashes from dino to dino, explaining the name and details of each when she can – to whomever is standing nearby. She tries to tell one lady about the teeth of the Triceratops and how they’re made for chewing plants. The lady doesn’t get it, but see that my kid has the slightly crazed glaze to her eyes that screams “obsessed child alert! Better keep moving.” We pause at a replica of a dig site, a dinosaur skeleton half unearthed.

“Paleontologists put that together,” she explains to me.

Thanks to Dinosaur Train and Dr. Scott, the Paleontologist, Kate knows more about dinosaurs than I do at this point. Good thing Dr. Scott is married. And 40. I think Kate has her eye on him…

Ushered in my 38th birthday in style. Starting at 7:30 pm last night, I spent the rest of the evening, late night, early morning, and morning hanging with my kid as she prayed to the porcelain god. Good times. Good times…

(poor kid)

Fantastic Discovery Alert:

You can buy pizza dough at the store and make your own pizza at home. That’s right boys and girls, PIZZA at YOUR OWN HOME!! (Duh! How long have I missed out on this little piece of deliciousness?) MRA was out in sunny CA last night, so for girls night, Kate and I were making pizza. Just having watched Ratatouille over the weekend (AGAIN), I tell Kate she’s going to be Little Chef, except she can’t sit on my head. Getting into the act, she declares that we need chef hats. Right. I can do this. Cut the paper, she decorates my hat and I decorate hers. She graced my hat with three heads – mommy, daddy and Kate (”Except I have three eyes on mine. You don’t mind that I have three eyes, do you?” It’s a wee bit creepy, but no. Love it.) She requested T.Rexes on hers. Shocking.

Here’s the finished masterpiece. You can’t see much on the pizza as the cheese went nuclear in the light of the stove.

Enjoying the exploits. Gotta admit, it was damn fine pizza!

There will be a test at the end, so play close attention!

Saturday morning, I woke up at 6:30 and decided to jet for a run with the dog before the rest of the house stirred (and protested). It was ass-kicking cold – 1. As in one degree above zero. I layered up, loaded up and drove to the Starbucks nearby. Paddi and I make this same trip on the weekends as it accomplishes several things in one outing – exercise for me, exercise for the dog, driving to avoid the 3/4 mile of unshoveled sidewalks between our house and Starbucks, clean bike paths for running for 4 miles, and a return to the car and Starbucks for everyone. Perfect right?

Parked, unloaded the dog, turned on the iPod and snapped my keys to the collar-leash connection (didn’t want to scratch the iPod by tossing keys in that pocket).

Did I mention it was cold? The kind of cold that makes your eyes water. If you don’t brush it away fast enough, it freezes. So, for the first 1/2, I had a little icicle on my eyelash. Funny, eh?

Mile 1 – Hands are freezing in gloves. Wishing for mittens. Know it will pass after mile one.

Mile 2 – Finally release the “hold” button on the iPod allowing me to skip over the drivel I loaded on there in a weak moment.

Mile 3 – Dog poops right next to trash can. Karma loves me today.

End of Mile 3 – A glance at the dogs collar and I’m shouting like a sailor. (Dog cowers, she knows a good cuss word when she hears it.)

THE F-ING KEYS ARE GONE. GONE. GONE…

No choice but to back track and look for keys.

Re-do Mile 2 – no keys.

Re-do Mile 3 – no keys.

Re-do Mile 1 – no keys.

Hands are freezing again. Dog’s whiskers are turning white. Every time we turn to retrace our steps, she pauses and gives me a look like “you’re joking right? my breakfast is THAT way!”

Duck in to Starbucks to inquire about my keys – a popular running route, surely SOMEONE found them and turned them in at the unofficial coffee-laced finish line.

Nope.

No choice but to leave the car and run on home. Uphill. In the 3-6 inches of snow that remains unshoveled on Hanley Road.

We’re home. Thank God, we’re home. But all the doors are locked. Rang the bell – Mike and Kate answer.

“Where’s your car?”

Long story. It takes me a good hour to stop shivering. Another hour before I shower – standing under a scalding shower head. And another hour before we fetch my car.

Still no keys.

So, where did I go wrong?
(a) by being an idiot
(b) by being an idiot with a dog
(c) by being an idiot with my music
(d) by being an idiot with dog, music and POCKETS ON MY PANTS THAT I COULD HAVE USED TO STASH MY KEYS!

You know Mike. You know me. While we are not of the ogre variety, we have our share of issues with the camera and being photographed.

No chin.

Pasty white skin.

Puny cheekbones.

No chin. (I know. It’s worth repeating.)

So, imagine my shock and awe when good friends of ours sent us this photo, taken at their wedding last May. That photographer was clearly shooting with his MAGIC LENS, filtered with fairy dust.

The tights/hose seemed like a good idea with the skirt and boots this morning… A little snug around the waist, but I laughed – actually LAUGHED – and thought, “it’ll keep me from eating too much.”

It’s now 2:30 and I’m now ready to rip these Tights of Torture off and strangle the next person who ventures by my office. Thread by thread.

Be warned.