Pillow talk and unclear words

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You guys, I recently bought a colorful pillow. Not like one color, but multiple colors in ring shapes atop a white background. It was from an online shop, and I felt sure it'd springify our living room. 

Pillows make me happy. They suggest comfort and coziness, like, maybe a nap or stint on the couch reading the paper is in my near future. 

They are also low-stress accessories- relatively inexpensive, flexible ways to change the look of a room. 

So anyway, this pillow spoke to me, and I ordered it. And when it arrived I immediately said to myself: "Oliver will love this pillow. Tom will hate this pillow, and I'm not sure about Jack." 

That afternoon, when the boys got home, Oliver said, "Ooh, I LOVE that pillow so much and wish I could have it for my room."

Jack said, "You know, I really like that pillow too." 

I said, "Awesome, guys. I think Dad is gonna hate that pillow, so let's not say anything and see when he notices and what he thinks." I knew full well Tom would not notice the pillow anytime soon, because he is male and cannot see things that are right in front of him, like leftovers in the fridge. And this pillow.

The boys desperately wanted Tom to cast eyes on the colorful square and made every effort to direct his gaze.  

It finally worked and Tom said, "That is an unbelievably ugly pillow. I don't think I could hate a pillow more." At this point, I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, and the kids were guffawing to beat sixty, and Oliver was going on and on about how we should just put this pillow in his room. Tom was in hysterics over just how mind-numbingly ugly he finds the pillow.

And that is the end of that. #familylifehumor

What do y'all think? Maybe it is ugly. I do not care anymore because I can't return it, and it can always go to Ol.

Last week, when Oliver was sick, he and I were playing one of his favorite games: would you rather? Ol has his own version of WYR which is that he juxtaposes a "not in a million" with a "quite possibly" with priceless deadpan.

I don't know how he first decided to ask WYR questions, but it began during spring break in 2014. We were driving around California, and from the back seat a little voice asked, "Would you raver have a house full of money, or die?"

Everyone about fell out and answered, "house full of money."

"Would you raver have a house full of money or have to jump in lava?"
"Would you raver have a house full of money or two houses full of money?"

This game persisted delightfully for quite some time and then, sadly, fell out of favor. Last week, however, Ol asked me, "Would you raver die just aftuh being born or be mordahr?"

"Murder??? What??? Oliver, what?"

"No, MORdahr!"

"Murnal?"

"Mom, no, MORDAHR!"

Because you know, he just cannot say 'r's or 'th's for the love.What the fuck is MORDAHR? I wracked my brain. He looked amused.

"Ol, I am so sorry, but can you explain this word to me?"

"Like when you can't die."

"Oh, IMmortal."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

Some appreciations to close the circle of happy-irritated

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Come hell or high water, I was going to can most of those tomatoes tonight. They just wouldn't stop staring at me, not even when the boys plucked their googly eyes off and relocated them: Oliver slapped one over each nostril opening, and Jack moved one to his belly button and one to a place that won't be named. I blanched, peeled, seeded, cored, juiced, stewed and canned those scarlet nightshades. Yes.I.did. Four quarts are cooling now. Because canning tall quarts of tomatoes in a standard, just-taller-than-quart-jars waterbath canner makes for a very sloshy, bubbly, messy 45 or so minutes, I pulled out my Casa Noble Reposado tequila and poured a bit over ice. Plus simple syrup. Plus lime. Equals a dee-lightful cocktail that eased the slight bit of anxiety over spewing, boiling water I had. I highly recommend this tequila; it is smooth as get-out.

liquor locker la

Later, I made a delicious salad and had a tiny slice of plum tart too.

In the meantime, I thought about how irritated I was with the children by 5p but also how god-awfully in love with them I am. They are jewels, both of them. Precious, special, funny, creative, kind, smart little gems in my life. I love the way Oliver calls salsa "spice" and how he refers to lettuce as "salad." As in, "Mom, let's buy chips and spice AND cut some fresh salad for lunch." It's too much. I can't stand how darling it is. Also he says "lusually" instead of usually. The other day at the store he said, "Mom, we lusually buy the dish soap with a blue top, so why are you buying this one with a green top?"

I not only didn't realize this color discrepancy but also wondered why he had, was impressed by this knowledge of household minutiae and just liked a chance to hear him say "lusually."

Meanwhile, Jack always has such grandiose plans in the works. And I love that it never occurs to him that 95% are at best highly unlikely to come to fruition, if not completely unrealistic. Like his current plan to build his own snow skis and poles, use them and also build some for Oliver. The night-vision goggles are in the works -there are at least three prototypes in the house now- and for a long while we were going to build a boat with a 9-foot mast. As if. But he was full-speed ahead, and really, that's how you get places in life. You just go do it, worries be damned.

Also, Jack is really great about correctly throwing words like "minuscule" and "modify" into everyday conversation and often prefaces commentary with phrases like, "well, in my opinion" or "more accurately, X/Y/or Z." It slays me to hear a 7 year old with giant and/or missing teeth talking like this. I love it.

And so, despite the fact that they are still totally grounded and in fact added a day to their punishment by throwing pounds of raisins around the house just after the twice-a-month housekeeper left (like literally, as she was walking out), I am grateful for these hellions and all the nonsense they insert into my quotidien life.