Buzzard

The whir of the blender's blades made my son cry last night. It was very sad and very cute at the same time. I turned the blender off and made a big smile face and said, "Wee!" and flipped the blender back on. He wasn't buying my isn't-the-noisy-blender-fun act. This time I turned the blender off and like a good mother I went over to my still crying son with his bottom lip protruding and his arms outstretched to me and kissed his sweet little head and unstrapped him from his booster chair.

I am going to miss the day when I can no longer make all right with his world by simply holding him and kissing his head. I won't miss the day however, when I can turn the blender on without him crying.

Wanting to finish what I was in the middle of preparing I took the little G downstairs to daddy. He asked eagerly if I was blending drinks for us upstairs. Nope. I was making my very first batch of hummus. Judging by his face I would say he was really hoping I was making margarita. Being the great wife that I am I told him I could make margaritas as soon as I finished the hummus. We struck a deal. He would entertain Gavin while I finished the hummus and then made the drinks.

As I was making the margaritas I poured in too much syrup so instead of making one drink I was going to make two - or at least hope that it would end up being enough for two. In went the ice then the tequila. I was following the recipe but one shot of tequila over two margaritas isn't much, even for two lightweights like Ryan and myself. So I added another half a shot. Then when I tasted them I thought, hmmm, pretty bland, where's the tequila? You guessed it, I added another dab.

Guess what? I found out where the tequila was. In no time flat. There I sat at the kitchen table talking to Ryan in the living room who was enjoying his margarita while lounging on the couch. I stood up to get something and wham! The tequila made its presence known. As I stood there all wobbly I said, "Alcohol and an empty stomach do not mix."

At this point Ryan was now at the stove making some boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner and I started to ask him a question we've been pondering for a few weeks in bible study: black, white and gray. Or is it just black and white? Where do we stand with gray? More importantly, where does God stand with gray?

As we were discussing this I started to say, "The bible says to not be a drunkard but what does it say about a buzz?" That is what I intended to say. From there we could go on to discuss Jesus turning water into wine (good wine, mind you, no two buck Chuck) instead of just purifying the water. Would Jesus really make something that would be sinful to consume? Jesus probably drank wine himself; wasn't their water kind of sketchy? That's what I've learned from all of the History channel shows I've watched about life in the time of Jesus. I used to think how could they survive just drinking wine until I learned that we get most of the water we need from the food we eat - we do NOT need 8 glasses of water a day.

So... that is the direction I saw our conversation headed with the statement I intended to say. The words that actually came out of my mouth were actually:

"The bible says its wrong to be a drunkard but is it ok to be a buzzard?" I had a flash of comic genius mid sentence and finished it with the buzzard bit. Apparently I found what I said to be funny. Not ha, ha funny but freakin' hilarious, so freakin' hilarious that I laughed so hard that I had tears rolling down my face and I was shrieking and wheezing at the same time. You know its a good joke when laughing interferes with breathing.

Or you know you crossed over from white to gray to black. Ryan looked at me with his eyebrows raised and said, "Really? Well, we know you think its funny." It was a joke that as it marinated with time became funnier and funnier to me. Not to Ryan, to me. What Ryan found amusing was that I was amusing myself so well. He is baffled most every time I laugh at my own jokes. I baffled that he's still baffled. Dude, we're coming up on 6 years of weddedness next month. We'll be at 7 1/2 years together when our anniversary rolls around.

****

I'm sitting in the basement writing this. I had a midnight snack of a small spoonful of peanut butter, some mini marshmallows and some chocolate chips. Yum. I felt a little guilty about eating it but I am so glad I did because it meant I had a bowl with which to trap an earwig that I spied crawling across the floor toward my feet.

Now I don't know what to do. The bug is trapped under the bowl but do I just leave it there and ask Ryan to take care of it in the morning? I would vacuum it up I'm afraid that would wake up Gavin. Besides, I would have to immediately change the bag because I would have nightmares of it laying eggs in the bag and then having them get out and be blown all over the house out of the vacuum's exhaust system. And changing the bag with an earwig in it would induce a serious case of the willies.

Yelch. I hate bugs in my house. I don't particularly care for them in the outdoors either but I won't kill them when they are outside. If the bug isn't super gross, or if it is a slow moving spider - nothing that jumps or flies - I will even transport it outside. But the earwig definitely is classified as super gross. I believe that you can find it under the classification S. grosseous.

I hope the smell of the peanut butter that is left in the bowl doesn't permeate the carpet because I think it is going to be there until morning when I will ask my knight to slay the wicked bug before he goes off to fight traffic jams and restore peace and order with new means of mass transit and coordinated traffic lights.