Dragged Off By My Hair

Recently, friends of ours traded in their Prius for a Lexus GS 460 SUV. Yeah, like this one.

The wife had been driving the Prius (her husband had been driving their Toyota Highlander Hybrid) so we were all teasing her about trading up to something fancy schmancy.

But she let us know that her husband would be driving the Lexus and she would be driving his old Highlander.

What the?

I'm sorry, call me old fashion, but I believe the woman should always drive the nicer, newer, safer, more luxurious car.

Okay, I realize I'm digging myself a serious hole here. I mean, I claim to be a feminist (but I'm a housewife...go figure) and I don't mean to be heterocentric (which spellcheck doesn't recognize as a real word), but come on!

What husband could handle watching his wife drive around in the worse car?

Do I just live under a rock? Is this a common thing?

Today I drove my husband's used Honda Civic to the grocery store. I came home feeling very spoiled and very grateful. And it wasn't just because I was missing my Mazda's (not Lexus) navigation system, leather seats, blind spot monitoring and snazzy paint job.

My husband has a way of...I don't know...

He has this way of taking possession of something, and then working it into the fucking ground. Now that I write that I realize that it goes way beyond cars.

I don't know why that is. Maybe it is partly just because he has an eh, it will be fine casual ass attitude about just about everything. Or maybe it is just that his nose doesn't work. (The smell of moldy coffee was so overwhelming in his Civic that I had to hold back the bile!) Or maybe it is just that he is destined to be hardworking, down to earth (and not fancy schmancy) his whole life.

I'm okay with that. As long as I get to have my luxurious things. And as long as I'm not one of the things he's taken possession of and worked into the fucking ground.

Call me spoiled (no really, go ahead and call me spoiled). Call me old fashion. But I love that my man can provide expensive violins, a nice car, a nice house, private school and then not resent driving around in a POS.

And I love even more that when I tell him I appreciate all those things he provides he tells me I deserve it. And when I point out that I don't have job and earn nothing and therefor really don't deserve it, he scoffs and tells me that I am doing the most important thing of all.

Hell, I had no idea just how caveman my tastes really ran until I wrote it all out.

I think I'll go put a bone in my ponytail.

Here Comes the Gayborhood

When we first moved here to this little cul-de-sac in heaven we met all of our neighbors at a farewell party for our neighbors James and Rob who were moving to Palm Springs.

It was a very welcome culture shock for us. We had gay neighbors. Two sets of them actually. We had lesbian school teachers on one side and gay professionals across. A retired Asian couple, a retired Navy couple, and a German family all lived on our cul-de-sac.

We were a long, long way from the bayou.

But I was sad to see James and Rob move. They seemed like very good guys. But hell, they were moving to Palm Springs. You can't get much better than that.

The unmarried Navy couple who moved into James and Rob's beautiful house were a train wreck. The guy was so high ranking in the Navy that if I told you what job he had, the military among you might know who he was. And he was an asshole. An A class asshole.

Well, his concubine (also a Navy officer) smartened up and left the prick. And he proceeded to wreck that house. I mean, like, Hoarders wreck. She was smart enough to get him out of the house somehow and cleaned it up. But that house was never the same as when James and Rob lived there.

But, apparently, Palm Springs wasn't what it was all cracked up to be and James and Rob are coming back.

They're moving into the house that the German family has been renting out since they returned to their home country last year. The one right next to us that has been housing the most annoying child ever born for the last year.

Woo hoo!

We couldn't ask for better neighbors.

For two years our lesbian neighbors have been showing us up with their yard work. Now we're going to be sandwiched between two gay couples.

We don't stand a chance!

But professional landscaping is a price I'll pay to keep these great neighbors in our life.

Welcome to our gayborhood.

Waiting

This may be my all time favorite photograph ever.
To me it tells such a story.
Waiting to play...
Preparing...
While his sister watches the little kids on stage, my son is in his own head thinking who knows what.
It is also poignant to me for what (or who) is not there.
It's funny. It's so him. So us.
We're always, always, waiting.

He's No Bobby Orr

Do you know what I love about my son?

That he sucks at sports.

Well, okay, I'm not so much psyched that he sucks at sports. If he was good at sports he'd be all fit and...kind of normal. I sometimes wish I could go up to parents whose sons can ride bikes and throw balls like it is not a big deal and tell them to be more appreciative.

I'd love it if my kid was good at sports. Because I love sports. But he's not. He sucks.

But, I love that he still loves them.

Yes, my son who struggles at sports jumps at any chance to play anything. And he loves hockey. He absolutely loves it.

It takes a special kind of person to always be the worst on the team, yet practice harder and show more commitment than anyone else.

This weekend he was talking about which hockey team he'd play on as a teenager. He sees that he's improving, albeit slower than everyone else, and with a lot more hours of sweat. He sees a future for himself.

After Hockey Academy this weekend he told me, "I'm so proud of myself."

And that's why I love him. Because he sucks at sports and he happily sticks with them anyway.

He tells me, "You can't be good at everything, Mom. I'm good at violin. But that doesn't mean I'll stop playing hockey."

He's turning me into the most well-adjusted hockey mom ever.