Go Cowboys

So today is a first for me. Today I will be rooting for Jerry Jones. Today I will be cheering on the Dallas Cowboys.

You see, as part of a school project, Sam has to dress up like Jerry Jones and present Cowboys Stadium at an assembly tonight. To supplement the presentation he also had to create a 3-D replica of his chosen landmark. Why Sam chose Cowboys Stadium and not Stonehenge or Big Ben or the Texas Book Depository I don't know. The guy at Hobby Lobby - even the architect who lives across the street - looked at me with pity when I asked for advice on how to build it.

But build it we did. Out of $100 worth of cardboard and Styrofoam and wrapping paper and felt and rubber bands. How it will compare to the Texas Star Ferris Wheel with working gears and gondolas or the San Antonio River Walk with real rushing water, I have no idea.

And I don't want to know.

While Bryon takes Sam to his assembly I'm going to be across town with Jake at his music lesson because I'm too nervous. I'm nervous for Sam and his 2-minute speech about the history and architecture of the stadium. I'm nervous for Sam in his suit that is nearly one size too small ("It fits, right?" Bryon asked me late last night. "Sure, yes. It fits.") I'm nervous that his stadium will look like a pile of cardboard and felt and rubber bands - as it should since it was supposed to be built by a fourth grader. I'm nervous like it's my own grade.

So tomorrow I can go back to disliking Jerry Jones, but tonight I'm his biggest fan.

Spoilsport

A week or so ago Jake lost his lunchbox at school. Not really a problem. I was actually surprised it took this long. But after a few days of hot lunches and brown bags I told him I would buy a new lunchbox. Which I did yesterday - the day he found his lunchbox.

So now we have two, which is fine. I'll keep the new one for next year. What was bothersome, however, was the state of the lost lunchbox. Judging by its contents I think his last lunch was some sort of spaghetti or ravioli, maybe bread, and apples or applesauce. I think there was a napkin in there. Thankfully I had sent water not milk that day. But still, week-old Chef Boyardi, warmed by unseasonal temperatures and moistened by rain ... I had to literally hose it down in the backyard.

So now there's one more thing I can't stand the smell of since I've had kids. Another? Macaroni and cheese. I don't remember having mac and cheese 100 times a week when I was a kid. My grandmother made a homemade mac and cheese that was a treat, not a staple. I have been forever ruined by the generic and artificial blandness of Kraft mac and cheese and its ilk.

Pancakes. If Jake has been on this earth 2555 days he has probably started 2000 of those days with pancakes. It's not the pancakes necessarily but the syrup I can't stand. I hate the smell of syrup. And I imagine that once he stops eating pancakes (how can he not be sick of pancakes?) I will never order, eat, make, microwave another pancake.

Ketchup. I could live without ketchup. I don't need it for my french fries. Never on hot dogs or hamburgers. But for Jake, ketchup is a vessel for other foods. He has been known to eat ketchup sandwiches. His ketchup sometimes requires chicken nuggets. And everytime I put a hot dog or nuggets or applesauce in his lunchbox I have to include a container of ketchup. A container that I have to clean out at the end of the day. I prefer the smell of used cat litter to the smell of ketchup, especially when it's mixed with hot water and dish detergent.

Cheese Whiz. Again, it's not like I have the opportunity to have Cheese Whiz very often. But one of Jake and Abby's favorite snacks is a pretzel and cheese for dipping. I have to admit, it's tasty. But cleaning out the toxicity that is hardened Cheese Whiz spoils the whole experience.

Lucky for my kids I have yet to tire of chocolate chip cookies. Or Pop Tarts. 'Cause the day you tire of Pop Tarts - that's not a day worth living.

Real Wild Child

So in the past 24 hours Jake broke his arm, I found head lice on Abby and Jake, and Abby called me a jack ass.

Good times.

To start, yes. Jake broke his arm. He fell off the monkey bars yesterday during recess. ("It's always the monkey bars," everyone at the hospital said.) Not that he would heed the warnings, but Jake was told he would need to slow down for the next few weeks. I'm waiting for the day he realizes his cast can be used as a weapon.

Since he doesn't want to bother with a shirt, he's been shirtless most of the day. With the cast and his skinny frame and long hair he reminds me of someone.

(My money's on Jake.)

The Birds and the Bees and Pizza Hut

Latey I've been a little impatient with the boys. It's not that they are misbehaving more than usual; it's that they have developed this sense of humor that I can't comprehend and find it hard to play along with. Imagine Jim Carrey impersonating Rip Taylor channeling Benny Hill.

Last night after Abby's "soccer" practice (I say "soccer" because she does everything but play - pick flowers, look for ladybugs, play hide and seek by herself) I took the kids out to eat. And while the first 15 minutes went smoothly, things started to slide soon after we got our food. It's a good thing we were sitting outside, by ourselves, because the Romine brand of comedy is physical and scatological. I was doing my best to ignore most of it because, after all, they were enjoying themselves. Who am I to say Gallagher isn't funny?

But I couldn't help hear Jake veer from "butt stickers" to "sex time with pizza." Say what?

So I asked him to repeat it and he did. And then he innocently asked, "Isn't that what sex time is? When you put pizza down your pants?"

Whatever gets you through high school, my friend.