Yesterday when we came home from church, my husband told me to take the church bag into the house or he would “cut me.”
This morning I was in my car in the Target parking lot, and I needed a pair of scissors. There’s a pair of scissors in the church bag, but the church bag wasn’t in the car because I took it into the house yesterday to avoid a violent confrontation.
The moral of the story: Passive aggression is emotionally satisfying, but it won’t cut the string on a brand-new pair of flip-flops.
Where have I been? I’m so glad you asked. We went on our excellent Spokane adventure week before last. On the drive up, we visited the Columbia Gorge Discovery Center. It’s pretty nice. We saw some birds of prey. Like, two. Well, technically, three, but the third one was so tiny, I’m not so sure it was really a bird of prey. What does it prey on, insects? They were all lame, anyway, which is why they’re in captivity and not technically “preying” on anything. And by “lame,” I mean literally disabled, not the other kind of lame that I usually mean. No, in point of fact, they were cool. There was a lot of other stuff at the museum, but blah blah, who cares? We bought some cherry syrup and some dark cherry salsa. Apparently the Dalles is known for its cherries or something. In any case, the salsa is delicious. That’s all I have to say about that.
We rented a house in the mountains near Spokane. We had lunch with the divine Tracy M, who showed us all the wonders of downtown Spokane. (It didn’t take long, but who wants to spend a whole day sightseeing, anyway?) I wish I could have spent more time with Tracy, actually. A while back I offered to punch her ex-neighbor in the face for her, and I regret that I wasn’t able to get around to that. Maybe next visit.
SD noticed–somewhat belatedly in the season, but unlike me, at least he noticed–that my swimsuit was falling apart, so I had the pleasure of shopping for a swimsuit in late August in Spokane. There was one in my size at the Sears. It wasn’t hideous, so I bought it. And thus I avoided having to hold my old swimsuit together with duct tape for the rest of the vacation. It was a Spokane Miracle.
We went to the Silverwood Theme Park, which is an amusement park-slash-water park. The first day we just did the amusement park side–roller coasters and carnival rides and whatnot. I don’t like amusement parks because I don’t like lines and I don’t like roller coasters, but this isn’t about me. The second day we did the water park. I don’t like water parks because they combine everything I don’t like about amusement parks with everything I don’t like about public pools. But it wasn’t horrible. At a certain point, Girlfriend decided that she’d had enough, so we changed back into our regular clothes and rode on a Ferris wheel and bought a snow cone as big as her head. I don’t know why a person would want a snow cone as big as one’s head, especially in blue raspberry, but mine is not to question why.
Here’s a tangentially related aside: At the end of the second day, SD wanted to take the older kids on Aftershock, which is the big-deal roller coaster of the park, so I was tasked with distracting the younger two kids with ice cream. I found a little place called the Giant Ice Cream Scoop or something similar, and I decided to stop there because I didn’t know if I’d find ice cream anywhere else, and I like to take the path of least resistance. Whilst standing in (the very long) line, I realized that they didn’t call it the Giant Ice Cream Scoop for nothing. Here are your ice cream buying options at this establishment: There is a kids’ cone, which consists of 2-3 large scoops of ice cream. Then there is the regular “single scoop” cone, which is the size of a small cauliflower. Then there is the “double scoop” cone, which is the size of your head. Literally, your head. I saw people walking out of the store with ice cream as big as their own head, I kid you not. I repeat: I am not trying to be funny here. Suffice it to say that I didn’t buy any ice cream for myself, I had to eat way more of the kids’ ice cream than I actually wanted (it was vanilla–eh), and we still had to throw some of it away. So that was an experience. The moral of the story: I can understand wanting ice cream as big as your head. The snow cone as big as your head is still a puzzlement to me. And it cost just as much as the ice cream. End tangentially related aside.
The next day my husband had kindly designated as “Dog’s Butt Day.” We didn’t do anything but hang out at the cabin. Well, I did laundry. My father arrived, and I think he played with the kids. It was nice. The next day we visited my uncle and aunt, and that was fun, too. The next day we went to church and I came home and took a nap while everyone else went hiking. The next day we went home. The end.
Can you tell I’ve lost my vacation-blogging mojo? I’m sorry, but there just isn’t that much to tell.
Actually, here’s the thing: it’s lunchtime, and Elvis wants a sandwich, but we have no bread. We have to go out and buy bread before I can make him a sandwich. He’s not going to give me a minute’s peace until we do this. Actually, he’s not going to give me a minute’s peace until he goes back to school next Tuesday. But I really should go out and buy bread now. I’ll catch you chumps later.