Lynnette had to work this morning leaving Madison and I alone to do laundry, vacuum the bedroom, and wash the dishes. To make matters worse, our cable box is by Satan possessed. It hasn’t worked all day. Instead, it’s been counting numbers upwards like that weird clock in Lost that one time they let it run past 108 minutes. I don’t understand what any of the numbers or letters on our cable box mean – well, other than we can’t watch anything more than basic cable. I guess I’ll have to swap this box out, too.
Madison and I went outside and broke open some new sidewalk chalk. One of Madison’s sets come with 3D glasses. Madison has some trouble putting glasses on. Don’t be judgemental, it’s at least partially because I didn’t bother to put her hair up or style it at all. Aside: Last night, we ate dinner at Chili’s, Lynnette ordered a margarita because it had been a long week for her, too. As we neared the end of our meal, Madison asked what we would do next. I suggested walking our dinner off, but Lynnette was too tired. As we walked back to the car, Madison wondered out loud about our plans again. “We’re going home, Madison,” Lynnette said. “Mommy’s drunk.” “What does drunk mean?” Madison asked. “It means when you drink too much alcohol and you get tired,” I said. Madison tilted her head back and fake yawned. “I get tired when I drink fruit punch,” she said. No you don’t Madison, you get a sugar rush and want to climb, then jump off everything in sight.
I really wanted to go all “street art” on my drive way this morning, but damn it, it was really hot. I couldn’t even get through “Madison” in cursive. It only took my body about two minutes to start sweating, and once I did, there was that gross pasty mixture of sweat and chalk on my hands and in certain places on my forehead. It didn’t seem to bother Madison all that much, though. Aside: Madison fell asleep early on Thursday night. I walked over to her bedroom in an attempt to get Lynnette to come over to my room to cuddle. “Come cudz with me,” I said. (I used the letter Z in that spot to appeal to a younger audience. I apologize to the adults reading this). “I going sleep already,” Lynnette said. “C’mon,” I said. “I’ll walk you back to your room later, just like college,” I said. I giggled, too, I think. “You wake up too early!” Lynnette said. Keep in mind that this conversation took place in complete darkness and in whispers. “For real, just for like 5-10 minutes. I’m a little frisky, but I promise I won’t try that much stuff,” I said. Lynnette scoffed. “SO JUNK!” I whisper-yelled. Lynnette got out of bed and arrived in the doorway of Madison’s room just as I walked into my bedroom. “Wait,” Lynnette said. “Come give me a kiss.” “Come cudz,” I said. “Take it or leave it,” she said. Then she started counting at me the way she and I do at Madison. “ONE…” she said. I took a hard step forward without thinking, stopped. “YOU DON’T COUNT AT ME LIKE THAT!” I yell-shouted. It was too late; Lynnette was whisper-laughing. “It works, though, right?” Damn it.
After just a few minutes of drawing and writing on her own, Madison asked me to draw her a hop-scotch course. I drew boxes around the perimeter of our driveway. Madison and I alternated drawing the numbers in them. To change things up though, I would throw in a few dangers, like the hazards on a golf course. “What’s that?” Madison asked. “It’s fire,” I said. “Why are you making booby traps?” she asked. I looked up. “Where did you learn that word?” I asked. She just smiled. So Madison’s hop-scotch course ended up being an amalgamation of hop-scotch, Monopoly, Temple Run, Candy Land, and inside jokes that only I would enjoy. Aside: I don’t have any pictures yet, but Madison’s taken a genuine interest in wrestling. We wrestled Wednesday Night. I was in the bedroom vacuuming this morning when I heard Madison’s voice over a WWE Raw commercial. “Yay, wrestling!” she said. “Monday…”. Today at Walmart, she saw the fake Tag Team Championship belts on the shelf. “Look, dad!” she shouted. “Oh, that’s right, I have to buy you one of these, right?” I said. “Yeah, yeah!” Madison said. “But these are only Tag Team titles,” I said. “Aww,” Mad followed. I don’t even think she knew what that meant, other than she wasn’t getting one. I was about to put the belt down when she said “Wait, dad. You have to hold it up high so everyone knows you won.” I’m marking out!
Madison ran the course many times before taking a break with Abby. In the bottom right corner of this picture, you can see the Sandworm-esque hazard. Above Mad’s head to the left is a trash dumpster I was pretty proud of drawing. “What happens if you fall in the trash can?” Madison asked. “Then I pick you up and put you in the real trash can,” I said. “PLEASE DO NOT!” Madison said. “Then don’t fall in there,” I said. She never did. I can’t say the same about Abby, though. The representation of the trash dumpster fell at the only place on the driveway where the small tree above the shrub offered any shade. Abby currently has a nice green butt. Aside: Earlier this week, I posted my findings after taking a personality type test. Lynnette read my post and revealed to me that she had to take one upon being hired by the Department of Health. I am positive I will write about this later and in more depth, but Lynnette’s an ENTJ. The website I have been using which labeled me a “Thinker” labeled Lynnette “The Executive.” You don’t say? Among my favorite passages is one which read the ENTJ may “have difficulty applying logic to their insights…” YOU DON’T SAY. But the best part: “ENTJ’s natural partner is INTP.” I don’t know if this improves or decreases the credibility of the website.