Snoozeworthy Sofa Arm
Who out there has a sofa that really could stand to be replaced, but which is so comfortable that you can’t bring yourself to do it? This little loveseat has been an absolute champion. I bought it for my tiny studio apartment when I lived in Chelsea in Manhattan. It was really hard to find a sofa this small to replace the ornate green one a recently-adopted cat had peed all over. I mean buckets, folks. I put that thing on the curb on West 20th St. and even the people who stopped to pinch it got a whiff and ran away. This couch, however, turned out to be worth every penny and, over a decade later it is still incredibly comfortable.
At least, Cormac sure things so.
Two cities, two children, and countless large backsides later, this baby is still providing faithful seating to the entire household and legions of dubious guests.
Hardworking armrest.
Cormac even thinks it’s better than his bed. However, come to think of it, he thinks the pool deck and the hardwood floor and the back deck are better than his bed, so it’s not such a compliment.
May you all spend the holidays in your happiest places.
Top Ten Ways You Know You’re a Gen X Parental Unit
We interrupt these regularly scheduled naps to bring you the lamentations that have been kicking around in my head this week, as I realize that I am officially no longer cool.
Top 10 Ways You Know You’re a Gen X Parental Unit
Def Leppard comes on the radio in your car, and you’re torn between closing the window in shame or rolling the window down and turning up the volume.
You accept Lego Star Wars and Lego Indiana Jones video games as a fair vehicle with which to introduce the best trilogies of all time to your kids, and you’re still in denial about the unmentionable movies that came after the trilogies.
Your kid owns an Atari t-shirt just like yours and a pair of checkered vans that you find amusing, but in which you would not be caught dead.
Your children wear helmets to ride on a flat surface, in a cul de sac, on a scooter, but you used to plunge down the steepest hill in the neighborhood, bareheaded, while riding on the handlebars of somebody else’s banana seat bike.
You boast on Facebook that your kid refused his children’s music and asked to listen to Weezer or They Might Be Giants.
Your kid is dancing in his underwear, so you tweet that Risky Business is being replayed at your house.
You love John Hughes because he saw high school for what it was and Joss Whedon because he saw it as it should have been.
Your go-to example of living on the edge is eating pop rocks while drinking Coke.
You can’t understand why your kid stares, blank-faced, when you joke about his Christmas request with, “You’ll shoot yer eye out!”
You pull out your favorite childhood books, only to discover that they are politically incorrect, except for Dr. Seuss which turns out to be full of thinly veiled social and political commentary. Then you’re stuck reading them to your kid every night.
Please. Atari was the best EVER.
Update: Come see what the very funny Jeff Kart had to say about this post on TLC’s Parentables!
Bedspins
Today, I want to bring you a very important holiday safety message. Please, folks, stay awake while you are using the Sit ‘n Spin.
If you are going to do a layout off the Sit ‘n Spin, DO wear some really entertaining socks. Preferably some that will enable us all to make jokes about the Wicked Witch of the West.
One unanswered question I have is this: is the tiger responsible for the accident? Did he cuddle his boy into a premature slumber, causing him to fall from his Sit ‘n Spin? People should remember that big cats are, after all, wild stuffed animals.
If you’ll look closely, you’ll see that a small stuffed dachshund is the real victim, here. The boy landed on him and is using him as a pillow. The tiger should be ashamed of himself.
I want to issue a disclaimer that my child was NOT drinking out of that plastic cup when the accidental nap occurred. No, sir. We don’t drink apple juice while spinning in this house. Very strict rules.
Consider yourselves warned.
Crashed-Out Christmas Help
So, what was your first job? As the holiday season gets into full swing, I am reminded of my very first minimum wage position at Miller’s Outpost in Moreno Valley, CA. I think I had just turned 16, so it was December of 1988. I spent Christmas selling acid-washed jeans, studded denim jackets and pleather (that’s not a typo – plastic leather) white boots to people who used too much Aquanet. This, of course, included myself. Because Miller’s Outpost was like, totally the awesomest place to shop for clothes in all of Moreno Valley!
It was a real accomplishment when I moved onward and upward to become a hostess at Chili’s.
Well, you can see that Cormac is steeling himself early for the minimum wage work world. It won’t be long before these kids are going to be expected to earn their keep. I see a position at a shoe store in his future.
Preparing for the world of work.
On the other hand, his boss may not like it if he falls asleep while fitting the patrons. This could cut into his Christmas money.
Maybe he can be a cashier, instead?
Also, we may have to work on separating from the blankie.
Come to think of it, there may have been days, throughout my career, when I’d have done better with a security blanket to help me out. That and a nap, of course. Maybe Cormac is onto something? They’ll introduce it in Europe and it’ll become the new standard for healthy work-life balance.
For now, I guess we should just concentrate on getting him to keep his nose out of the shoes.