Well, we’re finally here. My Z for you.
And then what? For those of you in the know, there is no letter in the alphabet after Z. So, it’s time for me to pack up my blog and head for something new – like interpretive dance. Or perhaps a degree in the philosophy of The Simpsons. (This one really exists; click here.) Or, I could see if Gwen Stefani needs a backup singer…
JUST KIDDING. I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE.
I got material to share, folks. It’s not like the letter Z was going to stop my kids from acting nutball. Or the internet to stop providing me with stuff like this:
You are stuck with me, my friends. Stuck. Like litter at the bottom of the cat box stuck.
But I digress.
Recently my family ventured to the skating rink for an all church skate extravaganza. It was epic. Here are some of my observations:
1. All skate rinks have the same carpet. Stare at it too long and it’ll give you a seizure.
2. All skate rinks have the same guy, kinda circa 1970’s, possibly with a comb in his back pocket, who smoothly manuevers the skate rink like a BOSS.
3. All skate rinks should not try to attempt any food items other than packaged Twizzlers and maybe a chocolate bar. Hotdogs? A risky business.
4. All skate rinks have bathrooms with sloped, tiled floors that reduce you and your toddler to nervous laughter because why just go to the potty? Why not try to add a couple triple sow-cow and limbo lessons in that bathroom with a five-year old who has questionable aim?
5. All skate rinks have to do the limbo. It’s a cruel world.
One other observation: I haven’t skated since, well, probably college, and I am just not very good at it. BUT – our pastor? He was ON POINT. He almost gave the moustached, 70’s guy a run for his money. He just kept smoothly gliding about without a care in the world, which makes sense, because Jesus, you know.
I was a bit envious. At one point, I pushed my four-year old out of the way so I could grab onto my husband’s hand/hair/arm to keep me from face planting. I think the words, “Don’t worry about Red! He’s closer to the ground – he won’t fall as hard!” were uttered. Evidently skate parks kinda bring out a rather grim Game of Thrones mentality in me.
Again, it’s a cruel world.
So, after the skate party, we all decided to go for ice cream. This was a fabulous idea because here’s something I forgot: skating is hard work. At one point, I was doing a sassy scissor move and just kept getting stuck with my poor scissors going wider, and wider… Not pretty. Not pretty at all. My thighs were angry with me, and only a chocolate malted would help. And possibly some fries. To gently assist the Skateland hotdog.
We all piled in the car. It was getting to be bedtime, and we were tired, rather cranky, and overstimulated from that carpet. But we were going for ice cream! Family fun continuing! It’s just down here a bit!
And then our Favorite Ice Cream Place That We Always Go To just up and disappeared.
Allow me to explain. We were on the main drag of a rather small city – one we have traversed a majillion times I am sure. We have passed this ice cream parlor a majillion and one times. We knew where it is. We were going RIGHT there! It was just down this road a bit!
Until, of course, it wasn’t. And we ended up driving up and down and then up again looking for an ice cream place that has ALWAYS BEEN RIGHT THERE. IT’S RIGHT HERE. I SWEAR IT! IT’S… not. Oh, oops, maybe further down?
At this point, both toddlers in the back have caught on that perhaps, something is afoot. They can sniff out tension and trouble like a puppy finding Cheezits in the couch, I tell you.
And so, when that happens, so begins the play-by-play commentary from the back seat:
“Wat doin’ Daddy?”
“Where’s da ice creams? I wanna da sprinkles!”
Daddy, rather grimly: “We’re on our way, kids. We’re taking the scenic route.”
“Wats a swenic route?”
Daddy: “This is.”
Daddy: “The scenic route.”
“WHAT’S DA SCENIC ROUTE?”
Both toddlers peer out the window as if to spot an answer to all these troubles, like why they are not eating da sprinkles yet.
Momsie starts to giggle.
“But daddy, scenic route? WHY we are going?” (My children start to sound like Yoda when they become flustered.)
“Daddy, WHERE IS DA ICE CREAMS?”
Daddy: “We are taking the scenic route TO the ice creams and that’s final! I happen to like the scenic route!”
I like the scenic route too. Most of the time. My children take me on it nearly every day. We are often all a bit tired and disheveled, mainly from the fact that my boys must run and go and do everything all the time, and it’s hard to keep up, and allow for detours. But, we are a family. God’s family. And we are on this journey together.
God asks us to take the scenic route. It’s worth it. It’s not quite what I expected or want all the time, but worth it.
And yes, der will be sprinkles.