This past week, our nanny was on vacation, and our car was in the shop (remember? The douchebag?). And so, lacking in the departments of both childcare and transportation, we headed back to New Jersey. Again. (Cue Welcome Back Kotter Music.)
I’m not complaining AT ALL, mind you; it just seems as if we end up there a lot. We are no match for the hypnotic lure of the Garden State. We stayed at my parents’ house, where, as it turns out, childcare and transportation are both in abundance.
A direct consequence of this turn of events was that after we put Toopweets to bed each night, my parents would say things like, “Oh, why don’t you kids go out to a movie or something?” And we’d hem and haw for exactly three seconds, whereupon J would casually make his move towards the door, and there would be a me-shaped hole in the wall as we headed out together into the night. Movies in theaters! Met games! Dinners at restaurants! We’d forgotten such things even existed, and were filled with childlike wonder. Thanks, Mom and Dad!
Speaking of all things childlike, my brothers both came home to visit my parents for the weekend. J, my younger brother and I were sitting around Saturday afternoon and talking, when my brother stood up from the enormous fluffy chair in which he’d been seated.
Bro: ..and so that’s why that happened. Callin’ fives! [Starts to walk out of the den.]
Me: Dude, that’s disgusting.
M: You called “fives;” I’m assuming that’s an extreme version of saying you have to go number two? Like, you’re experiencing an urgent biological need of a crap-related nature?
B: EW. What’s wrong with you? Also, how old do you think I am that I’d feel the need to announce that?
J: Metalia, he’s making a good point.
M: Whatever. What the hell is calling fives?
B: [Shocked] You don’t know?
B: [To J] You?
B: Oh my God. If you say it when you leave a room, it reserves your seat for five minutes. I can’t believe you don’t know that.
J and I then looked at each other, completely dumbfounded by this idiocy. (I then promptly stole the chair.)
My youngest brother entered the room, and we pounced, quizzing him on the definition of calling fives, and, upon hearing his response (which was identical to my other brother’s), we felt REALLY, REALLY OLD.
What the hell?
Have you ever heard of this before? Or are we, in fact, just really, really old?
Speaking of feeling really old...um, WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BABY? I was just looking at these pictures from the weekend and realized that he's a toddler. Oh, my God.
Oh! Also: If I said I had a recommendation for a (I hate this phrase, but I'm using it anyway because it's accurate) sinfully rich body cream, BUT the cream had a fragrance, would you still be interested? I'm always hesitant to recommend stuff that has a fragrance; it's so subjective.
Finally, I'll be guest posting over at Y's blog VERY SOON (at some point tomorrow, perhaps?); thanks again for your ideas!