Sometimes I astound myself with how dumb I am. 

For weeks now, I’ve been seeing commercials for a new TV showed called “Copper”.  As we’ve already discussed, I don’t really watch commercials and, thus, paid little attention.  It’s on the BBC and they make really good series so I was interested but didn’t really connect with any of it – just the time period and two good-looking men. 

Anyway, the series started and Amy watched the first two episodes and insisted I start watching it, too.  We do that so we can talk about

Copper

these shows like we know these people, hence, our deep attachment to the dragon girl on Game of Thrones.  Since I missed the first two episodes, we recorded them so we could catch up.  

 Over the weekend, Ed and I watched the first episode.  Here’s where my dumbness comes in:

Don’t be fooled, the show Copper is about Coppers not Copper – understand?

I thought the show was about COPPER – the metal.  Like maybe the premise was about a copper mine, or copper something, with an evil overlord making huge profits off of child labor and the good-looking guys were there to help set everything to right and the evil guy would get his comeuppance over the course of the series.  Or something.

Five minutes into the show, I come to realize that it’s not about copper at all.  It’s about COPPERS – the police.  I was lost for the rest of the hour because my mind refused to accept that there weren’t going to be any copper miners with a canary.  Okay, that’s a coal mine but I don’t really know what bird they use for copper and I’ll bet you don’t either without Googling it. 

The next day, Amy eagerly asked what I thought and I had to admit I was lost.  “How could you be lost?” she demanded.  Then I had to explain about the copper mine – she still hasn’t stopped laughing at me. 

Amy’s Note: Ava’s not dumb, but she does have dingbat tendencies. But then really, don’t we all? I remember once when I was in high school driving past my elementary school and thinking the parking lot was very small. It made me wonder where all the students parked. As dumb as that thought was, it still doesn’t beat Ava’s blind drivers. One of these days I’ll get her to write that blog.

What’s the last time you remember thinking a thought so stupid you were afraid to tell other people? You can tell us, we’re quiet as the grave. Besides, if you can’t laugh at yourself, we can’t laugh at you either.

Last night, I’m minding my own business, in my bathroom and for no reason what-so-ever I look in the master bath tub and see a giant freakin’ scorpion in it.  Two other things are going on at that moment, I’m brushing my teeth and my daughter has just come in the room because she likes to talk while I have a mouth full of toothpaste.

I start wildly gesturing at the tub for her to see the danger and she keeps looking at me instead of the tub.  Than the cat comes running in – right at the tub.

We live in the desert, for Zeus sake!  That scorpion was easily 90 lbs!!!!  All three of us were going to die!

Finally, the girl looks at the tub.  I was spewing spit and toothpaste all over shouting “Go get your father!”

She runs over to the top of the stairs and starts calling to him to save us. 

I kid you not; he takes forever – in scorpion death time – to climb the stairs.  He actually moved at a leisurely pace as if there was nothing wrong and there wasn’t a 90 LB EVIL SCORPION threatening his beloved wife and daughter.

“Oh my god, Ed!  Could you at least work up to a trot???”  I shrieked.

He, calmly and slowly, went to the tub. 

“That is what the entire ruckus is about?” He stupidly said.

Photo of Scorpion in my Bathroom

“Listen you; our marriage vows included the fact that you would kill all insects and snakes.  It may have not been specified but it was implied that you would do it in a timely fashion and without ridicule.”

This was said over my shoulder as I ran out of the bathroom to save myself . . . our marriage vows also included that in dangerous situations it’s every man for himself.

I have a weird super power that I‘d like to share – it has to do with commercials.  Generally, I have several books going at once, plus several magazines and some newspapers to read during the unasked for overly loud advertisements that intrude into your home from the television. Occasionally, which will be nearly impossible for those of you who know me well to believe, I don’t feel like reading.  So when a commercial interruption occurs, I will jump right up and perform some needed chore that belongs to my kids but they haven’t done it so I have to go do it.  There are times when I’m very tired after a long day at Bank of No Forks that even a commercial will not drive me from my chair and that’s when the super power begins . . .

I can sit in front of the TV and transport my mind to another place and time and not hear one word of commercial.  Not one word I tell you.  Nada.  Not whom the advertiser was, not what they were selling, nothing.

This upsets the boy who lives at my house like you would not believe.  For some absurd reason, he wants to talk about the commercials.  He wants to talk about them like they are a small movie that he was privileged enough to see.  I can’t talk about something I’ve never actually seen – I wish all commercials would go away and have told him this.

He told me, like only a fourteen year old can when addressing his elderly, out-of-the-loop mother that commercials are there so that the advertisers can sell things and I’m SUPPOSED to watch them.  Honest to Zeus, he said this to me as if I didn’t get the point.  

Me: We didn’t have commercials when I was a kid.

Boy:  Really?  How did you know what you wanted to buy?

Me: We didn’t.  We went around not buying things.  You really need to try that.

Boy: Are you messing with me?

Me: Nope, now be quiet, the shows coming back on.

Now when one of his favorite interruptions comes on, he tells me to watch and pay attention.  But I can’t.  My mind immediately begins to wander to important stuff, like what snacks might be in the kitchen that my children haven’t gobbled up yet. 

I try, I really do, but one cannot deny one’s super powers.

We’ve discussed super powers before. The one’s we actually have, not the ones we’re too immature to use responsibly. Amylynn can sleep anywhere, at any time. Ava can ignore obnoxious television. Kelli can name bugs. What you got going on?

Yesterday, on a Sunday, I was foolish enough to take my children and myself over to Costco.  Sunday’s at Costco, in our town, are best avoided unless you absolutely cannot do without a giant basket full of groceries that will see you through a zombie apocalypse.

Anyway, I sailed through the front entrance with some speed because it was 109 degrees (I do not lie, we live in the desert and are experiencing record heat the past few days) and I wanted to feel some air conditioning after nearly melting on my way across the parking lot. 

I was quickly followed and stopped by one of the people at the front door who stand there and do nothing.

“Ma’am, can I see your card?”

I started to fumble around in my purse for my wallet, mumbling to my fourteen year old about even needing to dig it out and how I hadn’t showed it at the front door, in like, FOREVER. 

The “do nothing” employee decided to lecture me on why he needed to see my card. 

I responded by saying that no one would go in there if they couldn’t buy lots of big stuff and that I was certain that EVERYONE ON THE PLANET knew they needed a membership card since they’d been around for several decades now. 

Instead of leaving it at that, he continued his lecture on how people have cards and leave them in the car, or their other wallet, or on the kitchen table, or blah, blah, blah, blah, on and on.

Dear Costco,

Please implement immediate training for all “do nothing” greeter employees that customers do not need to be lectured on their way into the store.  Lecturing customers is never appropriate unless you are a doctor or a professor.  Thank you.

Sincerely,

Card Carrying Costco Member Who Spends Approximately $400.00 Every Time I’m In There

And don’t get me started on what the heck the employees at the exit are really doing when they pretend to look over your receipt and grocery cart and then write on your receipt with a pink highlighter – that’s a whole other blog . . .

Maybe it’s just us, but the “help” at stores these days are becoming increasingly less helpful and more annoying. Either they’re stalking you through the store like a gazelle, or they’re rude beyond comprehension. When’s the last time you were so exasperated by a clerk you considered going out to the car to get a taser?

In the summer, when the kids that live at my house are out of school, I can leave the house a lot later for work since I don’t have to get them anywhere on time.  I was really looking forward to my leisurely mornings this year.  I get up at the same time, but I get my jogging out-of-the-way and even get a load of laundry done.  All the way to the office, I get to listen to talk radio instead of that really bad music they make these days.

But alas, it was not to be.  The fourteen year old boy got a part-time job.  When he was first entertaining this notion, I told him, in no uncertain terms, that I would not allow my summer to be hijacked and that he would need to fit himself into my schedule.  There was also a ban on touching the radio.  He worked out his schedule to match mine and swore he’d be okay listening to old white men complaining about everything the president’s done wrong since not being born in Hawaii.

The first few days were okay; he got up on time and didn’t touch the radio.  Near the end of week one, he turned off the radio and suggested we chat.  What??!!  What did you say fourteen year old boy???!!!  You want to talk??  By all means . . .

He got a piece of paper out of his backpack.  I could see he’d written out what appeared to be some sort of list.

The boy only wishes he had a backpack like this!

Boy – You’re a creative person.

Me – That’s true, I made you and your sister before Pinterest was invented.

Boy – Exactly.  (It’s never good when a fourteen year old agrees with you.)

Me – (Reaching for the radio.) Are we done? (I used my hopeful voice.)

Boy – The girl and I have noticed you’ve fallen into a kind of “default” parenting.  It includes these five phrases:.

(Reading the list)

As soon as I’m dead, you can (fill in the blank).

No, the answer is no, so, no.

Because I said so, that’s why.

We do not (fill in the blank) in public.

Go clean your room and we’ll see.

Me – Wow, I had no idea I was that good!  Those have to fit at least 80% of our child/parent needs, maybe even 90%!

Boy – I wasn’t complimenting you, I was pointing out a parenting flaw.  You need some new material, Mom!

Ha Ha – where was this book when I first got the boy and the girl!

Me – You understand it’s 102 outside and we’re still a mile from your job, right?

Boy – Then I’d be dead before you and never get to pierce my ears or get a tattoo or motorcycle or marry a girl who’s pretty but stupid.

Clearly, if he remembered all of that, my parenting skills are top-notch!

What are you favorite parenting lines? Mine happens to be, “What the hell is wrong with you? (Amylynn). Ava’s are better. We’re dying for your examples of epic parenting.