"The Rinn Round-Up"

Part of my writing process includes keeping a growing list of “notes” on my phone. I consider a moment to be particularly clever or hilarious and I quickly type it up so that when I find a moment to actually sit down and write something of substance, I’m not staring blankly my computer screen wondering why I ever thought our lives were interesting enough to write about in the first place. Basically I’m able to skip over an emotional breakdown or anxiety attack.

Self-care people.

Anyway, a majority of these “clever or hilarious” moments never materialize into anything of substance. Either, there isn’t enough of a story to publish an entire blog post or I forget I even made the note in the first place because I accidentally typed it at the bottom of my grocery list. Sometimes I simply get distracted and waste entirely too much daydreaming about what the soundtrack for my life would be if my story ever gets picked up by Netflix.

If you ever hear me asking “where has the day gone?” Remind me of this.

While these stories are small, they are still mighty so I’ve decided to create a weekly post titled:

“The Rinn Round-up”: A post where I will publish scraps, fragments and leftover pieces of stories that didn’t quite make the cut.


Rinn came home from school and immediately started undressing. Under normal circumstances this is the kid that will start playing without even taking off his shoes and jacket.

Me: Why are you taking your clothes off?

Rinn: Because they smell like a fart.

Me: Why would your clothes smell like a fart?

Rinn: Because I’ve been farting in them ALL DAY!

Like, obviously.


In the mornings Rinn moves about as quick as molasses in the wintertime. The soundtrack before 9am could easily be me uttering “Rinn, hurry up” and “Have you put your shoes on yet?” over and over and over again. Last Saturday I had asked him no less than eight times to start putting his soccer cleats on only to walk into the living room and find him making paper airplanes. WHY?

Frustrated I aggressively start shoving shoes on his feet.

Rinn: Mom, you look beautiful today.

Me: Thank you Rinn. (I am no longer shocked by his attempt to diffuse situations with flattery).

Rinn: Like a caveman going on an adventure!

He has some work to do in the complement department.


I don’t cook. I wouldn’t say it’s because I can’t but more or less I don’t like to cook. And I try not to make a habit of doing things that don’t bring me joy. I serve Hamburger Helper, a variety of Stouffer’s dishes, tacos and on occasion I’ll bake chicken breasts with various side dishes. So I’m not Betty Crocker. Big deal, have you seen what I can do with cardboard and duct tape?

Anyway, it was on one of those chicken breast evenings that Travis and Rinn suggested biscuits, specifically Mary B’s biscuits and a “best biscuit” debate ensued:

Travis: Mary B’s are the greatest ever.

Rinn: I like Red Lobster biscuits.

Me: Oooh, those are good.

Rinn: Plus, they have a “taint” that smells like lobster.

(Travis and I turn eight shades of red while trying not to explode with laughter.)

Me: Tank. They have a lobster tank. Ccckkkk. Like Frank.

Rinn: Yeah, a “taint” that smells like a lobster.

We’re still blushing.

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