HOLD THE CHEESE
Rinn and I have reached an agreement regarding school lunches: he eats hot lunch every other day therefore sparing me from the pain and agony of having to be functional enough to pack a boxed lunch before the butt crack of dawn everyday. Unfortunately, this arrangement did not save me from having to engage in the following conversation.
Me: What do you want in your lunch?
Rinn (who is in the shower): I’m in the middle of washing my hair, I can’t do this with you right now.
Rinn being flippant and using my very own words against me is nothing new, not even at 6:15 in the morning. I ignored him and pressed on.
Me: A sandwich or mac and cheese?
Rinn: A few audible sighs. (As if answering me was just too exasperating to bear.)
Rinn: A meat sandwich.
Me: Ok. (I try to make my exit.)
Rinn: BUT MOM!
Rinn: I just want bread, meat and mayonnaise. No cheese.
Me: Ok, Rinn.
Rinn: No, I’ve been over this with you before and I always find cheese on my sandwich.
I left to make his cheese-less sandwich with my tail between my legs.
I mean, who doesn’t like cheese?
GOLFING IN THE RAIN
Last year while I was performing with Legends in Concert in Branson, MO they would peddle these hideous umbrella hats during intermission. Of course Rinn insisted on having one. It was a fascination I would never understand but they were a whole five dollars and every parent knows that $5 to avoid a potential meltdown is a steal. Anyway, I was sitting on the couch this week when Rinn wandered by, umbrella hat in hand but hidden behind his back and approached Travis:
Travis: Yeah, son?
Rinn: I want to give you an early Christmas present.
Travis: Oh cool!
Rinn unveils the hideous hat.
Rinn: It’s my umbrella hat!
Rinn: So you can play golf in the rain, and not get wet!
Travis: Oh wwwooowwww, thanks son!
If Rinn doesn’t remind Travis to take it with him everytime he goes golfing, I most definitely will.
Also, feigned excitement over ugly umbrella hats just to protect Rinn's feelings is one of the many reasons I married him.
THINGS THAT MY DAD LICKS
Travis and I came home from work the other night to handwritten notes, one for each of us. While the thought was endearing Rinn consistently misspelled “like” as “lick” so it would appear that Travis and I “lick” lots of things we shouldn’t; dogs, cats, etc. But not pigs, neither of us “lick” pigs, thank God.
Also, let’s clarify the following:
My horrs is Alis.
My dad luvs Alis.
This should read as:
My horse is Atlas.
My dad loves Atlas.
Again, let me emphasize, we do not have a “horr” named “Alis” that Travis “luvs.”