Now I Can Look Back and Laugh

One of the last projects that boys had was to build a Trebuchet for 8th grade science.  Once upon a time this was called the Catapult Project but someone thought Trebuchet was french for catapult so it was renamed the Trebuchet Project even though only one kid in the history of the school built a trebuchet and it's mounted on the wall in the science classroom if you'd like to see it. It would have been renamed the Ballista Project but no one anticipated the rise in popularity the ballista would experience due to video games featuring siege warfare.  This, by the way, is how they sell new textbooks. They change the names of things without changing any thing else. Math has not changed in 5000 years so let's stop saying "equal to" and start saying "equivalent to" and, shazam, now everyone needs to buy new textbooks.  In this lesson we will be building a trebuchet. No, you're not.

Luckily this project was completed mostly in class.  I only got involved when Sam and his partner had a problem with the drill.  They didn't have a drill bit big enough for the dowel they were using and after many, many attempts, the partially built catapult came home looking like swiss cheese. Which, by the way, was not found to be a 'funny' observation.  John was on his way to San Jose because the Sharks were in the playoffs so I was on catapult duty despite my strong negative feelings toward Middle School Projects. At least this one didn't involve glue sticks. I left Sam at home because he was in poor-humor and drove to the hardware store on my own. On the way there I had this conversation with John:

Me, "What size dowel is Sam using?  He needs a bigger drill bit but I don't know how big."
John, "There's a large drill bit in the bag."
Me, "I know. He tried that one but it wasn't big enou.."
John, "It's a black bit and it's not in the case, it's loose in the bag."
Me, "I know. He tried the bla.."
John, "It's not one in the set."
Me, "I know! How big is the dowel?"
John, "It's a big black bit.."
Me, "STOP TELLING ABOUT THE DRILL BITS!"
John, "Jeez, I'm just trying to help."
Me, "Try Harder!"

Then I hung up.  I ended up buying new dowels and several huge drill bits, and drove home going 3 miles an hour because it was 5:10 and everyone who wanted to get on the freeway was in the wrong  lane even though they drive home this way every, fucking, day.

Now I'm in a lousy mood and I'm hungry and I need to go grocery shopping and I need to fix a catapult with a pissed off teenager.  So we went to the pub for dinner because it's close to the grocery store.  (Yeah, right.)  Anyway, the place was packed because the Sharks were in the playoffs and the Warriors were in the playoffs and there was only one guy working.  Where were all the girls?  The pub is usually staffed with five girls who could waitress for the US olympic team and I'm stuck with this guy who has completely disappeared again and all I want is the bill so we can leave.  Sam was crawling the walls, freaking out about his catapult so I sent the boys to start grocery shopping while I decided whether or not to dine-and-dash.  Or rather, Dine-and-saunter out the door after trying several times to pay. Jesus, Harold, where the fuck are you?

By the time I got to the grocery store, the boys had everything in the cart. Awesome. But the only register that was open had the chatty-fellow working it.  Shit. Not awesome. I was in no mood for that so we went to the self-checkout. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking. It was such a rookie mistake someone should have taken my mom-license and sent me to the showers.  Maybe it's time to retire. So there I was, 12 items in the cart, 10 of which won't scan and two teenagers in the bagging area 'helping'.  I haven't said "stop touching things" that many times since they discovered their penises. When the machine froze up the fourth time, I actually turned and screamed for assistance.  In one moment of frustration I said 'fuck it" and threw a box of unscanned cookies into our bag.  And then, Tom, my lovely boy, Tom, my 6 foot tall child who has never mastered the delicate art of the whisper, said, and this was my favorite part of the evening, he said, in a voice resonating with self-righteous indignation, "BUT THAT'S THEFT!" And time stood still.  I stared up at him as if he was some as yet undiscovered form of mammal.  I was the scientist who found the first platypus. "But it has a bill?" And then time started up again.
"Yes. It is theft. But they're going to be more concerned with the Homicide. GOTOTHECAR!"

By the time we got back home, I had to go lay on the cool bathroom floor and remind myself why I'd stopped drinking on school nights.

And the whole time John is texting from the hockey game:

Tom, "Cool"
Sam, "Cool"
Me, "So not cool"
Me, "Please stop"

The next day:
John, "Everyone in the arena had these wristbands with LCD lights and they were programed to turn on and off in different colors, making patterns all around the arena. And the ice was a video screen showing the players...."
Me, "Oh, sure, 'cause that's important.  Meanwhile the self-checkout machines are running on software from the Reagan Administration."
It is time to retire.