I took the boys to get their haircuts Saturday morning. We let them bring their Nintendo DS games with them so they have something to do while sitting still in the chair and while waiting for their turn in the chair. This time, Calfgrit8 was the first to take the chair, and Calfgrit12 sat on the waiting couch with me.

Within a minute of the stylist starting on CG8, CG12 got up and walked over to his brother. Now, to get there, he had to navigate through two other stylists and customers and the various cords dangling about at the chair stations. He spoke something to his brother, then made his way back to our couch. I didn’t realize what he was getting up for until he was already getting in the way. And it was too late to stop him after he was sitting back down with me.

Maybe a minute later, he got up again to go to his brother. I was distracted with reading at that moment, so, again, I couldn’t stop him before he was walking through the crowd. He again spoke to his brother, said, “OK,” then came back to sit on the couch. That “OK” made me think the conversation was finished.

But another minute later, he got up yet again. This time I stopped him. “Don’t keep going through everyone. Leave CG8 alone to get his haircut.”

He showed me his DS, and said, “But we’re playing together. I need to tell him what we’re going to do next.”

“Well then stop playing together,” I suggested. “You can’t keep walking up there. CG8 needs to stay still for his haircut, and you shouldn’t walk through everyone’s business.”

He gave me some explanation why they had to talk to get their game straight. I sighed, then gave him permission to go up one more time, to finalize things. But I also gave him directions to walk around the stations so as not to get in anyone’s way.

He went around as I told him to, talked to his brother, and then started back to our couch right through the work stations. I was about to scold him for walking back through the stations, but when he was only halfway back, he turned around and went back to his brother.

I slapped my palm to my face. Oh for the love of . . . !

When he came back, I did scold him for walking back through the crowd. His defense was, “But you told me to go that way to go to CG8.” He sat down next to me again.

A minute later, he got up again. But this time I immediately stopped him. “No!” I said. “No more going through everyone’s way.”

“But I’ll walk around,” he said.

“Still no,” I said. “Just sit here.”

He again explained why he needed to talk to his brother because they were playing online together.

I sighed. “Then stop playing together.”

“But if I stop, CG8 will wonder why I’m not helping him.”

“Then quit the game.”

“If I quit it will cut off his game too.”

“Just . . . geez . . . don’t . . . oh my God!” I was at my wit’s end with this. “Just sit here. Do not get up.”

A few seconds passed and CG12 shouted to his brother, “Sorry, CG8, Dad won’t let me play!”

“Don’t shout in here,” I said, barely below yelling at him. I was flummoxed. What in the world?

CG12 sat there and eventually got back into the game — without having to communicate with his brother.

A few more minutes, and it was time to swap turns in the stylist’s chair. CG8 came and sat with me, and CG12 went and sat in the chair.

To catch the problem before it came up, I immediately informed CG8 that he wasn’t to get up and go to his brother. I was still aggravated by having to stop his brother.

He bristled at me. “You don’t have to be so hard on me. Why are you being mean?”

Sigh. I apologized for my tone. But I repeated my instruction to not get up from the couch.

“OK,” he agreed.

A few moments later . . . “CG12! Let’s change games!” he shouted across the room.

My head a’sloded and I collapsed to the floor a quiver pile of insanity.

Bullgrit

This has consistently been one of my best selling t-shirts. Wifegrit just pointed out that, although I created it about a year and a half ago, I never introduced it on my blog. Terrible oversight on my part, that.

So, here it is for official introduction, my “Minions” t-shirt. They’re numbered from 1 to 6. If you have more than six minions, you have an army, and should look into uniforms instead of t-shirts.

Minion T-Shirt

Bullgrit

A year or two, (or longer?), ago, our city opened its first toll road. Fortunately, it’s a way we rarely ever go, so we’ve never given it more than a passing thought. On the rare occasion that we do get out that way, we just avoid the road and take a different path. Supposedly it saves travel time for regular commuters, but we’re not in a hurry to go that direction anyway, so who needs to pay a toll to save five minutes once in a blue moon?

But it is somewhat confusing. There are signs up that way, but they’re not real clear. I mean, you might get going down the highway, and then you see the signs announcing the toll road, but it’s not clear if you are already on the toll road or if there is an exit to take to get off before it. We’ve seen signs saying “Toll Road” suddenly pop up while we’re driving down a road we thought was free, then after we struggle to figure out how to get off, suddenly the signs of “Toll” disappear. We’re left wondering, “What the heck?”

This happened a few weeks ago. I was driving and Wifegrit was navigating, (never a good combination for the two of us), and we had that confusion about how to avoid the toll road. The toll signs appeared for a couple of miles and then they disappeared.  I thought we had avoided the toll, but she thought we had gotten on it for a very short distance. But we didn’t actually “get on” anything, and we didn’t “get off” anything. We just drove straight along a highway we had driven before.

But then about a week later, I got a letter in the mail telling me I owed the toll for using the road. The letter included a picture of my truck using the toll road.

Well, lookie there. Sure enough, I had driven on the toll road. Well, hell, how much did I owe?

45 cents. Forty. Five. Cents.

OK, that’s not bad. What, were we on the road for half a mile? I don’t know.

I had to sign the paper, write a check for forty-five cents, and then place a 46 cent stamp on the envelope to mail it back. Yeah, the stamp more than doubled my toll cost. I imagine the whole billing process must have cost the DOT more than the toll cost just to charge me. I mean, they had to pay postage to get the letter to me to begin with, plus the printing, and the administration, etc. State bureaucracy at work.

Bullgrit

Instead of a birthday cake this year, I asked for Twinkies. And I got them!

I got one first thing in the morning, to eat on my drive to work. Then when I got home in the afternoon, this was waiting for me:

They were delicious! I haven’t had a Twinkie in years, but they tasted exactly as I remembered. Both Calfgrits got to taste them for the first time — Calfgrit8 gave them a thumbs-up, and Calfgrit12 said, “Can I have another?”

It’s the simple pleasures in life that make the world a happy place.

Bullgrit