We ordered our dinner, including “two tacos with ground beef and cheese,” for Calfgrit6, and “flour tortillas” for us all to share. A few minutes later, the waitress brought a bowl of chili con carne to the table. Huh? She had misunderstood “flour tortillas.” So she took the chili back and eventually brought our tortillas. Mistakes happen; not a big deal.

Then when our meals were ready, another waiter brought out our plates. When he set Calfgrit6’s plate down, it had two flat tortillas with lettuce and cheese on it. “What’s this?” I asked.

“Soft tacos,” the waiter answered.

“Um,” I said, “he’s supposed to get a couple of hard-shell tacos.”

“Oh,” said the waiter, “OK.” He took the plate away.

A minute later, it dawned on us that since the soft tacos had lettuce and no beef, the hard-shell tacos they bring out will probably be the same way: wrong. It took another minute or two to flag our waitress down, but I explained the mix up and asked that she check on the tacos.

A few seconds after the waitress left, another waitress brought a plate of hard-shell tacos to our table. “Refried bean tacos?” she asked.

My wife and I shook our heads. “No,” I said, “they’re supposed to be ground beef and cheese.”

“Oh,” said the waitress, “OK.” She took the plate away.

A couple minutes later, after Calfgrit6 started filling up on chips, our original waitress finally brought the correct meal: two hard-shell tacos with beef and cheese. It was such a simple, basic order. Imagine if we had ordered something complicated, or not on the menu.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

The boys are now sleeping in the same room, together, in bunk beds. We ordered the beds back in October, and the salesman said it would take two to three weeks to get them in. In the fourth week, I called and checked on the order. I called again in the fifth week. They finally arrived in the sixth week. I’m very annoyed at that. It completely screwed up our plans.

I put the beds together, myself. The boys were very excited about getting the bunk beds, and they were very anxious to help me. They got all giddy when we finally arranged everything in the room, with the mattresses made up and ready for sleeping. We got them in bed at 7:00, but it took another 10 minutes to actually get them settled and turn out the lights.

It was decided that I should sit in a chair in the room with them until they fell asleep. There was no way the two of them would stay calm if left together, alone. In the shadows of the night light, I kept reminding them to be quiet, lay down, and be still. They fed off each other’s actions and sounds:

Calfgrit6: <turn over>
Calfgrit3: “He’s making noise.”
Me: “Shhhhh.”
CG6: <cough, cough>
CG3: <cough, cough>
CG6: <giggle>
CG3: <laugh>
Me: “Boys, be quiet.”
CG3: <tap, tap, tap>
CG6: “Stop that, you’re keeping me awake.”
CG3: “Sorry.”
CG6: “Goodnight, Daddy.”
CG3: “Goodnight, Daddy.”
Me: “Goodnight, boys, for the tenth time.”
CG6: <sits up>
Me: “Lay down.”
CG6: <lays down with a thump>
CG3: <sits up>
Me: “You lay down, too.
CG3: <lays down with a thump>
CG3: <cough, cough>
CG6: <cough, cough>
. . . on and on and on and on.

After about 10 minutes, they had both coughed enough that I thought medicine was necessary. I stepped out of the bedroom for a moment to tell Cowgrit the boys needed medicine for coughing. I added, in a whisper, “And it might make them fall asleep, too.”

Cowgrit smiled and said, “Okay. I’ll get some medicine for their ‘cough.'” She made the quote signs with her fingers. She brought two doses of cough medicine into the room and the boys drank them.

As she was leaving the room, she said, “That should help them stop ‘coughing.'” Again with the finger quotes.

The boys continued their quiet noises and talking for another 20 minutes before they started showing signs of winding down. Whether the medicine helped put them to sleep or not, they did finally get quiet and still by 7:45. I gave them another five minutes just to be sure, and then I left the room.

“They really were coughing,” I explained when I walked into the den.

“I know,” said Cowgrit. “I heard them. I was just joking with you.”

“Okay. Good,” I said. But I wonder how long it would have taken for them to fall asleep without the medicine.

We went to bed soon there after, ourselves; we didn’t know what the night would have in store for us, and we prayed the boys would sleep till at least 6:00 am. We dreaded the distinct possibility that we’d hear laughing at 4:00.

* * *

At 3:00 am, both boys came into our room. “He woke me up.” I don’t remember which one said it.

We got them both back in their beds, and we went back to our bed. A few minutes later, we could hear them giggling. So I went back to my guard duty in their room. They tossed and turned and whispered for an hour, until we decided to take the most troublesome boy out of the room. Calfgrit3 went to sleep with Cowgrit, in our bed. I went to the sofa.

Calfgrit3 woke up at 6:00, and our day started. The first night with bunk beds was . . . tiresome.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Zingers are like Twinkies (yellow cake with white stuff in the middle) but with a yellow icing on top. I used to love them as a teenager; I’d eat them after school or after work with a carton of milk. After my teenage years, I lost track of the snack for a decade or so. Then a few years ago, I rediscovered them in a convenience store I had stopped at on my way back from my hometown.

Then they became a regular ritual, of a sort, while driving to and from my hometown. Not every store carried them, so I had to remember where I’d found them along the route. It became a game of a sort. Eating a pack of Zingers (three cakes) was something I had to do either coming or going, or I felt like I was missing something in my journey.

But after a couple years of this ritual, it started to dawn on me: they really aren’t as good as I remember. They weren’t worth the effort I was putting into finding them. I didn’t want to give them up because they were a little connection I still had with my youth, and rituals (habits) are hard enough to break without the nostalgia hook. But over the past year, I’ve found myself only eating one or two of the three cakes.

Eventually I did break the habit, and I just gave up on them. But after several months without one, I’d forget why I stopped getting them, and I’d get another pack. I did that the last time I came home from my hometown. I ate the first one and actually found it disgusting. I felt sad about it. I wanted so much to like them, but I really couldn’t fool myself any longer.

I think that last taste has probably cemented the resolution to just leave them alone forever. I’m disappointed and saddened to give up on a taste from my youth, but either the cakes have gone bad or my taste has changed too much. Either way, I’m letting this part of my youth-extended die off and become just a memory.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

There’s a lot of nastiness about potty training, but even once the child has the procedure understood, there’s a lot of icky stuff about using the toilet. Especially using public toilets.

Calfgrit3 has been reliably using the toilet for several months now, and we’re confident enough that he only wears a diaper or pull up when sleeping. At home, he can use the bathroom on his own, though we do usually need to help him with his pants. When we’re out, though, we have to oversee the whole operation.

Public restrooms are awful. It’s a terrible feeling that comes over me when we’re at some store and he says, “I have to go potty.” My skin crawls and I shiver at the thought of the nastiness that is a public restroom. Even the best restrooms are less than comfortably clean.

When we take him to a public restroom I’m constantly saying, “Please don’t touch that,” while wiping the toilet seat. I take his shoes off, so I can take his pants and underwear off completely. I don’t want his pants, around his ankles, brushing up against the underside of the disgusting toilet bowl.

Wash up afterward is of questionable thoroughness. I hold him up to the sink with one arm, which is not real comfortable for either of us, and I turn on the water, get the soap, and make sure he gets his little hands under the water with the other arm. Considering the conditions of the restroom, I don’t know if washing at the sink is even effective for killing germs.

I try very hard to remember to get Calfgrit3 to use the bathroom at home before we leave for anywhere because I really, really don’t want to have to take him into a public restroom. <shiver> Plleegghh.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com