College Game Day
     I love fall. It took me moving to Houston to realize that. When I was young, I thought of fall in all the negative ways: going back to school, the closing of the pool, leaves dying and the weather getting cold, hinting at the coming brutality of winter. “Winter is Coming” is not only for the Starks. In Iowa, it’s also a thing.

     But, as I’m older, these things are all still true, but I see them differently. College was great, and fall meant tailgating at football games with friends. Even though I was a lifeguard, I never had a pool body, so the pool closing gave me a reprieve to that about that pool body I’d get “next year” as I fill up a second bowl of chili. And that cold weather, well I learned to appreciate those nice cool dry days that aired out the humid swamp ass of August, and allowed me to fully embrace my basic white girl ways, because I like a Pumpkin Spice Latte every now and then. And my plaid blanket scarf and outerwear game is on point.

     When I lived in Houston, I realized all of these things. Around September and October, I would be looking at my friends’ Facebook pages, seeing them opening windows and talking about crock pot chili, and I’m thinking “We still at over 100 degrees and over 80% humidity, I don’t think we’ve ever opened our windows. Chili sounds like the worst thing ever right now.”

     Another reason fall holds a special place in my heart is that a lot of major events in my life have happened when the leaves start to turn. Josh and I started dating in late October, and last year we had our little pumpkin in October. So, in the past couple of years, these cool temps make me feel new again.

     It’s opening day of Iowa State football, and just most college teams in general have their first game today. Josh won’t ever say it, but I think this is his favorite day of the year. It’s like his Christmas, he’s full of innocent childlike optimism, talking about saving money for a trip to bowl game, running wires through our house so we can watch the game on the deck, and smiling when I dressed our son in a ISU football onsie. We try to save the money, knowing full well Iowa State will shit the bed again. Iowa State’s football program often goes the way my pool body goes…glimmers of hope, but not really taking off. So that money will likely turn into flights to Omaha for Christmas, but it’s cute to see Josh so restless, randomly throwing out a wish list for this year. “I really hope the offense can get it together this year.” “We got some new recruits that should really make some plays.”

     Of course I share the excitement. I suggested holding a BBQ, which is our normal mode of celebration, but Josh doesn’t want to be distracted during the game. Bitches still gotta eat though, so I bought some ribs and gave him a time that I wanted them ready, just the three of us. I am cleaning the whole house, every window is open, and I spent a good 20 minutes picking out the right microbrewed ales to try this weekend.  Right now I’m drinking a special birthday edition of Shiner’s Cold Brew Ale, because it’s technically part coffee, and it’s not quite noon yet.

     I think it’s all more fun because we have our son to pass this along to. Josh really wants to take him to a game this year, but I'm being a realist about him staying even remotely still for 4 hours. We have his little ISU umbrella chair all set up in the backyard, and hopefully he can stay awake long enough to watch a quarter and not be a monster.

     Suck it, Panthers.

The Orange Dream

Those who know me well know I don’t like to share things, especially food or drink. I know where I get it. My mom gets flaming mad when my dad declines a drink or a dessert, but then takes a bite or drink of hers. You said you didn’t want any, she would hiss. Why are you taking MINE?

I used to be annoyed by this, but I find myself glaring as Josh takes a sip of my wine after I’ve offered to pour him his own glass. Also, I may offer my coworkers some of my afternoon popcorn, and though I willingly dole some out, I’m dying inside. Yes, I want this whole damn bag to myself. I know how good it smells, that’s one of the reasons I made it.

I grew up with a sister who probably feels the same to this day, as we were often encouraged to share a lot of things, though it often didn’t end well. For Anna’s birthday, she had the Birthday Barbie on her cake. Birthday Barbie’s pretty pink dress went up in flames from the candles (from that old bitches’ entire eight candles, am I right?), and my perfectionist sister desperately tried to trim the scorch marks off her dress, but couldn’t get it even enough and her altered dress looked kind of trashy, even to my careless eyes. But, I still wanted that Barbie, and was encouraged to share.

But, one month later my birthday came, and my Birthday Barbie sat pristinely on top of my unlit cake. My sister, consumed with envy, convinced me to trade her. I think the deal was that I actually wanted to play with my Barbie (shocker I know) whereas hers would be on display in her room like the collector’s item it was. Weirdo.

Anyway, I’m obviously still a little sore about how that whole sharing thing went down. Sharing doesn’t sit well with me.

There are things I knew would come with motherhood, such as my child bursting into the bathroom while I’m doing my business, or attempting to tone down my sailor mouth, but I didn’t think these things would happen so soon. The bathroom thing has already happened numerous times, thanks to the shitty construction of our house, the doors don’t really latch and even my nine-month old crawler can push the door open. As for the sailor mouth, well…using the word “shitty” is an improvement.

On Jim Gaffigan’s “Fried Bread” segment, he talks about eating in his car so he doesn’t have to share with his kids. I thought this might happen when Liam was around aged five, but already, it’s an issue. I splurged on a big box of Blue Bunny Orange Dream bars. Not my favorite treat but hey, 70 calories a bar. It’s been hot and humid for over a week straight and a couple of nights ago I needed an Orange Dream. Of course, Josh wanted a bite, and I encouraged him to get his own goddamn Orange Dream. To which he whispered to for me to watch my mouth. To which I glared at him and politely told him to get his own Orange Dream. He did and offered some to Liam, as we have been instructed to give him whatever we are eating, though I doubt the doctor meant to give him frozen sugar snacks. Which, by the way, feeding a child causes you to face the harsh reality of the garbage you eat.

Liam tentatively put his mouth on the treat, was shocked by the cold and pulled away. Then he tasted the sugar and his face totally changed. As he pulled his little face back to the Orange Dream, I’m like, yep, this is my kid.

I watch this go down and think it’s cute, until two days later when I’m home alone and grab an Orange Dream. I sit on the couch and see Liam lock eyes on it, frozen, with a little toy in his hand. He instantly starts crawling towards me, pulls himself up to standing and puts his hand on my knee and politely opens his mouth, ready for me to share with him. Clearly this has made an impression.

Dammit Josh, this is your fault, I think. He’s so cute. How can I say no? I share my Orange Dream with him. He can’t really chew it yet, but more just slobbers all over it, which secretly grosses me out. I let him mouth it a little bit and throw it away.

Then I go the kitchen and quietly go to the freezer to get one that I can have all to myself. I’m about to close the freezer door when I pause and peek around the door to see Liam has followed me and is standing at the entrance to the kitchen, stuck behind the baby gate. He is zeroed in. He knows what I’m doing. I duck behind the open freezer door and open the Orange Dream and eat it as he makes angry little noises. It’s mean, I know. Part of me is telling myself that I really don’t want to get him hooked on sugar too early, like I am. This is completely true, but also I really just don’t want to share, if we are being really honest here.

Well, guess I’m not winning that mother of the year award, I think. Though, I’m pretty sure I lost my shot at that when I went to his nine month checkup, hung over, in yoga pants, which no makeup and unbrushed hair. To be fair, it was after our first night out without Liam the night before. Why did I agree to an eight am Sunday morning appointment? Of course, my sister told me that doctors respect those Moms actually care enough to show up to their kid’s checkups, so I get a little credit there. I guess I can forgive her for that Barbie thing.

I guess I’m going to have to get used to sharing. But maybe not yet, as I start to play peek-a-boo with Liam around the freezer door and he forgets his rage. The next day, I see a sign on the daycare door that Hand Foot and Mouth disease is going around, and I feel vindicated.

Sorry kid, get your own goddamn Orange Dream.