I ventured into the big city this morning to do a few errands, and found an address which took me waaayyy into West Valley. I had to wind around the train tracks, and double back several times to an area filled with industrial buildings and deserted lots. I was a little unnerved as I read a bit of the graffiti, and had a fresh image of a patient that I had recently taken care of who was severely beaten by a West Valley Gang called, The Baby Regulators. I swear that is their real name. I laughed until the PoPo that was investigating, showed me a laminated copy of known "Baby Regulators." The sheet was similar to the old Guess Who game, except instead of friendly neighborhood people lined up, it was row after row of enormous Polys' with their warrants and nicknames under each picture.
After convincing myself that I was deep in "da hood", I dialed 9-1-1 on my cell just in case, and kept my eyes straight ahead, so as not to discover any lifeless hooker legs sticking out of the tall grass. Dyl, and Ems were along for the adventure, but lost deep in the movie they were watching. Dylan only broke his concentration a couple of times, to ask me why we kept turning around. Eventually, I found the tiny trailer I was looking for. I didn't travel all the way out to the Valley for crack, or Aqua Net and black eyeliner, none of the things they are famous for. I just needed to pick up some stone caps for our landscaping, and that's when I met Donny.
If a Monster Truck groupie and a farmer had a baby, it would be Donny. Donny was as nice as he could be,if a little odd, and as he looked up our order, we had a riveting conversation about bucking hay. As he told me his experiences, I made the mistake of saying that he was lucky he had a conveyor for haying. At the risk of sounding elderly, I told him that we always did it old school, with a pair of gloves, some twine and a flat bed trailer. He got all fired up saying, he still had to STACK it, IN the BARN, AND he had ASTHMA, and YADDA yadda. Regardless of who had it worse, (I'm saying me) the dueling banjos that were softly playing in my subconscious when I met Donny, were now at full blast, and I figured it was time to get back in the truck, and make my way over the freeway.
Safely on the east side, we continued on with our errands, including Costco, where Emma ate her weight in exotic cheese samples, and Dylan added approximately a thousand dollars worth of toys to his Christmas wish list. I thought about demanding to see the manager, and asking, why the hizzle, at a store that sells 45 rolls of toilet paper in a single package, can't offer a fountain Diet Coke bigger than 16 freaking ounces? I ended up just buying three, and deciding it was a battle for another day.
Daveskins called me as we were making for the mountains, and suggested we have a date night. I was all for it, and by the time we pulled into our driveway, I had my heart set on the Brew Pub, and a seven-fifteen showing of Couples Retreat. I am not sure why we never learn, but 4:00 on a Friday afternoon, is a terrible time to find a babysitter. Even the "last resort" sitters are all taken by then, and that was certainly the problem I ran into.
In my depression, I relented on some Wii time for the Hoodlums, and as they scampered up the stairs, I fell back into the couch, misty-eyed and deep in self-pity. When Dave arrived home, I broke the bad news to him, which was lightened considerably by Dylan walking through the room with a three foot piece of tape and scrap of paper stuck to his nose. He is such a funny kid. He had a completely straight face and just kind of gave us a "what's up" nod. I complimented him on his trunk, and he just gave me another nod.
With nothing in mind for dinner, and the Brew Pub, not so much a "kid place," Dave suggested The Silver Summit Cafe. I've never been there before, but it sounded familiar, and it all became very clear when Dave said, "You know, it's in the gas station by Home Depot." I can't say my depression didn't get a little deeper, as I envisioned all of us huddled around a wiener warmer at the gas station, ready-ing our buns for some delicious hot dog dinner. Dave was persistent though, and kept sing-songing stuff like, "It's really good food." and "They have fry sauce on each table." I finally told him to cool it, that he had me at 'lets go to dinner.'
The kids were starving, and let us know it about every five minutes, on the way to dinner. It probably had more to do with it being pitch dark at 6:00 than actual hunger, since I know Dylan and Emma had been snacking on candy all day from a secret stash that I cannot find. We were all talking and singing along with the music, when Dave slammed on the brakes, as a big horned deer came into the headlights. As soon as he pressed on the brakes, Emma came flying through the back, still buckled into her car seat, and hit the center console with her chest. It scared the shizz out of all of us, especially Em. No one was hurt, but Dave and I were completely sick about it. One of the boys must have mistakenly unlatched her seat belt in the dark while they were rooting around for their own. Luckily, the deer was fine too. Although he disappeared under the front of the truck, he must have pulled out some magnificent tuck and roll maneuver, and walked away calmly through the pasture.
We cautiously continued through Browns Canyon, and as Dave was pointing out some other road kill we were passing, we felt another bump bump under the tires. I am not a card carrying member of PETA, nor do I own a pet, or even have an overwhelming love of animals; but I did feel a little unsettled at all the lives that were lost, or nearly lost, during our pursuit of dinner. Gratefully, nothing takes the sting of death away, better than fry sauce, and just as Dave had promised me, there were bottles of it everywhere.
I had to laugh at him, as his eyes rolled back in his head when the kids ordered fruit, instead of fries, at the cafe. He is just a great enough dad, to let them order their fruit, knowing full well, that they will just eat his fries as they want too. The kids were hungry and they polished off their dinners and half of ours. The food was good, and as the only diners in the whole place, we were able to relax and talk and laugh, without worrying about disturbing anyone else.
One of my favorite things about my husband is his sense of humor. Dave makes me laugh hard, every day. After being together for 13 years, I have deciphered his different laughs, and the one I like the least, is the laugh I get when he is pretty much calling me on my bull crap. As we lounged over dinner, I mentioned that I bought some boxed mixes of different Christmas cookies, that I could bake and take around to our neighbors during the holidays......
Sure enough, out came the laugh. It is a little forceful at first, like I take him by surprise, and then it lasts and lasts, and sometimes, if he thinks I am totally ridiculous, he shakes his head too. It's hard on me, because I'm always saying, "What?...........What?.............What?" and finally I start laughing too, which sucks, because it is like admitting defeat. Of course I am not going to take crap to our neighbors, even at Christmas, cause that's just not my bag. But what if I wanted to turn over a new leaf?
Once he got control again, he did offer, that if I didn't want the neighbors to die of shock when I "brought them some cookies" maybe I should start out light, with a wave now and then, or not obviously avoid people in the store, ect... Whatever.
Hoodlums along, or not; great restaurant, or just a place a place that calls for 'gas station casual' a.k.a sweats; Dave is the key to my contentment. He loves me, he "gets" me, he laughs at me, and with me, and I hope I do the same for him, 'cause I love him a lot. The night turned out just right, and we made the whole drive home without killing any more animals.
4 years ago
You never disappoint...Love you. Mom
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