Category: Parents say the darndest things

My parents crack me up

things that can’t be unheard

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I’ve come to the sad realization that my parents have more of a social life than I do. Which on one hand I’m happy for them and all, because they spent 20+ years raising kids and deserve to cut loose, but on the other hand makes me feel slightly pathetic and like I need to launch operation “out-cool kid” my parents ASAP – apologies in advance to Zee German who last weekend announced he hated when it was sunny because it meant I wanted to run around outside chasing one sunny spot to another. HELLO SEATTLE LIFE.

On a side note this kind of reminds me of the Toyota comercials, which I actually think are horrible because they basically market to their audience by telling them they sucked at parenting and their kids are now loosers. And they annoy me.

But back to how my parents are beating me in the cool kid race.

Apparently my parents are now groupies with back to back concert schedules filling their weekends. And while I was listening to them excitedly retell the events of their night with “Motown” musicians (on our way to breakfast), my dad busts in with giggles (yes he giggled, which should have clued me in on the time to plug my ears and sing “na na na na” was upon us) about how they should really call their concert an “intimate concert”. No, no “sensual concert” with lyrics that if you listen closely would be considered porn. Things like “deep inside you is my magic place”. And ding, ding, ding – time for plugging ears has come and gone and I have officially heard my dad giggle, refer to porn, intimate and sensual in the same sentence and state the words “deep inside you”. Things that can’t be unheard.

Breakfast. ruined.

childhood nostalgia and parent traps

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Whenever my mom would make huckleberry muffins it was like Christmas morning. No matter how tired we were, or how much we didn’t want to get up because it meant our last ditch efforts in playing sick would be up, my brothers and I would stampede to the kitchen. And there they’d be in all their huckleberry glory with melting butter (Mom was is a big fan of butter – I’m actually surprised I made it out of the house under 200 lbs.) dripping from there perfectly baked domes.

So this morning I decided to make Zee German (read: myself) some of my mom’s muffins. And though they looked and tasted yummy, they still didn’t produce quite the same mouthgasmic experience as when my mom makes them (I’m pretty sure this may have something to do with an obscene quantity of butter that I’m only okay with if I don’t add it myself). Didn’t crumble in quite the same way, and definitely don’t make me feel warm, safe and giddy as when my mom makes them.

Damn you mom and your magic muffins. I realize this is part of an evil ploy to keep me in driving distance to home. Well played. Well played my friend.