bad movies and debatable lunches

Every city has an Achilles heel, right?  (Except London, maybe?)  When I lived in San Francisco, I realized it is pretty close to perfect.  Except for the outrageous cost of living.  Oh, and the ever-present threat of a devastating earthquake.

Austin often seems perfect, as well.  And then it's 104 in the summer and you think, "Oh, Austin is perfect except for the heat.  Well, I can go get a frozen margarita and handle that."

By January, you feel smug because you only have to read about the "polar vortex" or whatever the hell is dumping feet of snow on my sister and friends back East.  You text them, "How much snow?"  "Are you OK?"  And then you put your flip flops back on because it's Austin.

But then cedar happens.  Mountain Cedar trees pollinate from mid-December until early March, and they hit their highest levels in January.  The wind blows the pollen off the trees in clouds, and misery ensues.

Not even kidding.

If you live in Austin, just skim this because you already know all the pain.  For the rest of you, cedar means wheezing, snorting, your nose running off your face, clearing your throat and/or coughing so often that you no longer realize you are doing it, buying ONLY the Kleenex with lotion or aloe in them, and comparing notes with everyone about what you're taking versus what they're taking in case you need to switch.  (Note to self:  Buy stock in Flonase.)

When you are wheezing and snorting and 7 months pregnant, this trifecta means you are not taking your energetic almost-four year old outside as much as you should.  Because, self-preservation.  It does mean that you start exploring indoor activities with determination.

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Jack and I went to see The Nut Job last weekend.  You know, the one about the squirrels to decide to do a heist of a nut store? 

Don't worry if you don't.  It is bad.  It is a bad movie.  Jack didn't even like it.  

Halfway through he turned to me and said, "Momma, can we go home?"

And since we were at Alamo and I hadn't gotten the check yet, I said no, but that speaks volumes, dude.

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I tried to up my game on Monday, when Jack and I were both off for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  I took him to a "jumpy place" so that he could GET IT OUT while I was safely indoors, blowing my nose and following him around from foam pit to inflatable slide.

That was a success.  He loved it.  He GOT IT OUT.  And then, it was time for lunch.

We went to Whole Foods because I needed a few things.  And, I love eating lunch at Whole Foods.  We picked up our supplies and then grabbed food.

Jack chose some cantaloupe, a slice of pepperoni pizza, and a chocolate cookie.  Oh, and a can of sparkling water, which he calls "bubbles."

Life was good.

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On the drive home, I was feeling good.  Accomplished, even, in that way that only the mother of a small child can feel accomplished when you've pleased them without spending one zillion dollars or losing your mind.  In that way that even involved fruit and exercise!  In that way that knows that "Nap" is the next event on the agenda and that sounds damn good, too.

A voice interrupted my self-congratulatory reverie from the backseat.

Jack:   Momma, I wanted to eat lunch AT A RESTAURANT.

Me:    (making the split-second decision to be just a tiny bit deceptive)  We did!

Jack:   No, we DIDN'T.

Me:    (Thinking - True!  Well, shit.)  Well, what do you call that place where we had lunch?

Jack:   (I swear to you he SCOFFED.)  Momma.  We ate lunch at the SUPERMARKET.

[pause]

Me:    Well, that's one of my favorite places to eat lunch.  So, I guess that's that, isn't it?

[no comment]

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Hope your city is pretty perfect today, your movie choices are solid, and your lunch is just where you want it to be.

Talk soon,

Heather