Adventures in escaping the heat.

A few weeks ago, when the temperature started climbing into the 90's inside, James and I spent a day taking the kids out and avoiding our apartment. We were in the middle of an adventure at Verizon when Ethan started repeating the phrase "yucky, yucky poopy." He says that whenever he needs a diaper change, regardless of the nature of said diaper. It had been so hot that we had been pushing fluids into them, and Ethan's diaper was a little worse for the wear. I got to the car and discovered there were no diapers in sight. Ethan and I trooped over to the neighboring gas station, where they stocked size 3 diapers and nothing else. That might have covered one of Ethan's butt cheeks. Maybe. We wandered over to Kmart, which was just a little further, and decided to call James. Except that his phone was being serviced. So here we are, hurrying through the store, over in the pharmacy section. We find all sorts of baby wipes, but no diapers. I did glance briefly at the small adult diapers, but only because I felt *so* bad for my little squishy butt. I can't even imagine how awful it would be to be swimming in your own pants.

We finally asked an employee, who directed us to the infant clothes section. Who'da thunk it.

I selected my little package of Luvs, and decided to tuck away into the back corner to change him there. When I crouched down and pulled off Ethan's little pants, I discovered his diaper had already fallen off. Seeing as we had walked through half of the store, and James was certainly worried about where we were, we had to forgo an extensive search. We did give it a half-hearted look-around, and vowed never to show our faces there again. I still feel bad for the poor person who ended up discovering the aftermath of 3 hours worth of forced beverages.

"Frump Girl."

I frequently find myself thinking of that scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, when Toula mentions her "frump girl" phase to Ian. She is referring to most of her entire life. I feel her pain. Like, the other day when we decided to take the boys to Kohl's. I was wearing some ugly T shirt, and a pair of khakis I've had for years, and feeling like a mighty frump girl myself. James suggested I buy some new clothes while we are at Kohl's. Usually, the boys interfere quite devastatingly with clothes shopping, but this time James kept them occupied in the toy aisle. We left the store a little while later in search of dinner. We decided on Uno, and I told James I was debating on changing into a new outfit in the bathroom. He suggested just changing quickly in the car. I tried to play a little game I like to call "Mirror mirror on the wall, which choice is most ghetto of all?" I pictured myself walking in and changing in the bathroom. Awkward, ghetto. Same thing for the car. Same thing for wearing said t shirt and khaki's. Once we pulled into the parking lot, I realized it was extremely dead. I changed my mind and decided that changing in the car was a fairly safe alternative. In the past, when I have done such costume changes, I've always screwed myself over trying to do it slowly, delicately, discretely. This time I decided to just do it quickly. As soon as I whipped my shirt off, a girl appeared out of nowhere. She of course owned the car next to mine. She stared right at me as I helplessly threw my t shirt back over the front of me. She wasn't leaving the restaurant; she just spent 3 minutes looking for something in her car before going back inside. I suspect she wanted to find her digital camera to take a picture for failblog. Anyway, she finally left (picture 3 minutes of sitting awkwardly in your car with your shirt hastily thrown over the front of you). Once I was decently covered, my first order of business was to send James a text. "WORST IDEA EVER."

Just desserts.

After dinner tonight, James started loading a game of Peggle. I informed him that I would not be interested in Peggling until we had some kind of dessert. He was amenable at first, until he saw me looking up the hours for Biscotti's. "You aren't going all the way to Biscotti's, are you?!" He informed me that what I think is a ten minute drive is really 20 minutes one way, plus 20 minutes of me gawking at desserts, and if i leave now I will be wanting to go to bed by the time I get home. I sighed and split the last slice of Carvel ice cream cake (I get the top half, he gets the bottom half), and we commenced in our Peggling adventures.

Hours later, someone commented on my buddy's wall that they have been filming Hell's Kitchen at Dinosaur BBQ today. Of course there was nothing along these lines on any Google search (I should have checked Twitter), and he persuaded me to go check it out. I was 400 feet away when James called to say that it is actually Man V. Food that has been filming all day. Not that either of us really thought Gordon Ramsay would really be in Syracuse, but it would have been cool.

"Should I still go in?"

James says I totally should, and please bring home some macaroni and cheese.

In my haste, I had taken James' cell phone instead of mine, and left my ipod charging at the computer desk. I wasn't really sure what to do with myself for 20 minutes while they prepared our food, so I made up an excuse to call James. "Hey, are you interested in a Boylan's soda?" Yeah, that was a dumb question.

He asks me a question of equal value, however. "Hey, did you get me some kind of meat too?"

"What are we, newlyweds? Would I seriously come home from Dinosaur with just a styrofoam cup of macaroni and cheeses?"

I also treated myself to a Dinosaur brownie. Total win. Even if I didn't get to share it with the most amazing British Chef ever.