April's Real Blog

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Dad's abs R relaxing

I'm still @ Mike an' Dee's place until Mike an' Dee get back from their no-kid Mexico vacation. We're having Belgian waffles 4 brekky and Merrie's talking abt how glad she is that we have a break from all the foto-reminiscing. Robin is playing w/his food. Oh, and Mom was just here. So U know that means I hadta make a second batch of waffles after she left, yo!

Yeah, so Mom was here 2 goss abt Dad. When he got up this morning, all scratching his butt (yuck), and then brushing his teeth, Mom decided 2 pt out, "Wow. U're getting quite a paunch there, honey!" And Dad protested,"What paunch? I don't have a paunch!!" Then she sed that he strained 2 suck in his gut, while closing his eyes. And w/his eyes still shut, he was all, "What I have is relaxed abdominals. All I have 2 do is tighten the abs a bit! It doesn't take much 2 flatten this out. ....Just a few specific exercises. When I'm ready, I'll go down 2 the gym and take care of it." Then she sez that he finished brushing his teeth (still w/his eyes shut), and she's pretty sure that he was thinking, "There's nothing wrong w/relaxed abdominals. ...If it was an actual PAUNCH, I'd B worried abt it."

As Mom was getting ready 2 leave, brushing the waffle crumbs from her mouth, shirt, and pants, Merrie asked, "Do U have relaxed tushy muscles, Grandma Elly? And relaxed tummy muscles, relaxed hip muscles, and relaxed thigh muscles?" Mom was like, "::sob:: It's Connie's fault! She hasn't made me jog l8ly!" And she ran off in a tiff. Merrie can B kinda awesome sumtymez!

Apes

Edit: Weird thing just happened. I M still @ Mike an' Dee's place, w8ing 4 them 2 return fr. their trip. Just now, I went 2 use the washroom, and as I was checking my hair in the mirror, I noticed my reflection not doing what I was doing. Instead she, like breathed on2 her side of the mirror, like 2 cloud it up. And then, she wrote: ".noos pleh ry deen etim I tub ,emit hcum evah t'nod I. emit erom eno ereh kcehc d'I toht tub pu evag tsomla I !erehwyreve U rof gnikool neeb ev'I .R U ereht ,apriL"

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5 Comments:

  • At 1:58 PM, Blogger DreadedCandiru2 said…

    There are some muscles your folks exercise quite regularly, the ones in their right arms as they load fatty food into their gaping maws and their jaws as they chew their cholesterol-laden repast. Don't know why they bother though. There's enough grease in their food that it'll slide on down their esophagi lickety-split.

     
  • At 3:00 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    consider yrself lucky that u didn't hafta c my mom scarfing those belgian waffles that i'd made 4 the littles. i felt i hadta shield their eyes, even tho they've seen my mom eat. cuz she literally scooped the food fr. plates i had put out 4 merrie and robin!

    apes

     
  • At 3:05 PM, Blogger DreadedCandiru2 said…

    All the while making a noise that sounds like a gorilla eating a log cabin, I'll bet. She may get all shirty when other people eat like the Tasmanian Devil but it's the same deal as Liz correcting people's grammar when she speaks barbarous English.

     
  • At 3:39 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    yeah, mom notices other ppl's flaws, but never her own.

    apes

     
  • At 2:19 AM, Anonymous michael patterson said…

    April,

    Formerly little sis. Deanna and I are finally back from our kid-free vacation to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and if Deanna tells you our next vacation to Mexico will be with the kids, don’t believe her. Just because the Hotel Riu Vallarta had a pool set aside just for kids, and activities just for kids and daily excursion trips just for kids doesn’t mean that we should take kids along. After all, if my kids were there, I would not have gotten so much written about Leonard Driscoll and his adventures in my second novel Breaking the Windjammer. There is nothing like sitting on an ocean beach all day long with a laptop to fire the imagination of a novelist trying to understand a sailor’s life and the spectacular need the sailors had for a good sunblock. We also took the Pirate Ship excursion during one of our days there and I discovered that pirates, aside from being a bloodthirsty lot, also had quite a business in selling pirate t-shirts and other paraphernalia. Imagine how authentic my book is going to be, chocked full of these kinds of details.

    In the meantime, I was able to get back to doing photo reminiscing with my daughter today, after I convinced her that there was not actually going to be a quiz if she didn’t do it (What were you telling the girl, formerly little sis?), but that she would not get her authentic pirate t-shirt Deanna bought for her, unless she did. There is nothing like a t-shirt with a skull-and-crossbones on it to inspire a young girl to look at old photos.

    The violent nature of the pirate life in Mexico reminded me a lot of the more violent aspects of Grampa Jim back during my trip to visit him in Vancouver all those years ago. I told my daughter that Grampa Jim was notorious for threatening to blow up things to get his way, and back in those days I believed he was a demolitions expert in World War II. These days I know he spent his time repairing airplanes in WWII and never saw any action himself, but as an impressionable 6-year-old, when Grampa brings out the dynamite and the plunger with the line, you are inclined to believe him. Why he had that stuff in his garage I still do not know. I do know he kept it in a box labeled “Parenting Equipment.”

    In the first picture I am sitting on the floor in front of the television, grasping my knees in fear at the disturbing programming on the television which was known as 1970s Vancouver local kids programmes. It was something with a puppet and a stick. It was terrifying and the picture shows my terror quite clearly. Grampa Jim approached with a book in his mutilated left hand and said, “Hi there, Mike---What do you say we read a book?” I told my daughter I remembered my response clearly. It was, “You want me to say we read a book?” Then my Grampa Jim said, “No. What do you say we read a book?” Then I said, “I think I would say ‘We read a book’ or do you mean in some other kind of language?” Then Grampa Jim said, “No. Not another language. I mean what do you say we read a book?” Then I gave up trying to understand him and said, “I’m watching this horrifying Vancouver kids programme.”

    In the next picture, it showed Grampa Jim giving me his response, “You can watch that any day!---How often do you and I read a story?” I told my daughter I remembered my response clearly. It was, “Every day we’ve been here.” I reminded my daughter that just last week I showed her a picture of Grampa Jim reading Lizzie and me a story. She said, “Grampa Jim must have forgot.” I said, “Right, daughter. Every day, a story with Grampa Jim and they were these long books that lasted for hours. “Real Estate Investment for the Elderly” or “So, You’re Thinking about Dying.” It was great to have a break with a television programme, even if it was a scary Vancouver kids’ programme.”

    In the next picture, Grampa Jim is in his chair with Lizzie and me and a book cutting off our ability to breathe, as Gramma Marian came up and said, “Well, I see Grampa hasn’t lost his touch!” My daughter said, “That’s Gramma Marian?” I said, “I think so.” My daughter said, “How can you tell?” I said, “She’s carrying her coffee in a coffee cup with tray and not a coffee mug.” My daughter had to concede the point. It was obviously not mom.

    In the next picture we see Lizzie and me looking worried as Grampa Jim has a thought balloon going, “Because Grampa just threatened to blow up the T.V.” I remember that sense of worry which continued for most of the rest of my visit. Grampa Jim attaching the dynamite and the plunger to the television, and my protests of “No, Grampa. I don’t want to read the book about early retirement planning again!” Eventually the threats by Grampa won out. After all, I was only 6-years-old and not old enough to realize that Gramma Marian would beat the stuffing out of Grampa Jim if he really blew up the television. These days Grampa Jim is an old man who curses like an airman, because he supposedly has no control over his speech. Back in those days, Grampa Jim was simply the kindly old nutcase, who cursed like an airman and who thought nothing about pulling out dynamite and a plunger to make a point about the importance of reading.

    Well, it’s good to be back from Mexico and I look forward to sharing more experiences with you, as the week progresses.

    Love,
    Michael Patterson

     

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