Seen and Heard: the company you keep

Children should be seen and not heard.

So many adults had or have this mentality pretty much every kid in America knew it by heart.

Kids and adults were often kept separated at parties and family events. It had its perks, but yesterday I was reminded of something.

We sometimes worry about P being an only child. Almost none of our friends have kids P’s age, and those who do live an hour across town, so she doesn’t get to spend much time playing with friends outside school.

So when, at five-and-a-half, she’s the only kid at a pool party, and all our adult friends take turns hanging out and playing with her, it stands out as being particularly awesome.

Sitting outside on the patio, watching The Rundown by the pool, an hour past bedtime, she wasn’t just a kid–she was part of the crew.

I’ve seen this before. That little girl had to work and missed the party, but her husband was there and it was really cool seeing he and P just sitting at the edge of the pool talking like anyone else.

Children should be included. I’m glad the company I keep treats my kid like she belongs there.

You never go “Full Pajero.”

But that’s what we did this past weekend.

I left work Friday, drove straight to Josh’s place in Mesa, and had dinner. And then we began removing Fezzik’s tired, leaky, smokey engine.

As usual, Fezzik drug his feet. We broke the last of the bellhousing bolts loose a little after 3AM Saturday morning. After a quick strategy sesh, we called it a night.

By 10AM, we were caffeinated and back at it in the shop. The engine came out soon after.

We pressure washed this. We painted that.

Due to a slightly confused part supplier, the heads weren’t ready, so we had to make a run up to Keith’s shop of Mitsubishi wonders to finish and clean them up for final assembly.

I thought we’d have the new engine stabbed by sundown Saturday. It was mostly assembled on the stand by 3AM Sunday morning when we decided to hold another strategy sesh and get Sunday scheduled.

I’d planned on being done by Sunday morning, allowing for some much needed sleep, breakfast, maybe even a brief trail run before getting home to V&P sometime between noon and 3PM.

You know, because it was Mother’s Day (and V is a Badass Mother).

Josh and I got Fezzik running again around 11PM. After the test drive and cleanup, I hit the road for home. Only took about an hour.

I finally crawled into my own bed at 1:39AM Monday morning.

My alarm went off at 5, 6, 6:30.

We went “Full Pajero.”

Americana: Bleach & Cat Food

A man walks through the front door with a gallon of bleach in his right hand, a bag of cat food and a vape pen battery in his left. He walks across the living room, directly into the kitchen. He sets the cat food on the counter, the bleach on the glass stovetop. He then leaves the kitchen, walking into the bedroom to plug in the battery for the night. As he does, he thinks, “If I wear clothes I care about, I’ll fuck up and ruin them for sure.”

He returns to the kitchen a minute later and carefully opens the bleach. Wearing only his underwear, he removes the seal without losing a drop. Not that he doesn’t care about his underwear. It’s just that, damnit, you gotta draw the line somewhere.

Wanting to be as close to the front door as possible when he’s done, he leaves the kitchen and goes directly into the master bathroom. He pours a little into the second sink, then the first, then the tub, and then the toilet. And then he loosely places the cap on the bottle and makes his way to the front bathroom—right outside the kid’s room.

He quietly closes the door behind himself, turns on the light, and does another pour into the sink. Another for the tub. And one for the toilet, 2000 Flushes be damned!

“And so it begins, with the bugs. Again.” He thinks, “I hate this time of year.”

Everyone terrified by the big cockroach casually crossing the living room floor not an hour ago is already fast asleep. Meanwhile, high on life, 40-something man in his underwear begins his annual chemical warfare campaign against the foul depths of the sewer system. Or the hoarder lady next door’s house of moaning felines.

“Not on my watch.”