The last time I hung out with her, I noticed she looked thinner. I didn’t say anything to her. It didn’t occur to me until after the fact that I should mention it.
I relayed my thoughts to Kurt.
“Yep,” he says, “you’re such a guy. I love you. You’re a man with a vagina.”
Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man.
The Kangaroo Climber is currently in the ground floor level room formerly known as The Dog Room or The Mud Room. Either were very fitting names. We kicked the dogs outside entirely. Don’t worry they have the worlds largest dog house, our shed, at their disposal. We washed the mud stain dog silhouettes off the walls and cleaned the floors six times. We also resealed the tile floor, and unlike most times when I say, “we” but mean Kurt, I actually did this stuff.
This room was the coldest room in the house so I wanted a warm color. We painted the ceiling but kept it white and then we moved onto the walls. I realized, while changing out the ceiling vents, that five years ago I put filters over the vents. I don’t remember those filters being quite so thick. 
They started out as paper thin pieces of felt. They now had about a quarter inch of dirt on them and two inches of dog hair above that. Nasty doesn’t quite describe it. After removing the ‘filters’ the room warmed up A LOT, but I stuck with the color I picked out. After applying the new wall color we started calling the room The Mexican Hacienda.
This room leads into the laundry room so we also took to calling it The Mexican Laundromat. While Kurt threatened to paint the trim purple instead of staining it, I threatened to buy a front loading washing machine *pause for effect* in teal. After moving Kurt’s computer into this room, and because of the room’s proximity to the garage, and a bathroom within the laundry room it is currently known as The Man Cave. The man still doesn’t do laundry. I’ve tried.
The man is greatly disturbed by the Kangaroo Climber and says, “it’s not The Man Cave anymore. It’s The Kid Cave.” *insert boo-boo lip* As soon as the weather clears up again (probably this weekend) Sophia’s new toy will go outside as intended. It’ll go next to the 300 square foot patio Kurt worked on for three or four weekends.
My second Mother’s day was very nice, except for the part where Kurt dragged us all down to go test ride a motorcycle while I tried desperately to keep a certain toddler occupied. We left the house late and hadn’t had breakfast so I came up with the grand idea of going to Ihop. We wound up leaving there without eating. Note to self, Ihop is fucking crowded on Mother’s day. And here I thought every other Mother got breakfast in bed. We wound up going to a Chinese buffet since it was so close to lunch time anyway.
After ‘breakfast’ we all went to “look at” a motorcycle. Sophia and I spent a good hour climbing up and down some stairs outside the condos while Kurt and the seller talked motorcycles and not just about the motorcycle for sale. Kurt finally took it for a test ride and I talked to the seller while Sophia climbed all around the inside of the car and into her car seat where she for the first time snapped the shoulder strapped together by herself then screamed because she couldn’t get loose. Kurt eventually came back, chatted more about motorcycles and then agreed to purchase this motorcycle. He now has FOUR motorcycles and he complains about my stuff taking up so much room in the garage. I have a plastic tote of memorabilia, another tote of doggy stuff, a bicycle, and the smallest chest freezer ever made. That’s it.
I told Kurt that for father’s day I’m going to drag him to Babies R Us or some other place of man torture not realizing how tortuous our next stop would be for him. I dragged him to Molbak’s, and I stuck him with the now very sleepy toddler. It’s Mother’s day which means I get a break from being a mommy, right?
I bought a bunch of starters, mulch, lime, and plant food. My cart was loaded with everything needed to start a small herb and vegetable garden which I’ve dubbed my salsa garden.
As soon as we arrived home I took off to the back yard and dug up a patch of grass that was mostly weeds and moss, filled it with about 50% mulch, added lime and plant food, and then inserted plants. So far they’re still alive. We’ll see how long that lasts.
In the mean time, the toddler was catching up on sleep and Kurt put together a very early early early early Christmas present from Kurt’s side of the family to Sophia. The Kangaroo Climber fit together like an easy puzzle, but since there were no tools or other sharp objects to contented with so I worried Kurt may hurt himself on all the rounded corners.
Click on the picture to see video of Sophia on her slide. 
Note to Kurt’s side of the family: This video was taken right after her nap. She played on it all night long until around bed time and then in the morning forwent milk and breakfast to go downstairs and play on her new toy.
For the past nine or so years, they have put out the “What is a mom’s work worth” around mother’s day, and every year Kurt starts ranting as soon as it comes on without even listening to it. He acts like it’s painful to even consider.
Kurt: What about dads? Dads come home from work and then become the handy man, carpenter, landscaper, daycare/babysitter, auto mechanic, and porn star.
Me: *snickering*
Kurt: Don’t laugh, I’m a porn star, and I want to be paid for it!
Me: *laughing*
Kurt: *raised eyebrow* I am a porn star?
Me: Yes, you’re a porn star.
Kurt: Good, you may live.
Now there is a calculator on salary.com to find out what a mom and dad are worth weather they’re stay-at-home or working. I have several beef’s with this calculator however.
May is here and Mother’s day is near. I saw it on the dining table this morning and raced to see what it said. It’s been a long time since either of us left the other an endearing note. I guess I’ll have to settle for less, “Time for flea medicine” is what I get.
Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55′s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.
Our lost marriage certificate was never found. I contacted the judge that performed the ceremony and he in turn contacted the vital records department to find out what to do. The judge received a new license application with our marriage license application number penned in on the top. He filled out his section, I picked it up at the courthouse, and Kurt and I filled out our section. The date used on the new form was to stay the same as the ceremony date and the judge asked that we approximate the date that we first applied for our marriage license on the applicable part of the form. Kurt being the anal retentive pack rat fastidious record keeper that he is looked up the receipt from three months ago and entered the EXACT date in which we filled out the application. We then hunted down our witnesses for their signatures.
Yesterday our adventure took us to the county courthouse. Actually, Sophia and I took a field trip to the vital records department. I walked up to the desk around eleven. There were two people processing the vital records line. Each of them finished with one person and the guy took the person in front of me. I was about the approach the lady when she indicated that the other person would help me. Ok, no big deal. Then she felt bad for some reason and took me before going on break. Because everything had been done according to the directions of the judge, I was confident that all was smooth sailing. Apparently it was an unusual ‘glass half full’ day for me because smooth wasn’t exactly how it went down. Sandpaper in place of toilet tissue, anyone?
I handed the woman behind the counter my newly completed form. The lady stared at the paper and then looked at me, “when was this completed?” she asked. Well, the judge signed this particular paper around the 16th or 17th, then I got my sticky little hands on it and filled out my section on the 20th or 21st. I don’t remember the date the first witness signed it since it was my husbands job to hunt him down but the second witness signed it on the 24th. Why? Isn’t that how this is supposed to work?
I actually explained that the original was lost and the judge had us fill out this new one. She looked at me as if I was crazy. This doesn’t have the header across the top. She looked at me for an explanation. At this point her coworker audibly apologized to her for having her take my case. Asshole. It’s not my fault this became complicated. “That’s the form the judge gave us to fill out.” Saying it felt a lot like using a stupid excuse on a grade school teacher. “But really, the dog did eat my homework.” She shot a look as if to say, “Really? You’re going to stick with the, ‘it’s lost’ story?”
She banged away at her keyboard and then sighed, “I don’t have access.” She told her coworker. He had finished with his customer and joined in with her. Both of them then got up, went in separate directions, and told two different people at the other end of the room. I could hear them say, “She lost her marriage license.” Goddamnit! I wanted to shout that I wasn’t the one that lost it. I don’t know who did, it could have been the judge, the lackey that he had mail it, the various postal workers that handle mail from his courthouse to this one, an internal mail sorter, or someone with in the vital statistics department. We won’t mention the last one to them it may make them cry. I refrained from proclaiming my innocents for fear of being cast in the next Jerry Seinfeld spin off “Mundane Mayhem”, or worse the next Jerry Springer show.
Another employee came up to the woman’s computer and punched some keys. She came back to the desk with the paper I handed to her. “Do you know where the original is?” Are you fuckin’ kidding me lady? If I knew where the original was don’t you think I would have handed it to you? Is there something about the way I look that makes her think I enjoy hanging out at the courthouse making people jump through hoops by telling them I lost a piece of paper that I paid $62 to obtain? I know I live in a podunk saw-toothed mouth-harp-playing hick-town but waiting in lines is still not a pastime I seek out. It really isn’t. Dumbass. I could be at home watching Clifford the Big Red Dog for chrissakes.
Keeping my face a stone like as possible so that my infamous sneer of disdain didn’t become too obvious I simply said, “uumm no”. She looked at me and sighed. Yep, I’m still sticking to my story. It was lost. She went to consult with yet another person and then came back again.
“Ok,” she said, “we’re going to do this for you.” Wow, I feel honored. Truly.
I don’t know why I assumed that there was a backup plan for when situations like this arise. Between all the marriages, divorces and remarriages I would think that someone in the history of the county has had their paperwork lost before. We had the judge call them and they sent him the paper and instructions. One would think that they would make some sort of notation on our file.
This crazy wintery year caused the tulips to become confused and they bloomed very late. There were fears that they would not bloom at all, which would have made for a very boring tulip festival. Every year when we go to the tulip festival Kurt will inevitably spot a Skagit Transit bus with its bold lettering that reads, “SKAT”. He of course feels compelled to read it aloud and snicker like a sixth grader. Tee-hee. SKAT! SKAT! SKAT! This reminded me of another local transit system, the South Lake Union Trolley. Yep, the S.L.U.T. Do you think the S.L.U.T. is into SKAT?
Well we didn’t ride the S.L.U.T. nor get into SKAT to arrive at the tulip festival. I know, we’re boring, but here are some very SKAT-less pictures.
Sophia didn’t want us to put her down at first. Kurt tried to put her on the ground but she just clung to his legs. In order to get her to smile in the pictures we had to pop her thumb out of her mouth. Once we made it to the Tulip Town buildings we were able to have her walk with us. She walked between us and held both of our hands, or rather, our fingers. She had such a death grip on mine that I think she cut off the circulation.
We walked around in the building and then back out to the fields again. The ruts in the field from the trackers were so deep that the poor kid looked like she was goose-stepping into Hitler’s toddler infantry.
Why do they call it an infantry if they’re all supposed to be adults?
All worldly possessions dragged behind. In a tight dress and stilettos, she could barely balance even with momentum. On the way to our ceremony, we saw the lady of the evening walk away from the courthouse.
“She looks like she’s been ridden hard. Over and over again.”
“She probably just serviced the judge” said Kurt.
Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55′s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.
I joined the Navy’s delayed entry program while still in high school. It was my fail-safe ticket out. I was supposed to boot camp in Florida in July. “Are you Fucking kidding me?” I asked the recruiter, “I’m from Alaska. Florida in July my ass!” Instead of being part of the last female companies in Florida, I was sent to Illinois in October to be part of the first female companies there. Our company number was 007 and we played up the whole “Jane Bond” bit including the silhouette of a female detective on our company flag.
Boot camp for the Navy is approximately eight weeks and on the fifth week each company does “work week” where each person is assigned a job that helps process other new recruits. My job as with most others was in the galley. I don’t care how long anyone works in the fast food industry during high school; nothing is worse that working in a boot camp galley. Our only benefit was that our customers were never right and couldn’t complain about the food.
For that week, our reveille time was three in the morning. We had to be at work at three thirty in the morning in order to start serving breakfast at four. Our work time as in actual hours worked in a day would be sixteen long hours of standing. My specific job was as one of the many people standing in line serving slop that passes as food in the military.
In boot camp, each company consists of approximately eighty people. That number varies based on the number of people coming in at one time and people that are set back for failing various parts of boot camp, but for the most part, it’s about 80. Companies that are set to graduate at the same time all compete for badges of group achievements which are displayed at graduation. One of those achievements is to be consistently faster through the chow line than the other companies. This means no one has time to analyze the substances served as food. They must however, shout out to the servers what they want and simultaneously shove their tray under the plexiglass to be served the mystery goop. As food servers it was our job not only to serve the slop but to announce what form of slop was being served in order to help move the line along quickly. Many companies were moved though the line in under two minutes. Eighty people, two frickin’ minutes. Wow.
The Navy of course didn’t use fresh real eggs from actual chickens but whipped up eggbeaters for breakfast. The so-called scrambled eggs were always made the night before and mixed with chopped bits of ham. Real hardboiled eggs that aren’t quickly cooled will get a green film around the yoke. Well, the same thing happens to eggbeaters only it’s all yoke.
I don’t remember if I was assigned a spot in the line or if I always just happened to be the first server in the lineup, which in the morning served the scrambled eggs. They never told us what to say when serving the food, so being a Dr. Seuss fan and of course, a perpetual smart ass I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to shout out exactly what I was serving. “Green eggs and ham! Get your green eggs and ham!” There were many chuckles on the other side of the plexiglass, “Sure, I’ll try some green eggs”. And every morning without fail the Chief would come up to me, “Serving the eggs with attitude?”
Me: *eye flutter* “What do you mean?”
Chiefy: “Green eggs and ham?”
Me: “But they are green.”
Chiefy: “You can’t do that.”
Me: “But it is green eggs and ham. Look, it’s green.”
Amazingly, I passed boot camp without ever being set back. On my way through, I had asked for overseas duty. I never got it. I served in the same state I signed up from and the only sea time I saw was one two-week deployment on the Lincoln (aircraft carrier) going on a training mission from Everett WA to San Diego CA.
It’s the evening and it’s just the two of us. We kiss and joke. We make comments about the day. Our clothes slide off and we cuddle under the covers. Kisses become passionate, and then from the other room we hear, “Da-DEE”. That little shit. Good thing she can’t climb out of the crib, yet.
Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55′s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.