Curly-ism and life-with-Tank moments

Curly-ism:  

Last week I noted that Curly was using a giant plate to make her lunch.  Plastic plates I bought so the kids would not break my real plates, but no one really uses them anymore.  

Anyway, all food groups were represented, which was weird because in our cave of teenagers Curly has learned to eat standing up, a little of this, a little of that.  Wait, sandwich?  What's that?

I asked her:  "What's up with the big ass plate, etc?"  Well, her friend with the gma with the handy pool has twin siblings a year younger and the mom calls all 3 of her kids to the table and passes out their plates with lunch prepared on them.  They all sit down and eat.  At the same time.  Lunch.  Curly apparently witnessed this and her face was all WHO KNEW?

I explained to my youngest-one-in-curls, currently with no knots, that she missed it, we used to do that.  I would make a dozen PB&Js and cut up fruit and dish out goldfish by the handful and slices of cheese and maybe a yogurt all while the gang sat together around a crowded, crayon-strewn, sticky-ass table threatening to poke me with their rounded, plastic flatware if I didn't hurry up with their gruel - this our table, where at least one cup of milk was spilled daily.  

Sorry Curly, but now kids wake up at lunch and make breakfast.  Everything is a free for all.  I am putting cereal boxes away at 2:00.  Dinners are more organized, on certain days, I like to think.  The upside is she has no bedtime - and the rest of this rat-pack used to go to bed at 9 ish at her age and they NEVER watched the kind of movies she is exposed to on the regular.  

She continues to pine away for the glory days lately at lunch:  gets out her big ass plate and makes an organized, uniform, well-balanced lunch and sits at the table alone.  I think this is what experts write birth order books about and why some kids seek therapy, or maybe it's cause those kids were ditched by their mom and bitch sisters when they left to go to the mall.  Just saying.
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Life with Tank:

The key is, don't let your guard down, don't take the bait, and don't take words that tumble from his mouth too seriously:  

#1:  When Ed went to the dealership in late May for the accounting internship interview, he came home to find all of us sitting around the island, chins in our cupped hands, waiting to be told what it was like out there, in the world.  Were there masks?  Did you still shake hands with people?  Was there traffic?

Ed:  Well, two ladies came in to interview me . . . 

Tank (interrupting):  Wait, so did you ask to speak to the man in charge?

He managed to wait until we all stopped in our tracks and stared at him before he busted out laughing.  Thank you Michael Scott for what you have turned my son into.  
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#2:  After work one day Ed was explaining why he was late getting home.  

Ed:  Well, I had to reconcile some of the stuff we had input.

Tank:  Oh, so car dealers work as priests now too.  You reconcile people when they tell you their sins and shit?

(sensing no laughter at this one, Ernie fumbles around in her notebook:  wait the best one is coming, promise . . .)
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#3:  I was racing around trying to get on my zoom call for my writing group in early May.  It was my turn to read 3,200 words and I started dinner a tad late, and  - well, even when I don't have to leave the house I run late.  The things we learn about ourselves during quarantine.  

Anyway, I begged Mini to help me get the zoom set up.  Remember me, the fake 80 year old?  She and Tank came into the study where I plopped on the couch and Mini messed with my laptop (bought to participate in my writing class while I was in Ireland for World Champs that were then cancelled, but that's OK because just telling the kids:  "Can you grab my laptop for me?" makes me feel like a grown up).  Zoom wouldn't let me in without my video being on and it should've just come on but it was being cantankerous and Mini had to go to settings.  Bottom line:  I was late.

Host:  Oh, hi Ernie.  We already introduced ourselves, so go ahead and introduce yourself before we get started.  (I know most of the people, but we introduce ourselves each time in case new folks show up).

Me:  boring introduction . . . while I am saying BLAH BLAH BLAH, Tank is frantically waving a paper at me.  I grab it from him.  He and Mini double over, silent laughing, off camera.

I am up to read first and it is tough to concentrate when Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are hovering in the room trying to make me laugh.  I am waving at them frantically to get the hell out of dodge, while eyeing my self in the laptop to make sure I don't look like I am a lunatic waving frantically.   Eventually they leave and I am stuck wondering if the meeting attendees hate my voice as much as I do for 3,500 words.  

After I read and get my comments and love their ideas and suggestions, I settle back to listen to the next reader.  Then I grab the paper Tank kept trying to hand me.  In chicken scratch he wrote:

Next time they tell you to introduce yourself, say:  Hi, I'm Ernie.  I'm an alcoholic . . . Oh, wait . . . I think I'm in the wrong zoom meeting.

Fortunately I was on mute while the next reader was reading so he didn't hear me burst out laughing.

Tank.  He leaves his crap everywhere, but OMG he is a hoot.  

So I thought I might have space to share a Mini moment, that I sort of 'created' and videoed partly, but that will have to wait.  I know you will be on the edge of your seat until Wednesday.  I can't wait for you to tell me if it was worth the wait.

In the meantime, have you got anything to share about how your older kid got different treatment than the younger kid, organized lunch, or early bedtimes?  Your favorite zoom screw up?