Throwbacks & Overshare

My dinner tonight consisted of chicken and cilantro wontons, sweet potato fries, and jalapeno hummus. This is what happens when Costco gives out samples. I buy an econo-size bag of frozen wontons. I don’t even know how to eat wontons or what to put them in or with, but good gracious that old lady was convincing.

Guys. I really thought I was being creative with the name “Throwback Thursday”. As it turns out, it’s already being used by those pesky instagrammers (of which I’m one – find me @sarahbrooks13) to showcase vintage pictures. Booooooringggggg.

I prefer showcases awkward encounters instead.

Part 3 stories include:

• the hired mover putting my dying chinchilla out of its misery the day we moved to Tennessee
• Taylor becoming violently ill after the very first meal I cooked as his wife
• Big Brothers Big Sisters pairing me with a Russian child who literally spoke no English
• going to New York City on a week-long mission trip with a group of people from a random Baptist church in Abilene, none of whom we knew
• killing both of my roommate’s fish within 1.5 hours of being in my care

 Get on it. Let’s hear yours.

Overshare

If you know me at all, you know that I insist on talking to anyone with a pulse. (A pulse may not even be a requirement, I’m just not around enough cadavers to know how I’d act.)

Now that I have a baby, it’s gotten much worse. Babies naturally draw strangers close enough for me to draw them into my irresistible web of conversation.

So said baby drew in a couple at Target yesterday that were just ooing and ahhing over the little booger. It started as a conversation about his statistics (name, age, height, weight…the usual) and turned into their reminiscing about their own children.

It was sweet.

Until they launched into a story about their youngest daughter and the boy she met and the pregnancy and the boy’s arrest warrants and the jail time and the suicide note and the train and the failed rescue attempt and the resulting death of both. Yep. My new friends got custody of their grandson when he was 6 weeks old. Very sad story. Very sad indeed.

Buuuut, a little uncomfortable when you have to transition back to shopping. “Wow. Yikes. That’s tragic. Huh. Well, on a lighter note, did you see that the Easter stuff is 70% off? And could you point me in the direction of the peanut butter?”

For sentimental purposes, I shall now provide a recap of the week’s events. And by events I mostly mean pictures of Beckett.

Not pictured: the audible baby toot at Panera that made the 7th grade girl at the table next to us laugh uncontrollably.

I discovered this week that there is an uncanny resemblance between Beckett and the Michelin Man. At least in the appendages.

We spent some quality time in the hallway of Tara‘s house during the severe tornadic activity last week. And by “quality time” I mean that we moved a mattress into the bathtub  to sit under while receiving frantic texts from our husbands telling us to put on our shoes and hold on to the pipes under the sink when the tornado hit.

It obviously didn’t stress Beckett out too much. He got to play with a slew of new toys. While pants-less. What a life.

Beckett’s Easter outfits last year and this year. (Get it?! Last year he was in my belly!!) This year’s outfit, while unbelievably precious, was the most Caucasian outfit imaginable. He even had matching argyle socks and baby Sperry’s. He parked his yacht around back during the service.

A first experience with grass. (Or weeds. Same difference.) I tried to take some cute pictures, but my dog was in the background eating grass then barfing it back up. Moment ruined.