And that was basically the highlight of my weekend. There are few highlights in my work-filled life, as you can no doubt tell by reading this blog. My week pretty much starts Sunday afternoon at the restaurant and ends Friday night, again at the restaurant, interrupted only by time at the office and an hour or two of television and conversation with the kid when I get home. Save for the occasional dinner or drinks with friends and that little bank-robbing gig I have on the side, the only real highlights, the two things I look forward to with any sort of fervor are Thursday nights when The Office and 30 Rock are on, and Monday night, when I come home after my fourteen hour day and watch Heroes.
It's an exciting life, I know.
In order to catch Heroes though, I have to depend on my son to tape it. Yes, tape. We are one of the last families to still own and actually use a vcr. And because I have still not unpacked all the boxes from our move, I haven't yet found the remote control for said vcr. I did the responsible thing and packed all remotes in one box before the move. I even marked the box to avoid all of this hunting, but when I unpacked the box I found controls for the tv, my son's tv, the stereo, an air conditioner I no longer own, another stereo, an old dvd player that no longer works, my son's PS2, another remote for the tv, and an orb-shaped remote control with two buttons. I have no idea what it operates. But no vcr remote, which means I can't use the timer function on the vcr.
Thus, I am dependent on my son to turn on the machine and hit the record button at 9pm each Monday evening. This sounds like a simple enough task . . .
Last night the restaurant was dead so I was cut from the floor early, early enough to make it home by nine. But the kid was running low on deoderant (again, my life is exciting) and he'd used up all the ketchup and so had refused to eat anything in the house for two days, so I stopped at the grocery store on my way home. And I'd had to pick him up early from school yesterday because his "stomach was about to explode" which I think was code for "I want to go home and play with the kittens," but I bought it, and since he'd been "sick" all day, I ran through the drivethru because he'd said something about wanting french fries the night before. And I stopped to fill up with gas and picked him up a soda. Because he's my son. And I love him. And I do things for him. Because I care.
And when I made it home a few minutes before ten, I handed off all his goodies and settled into my chair, ready to stare at my favorite flashing lights. And he stared at me in horror when I asked him to put the tape in for me.
I just sighed.
He moped around the house for a few minutes, pretending to feel guilty for depriving me of my few moments of weekly joy. He even went so far as to pretend he wasn't interested in the fast food I brought home for him. I assured him that I wasn't mad (I wasn't) and finally convinced him to eat. After several minutes of silence, he offered the following excuse:
"It wasn't my fault," he said. "I was tired. And I fell asleep because the cats wouldn't get up from my lap."
I didn't buy it, but I told him it was fine and to stop obsessing. I really didn't want him to feel bad about it. I was annoyed, and I may joke around, but I don't want him to carry around a bunch of guilt. And it was, after all, just a tv show. I told him I'd watch it Saturday when they play it again. I would just have to avoid any spoilers online this week (I did not. I promptly logged in to tvguide.com to read a recap when I got to work. I suck).
So we went about our night, talked about his (half)day at school, about my night at the restaurant, about the newest video game he has to get for his sometimes-working XBox. But mostly, we sat around and watched the kittens play with a new toy I picked up at the grocery store. And there's something about watching ten-week-old kittens chase a feather on a stick and pounce on each other and roll around on the carpet that just makes everything all right. We sat in our chairs and stared at them, both of us grinning, mesmerized by these tiny, ferocious beasts, and the kid finally let go of his guilt.
Then he turned to me and said, "We could just watch them all day. We don't even need a tv."
And I must have had some stupid look on my face that reminded him about my forgotten recording because he blushed and looked down at the ground and said, "Well . . . "
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