Oranges, socks, and earthquakes

Scenario One:

“Where’d you get those oranges?” I asked, pointing to a full bowl on Hot Wheelz’ kitchen counter.  I was disappointed.  I’d been traveling companions with a plastic grocery bag full of oranges on my trip to Utah yesterday.  I thought he’d be excited to have fresh fruit.  “I brought you a bag of oranges from a tree.”

“Mine are from a tree, too,” he claimed.

How could that be, I wondered.   “Where’d you find a citrus tree in all this snow?”

“Costco,” he laughed.

“That doesn’t count,” I said. 

“Why?  They’re from a tree.”

“But they’re not homemade oranges,” I said.  I knew the minute it left my lips, it was not my smartest response.

“Who gave you these?” he laughed.  “What kind of oranges are they?”

I’d made an on-the-spot decision while on the road one day last week to stop for a “free oranges and lemons” sign on a curb, so I couldn’t really respond to either of his questions.  I was hesitant to let on since he might not be as excited about the gratis gift as I had been.  I couldn’t even be sure which ones were lemons, so I passed them all off as oranges. 

Scenario Two:

While I was worrying about discerning between lemons and oranges, my niece Megan had a more troubling problem.  She’d forgotten socks.  The one thing I’ve learned from my limited experience in snow is that it’s warmer and prettier from the picture window than out in it.  So when Hot Wheelz was headed to the market, I suggested Megan tag along to pick up socks.  Hot Wheelz looked questionably at me.  I could tell he wasn’t confident that the market would be the right fit here.

“They’ll have ‘em,” I said.

“Oh, yeah,” he responded, “I remember looking overhead and seeing the sign — Soup, Spices and Socks.

Scenario Three:

The dark night was covered in a blanket of soft white snow by the time we were ready to bed down for the evening.   “Do you want to sleep next to the wall or on the outside?” asked my niece.

“Outside,” I answered.  “I might have to get up in the middle of the night to pee.”  Then I laughed.  “The last time I slept on the inside, Cheezy was seven,” I said.  “After the really big earthquake in Whittier, I’d let him sleep with me.  I’d crawled over the snoozing boy in the middle of the night.  When I returned from the bathroom, he stood, wide-eyed and stiff, in the doorframe.

‘Mom,’ he bellowed, ‘did you feel it?  My bed shook. ’”

“Yeah, the mother of all earthquakes,” I said.

Conclusion:

According to the scientific evidence I’ve gathered today, I think there is enough proof that snow causes brain freezes.

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2. Holiday shopping
3. I need a vacation from my vacation
4. A little here, a little there
5. I’m old enough to be thankful