Friday, May 31, 2024

7 Quick Takes about Art on a Stick, Senior Parades, and Realizing You're an Adult

It's 7 Quick Takes Friday! How was your week?


No idea what the context was, but this week I heard my 16-year-old in the other room saying, "Your journey to the dark side is almost complete... just check this box to prove you are human."

Captcha codes have infiltrated every part of human existence, even imaginary worlds in space.


My 18-year-old daughter has a list of cards that she wants to make for people, but it's not her fault that May is a really busy month. 

When she apologized that I still haven't gotten birthday or Mother's Day cards, I told her, "It's okay, you can't rush art. You can't put art on a deadline."

She said, "I thought you were going to say 'you can't put art on a stick'."

The 12-year-old, listening nearby, piped in: "Technically, you can. Isn't that what an easel is?"


On the last day of school, there is a senior parade for the graduating high schoolers. They either drive their own cars or pile in the car of someone else and drive past the elementary and middle school, honking and waving while the kids come out to watch. They used to throw candy, but it was deemed as a liability if some child were to run out into the street. (I foresee the whole parade getting axed in the future... mobilizing an entire class of inexperienced distracted drivers has got to be a liability, too. The world is so lame sometimes.)

Anyway, my daughter and her friends decorated her car for the senior parade, writing all over it "College, here we come" and "BYE!!" 

When I had to take the van to the shop for a few days, we had to get creative with cars (especially since we have visiting family in town for graduation) so Phillip ended up leaving us with his car and driving the decorated one to work.


When my college daughter comes home, she's going to pick up her high school job at the grocery store, but she's also working for her professor animating an educational science video series over the summer.

Her uncle is here visiting and was asking about her, including where she was working over the summer, and the 8-year-old interrupted, "Doesn't she get paid from that guy to make videos?"

He raised an eyebrow and looked at me amused, hoping that the 8-year-old didn't mean running an OnlyFans.


On her flight back from college, my 20-year-old had a long layover so she decided to get some work done on those biology animations from Take #4.

She told me that pulling out your laptop to work remotely during a layover is a sobering "Woah, I'm really an adult" kind of moment. 

I remember having that moment when I was about 26, walking out to my minivan with three tiny kids and thinking, "Who in the world let me be in charge of this??"


My daughter's long layover ended up being much longer than planned, as her next flight kept getting delayed and delayed and delayed. She finally did get on the plane, but that meant that her flight came in during the middle of the night and guess who was the one to go get her?

So I had a pretty weird day, waking up three times in total: once at 2AM to go pick her up, a second time at 7AM to get the younger kids to school, then I went back to sleep and got up for a third time that day at 11:30AM.

Everyone is happy to see the 20-year-old again. On the first day, I overheard my second daughter telling her "I forgot how weird you are." But it was said it in the most loving way, like one would say "I missed you."


We went to the museum of an eccentric private collector over the holiday weekend, and it was really a mishmash of everything.

My two youngest looking out the window at the gift shop, definitely plotting something.

Our tour guide told us a story of how the collector once traveled to the Dominican Republic for one specific war artifact, but as a white guy entering the country and asking about firearms he looked suspicious and was put in jail. It eventually got sorted out and he brought home the cannon he'd been looking for, plus a whole bunch of other random collectibles. He even bought the cell doors from the prison he'd been thrown into.

My 12-year-old leaned over and whispered, "It sounds like moms when they go to Target."

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