Tonight Cyn and I went on our weekly Wednesday date night – this time to a Vietnamese restaurant, surprisingly good, in Poulsbo. I brought home a bubble tea to my daughter and as soon as I walked in, she looks up from her too-tight PJs, pouring cat food out into a bowl, and when she sees what I’m carrying she lights up like I was Santa delivering a chocolate kitten with a edible nougat-brain: “Is that bubble tea?” she beams. “Yes, it is.” “I like bubble tea!” she squeals, having seen bubble tea once in her life, well over a month ago, which I at this moment realize has eclipsed any and every other meaningful moment in our lives. She grabs, sucks, shares with Nels, who experiences the surprise of the tapioca “bubbles” with remarkable aplomb. “Bubble! … tea!” he happily giggle-sprays. The kids kill off the 16 oz. beverage (the smallest I could order) peacably between them. Out of a dozen or more flavors I chose peach so when she discussed the beverage I could hear her adorable yet hilarious pronunciation: “peacks”.
(Other Sophie highlights today included the lunchtime game where she would hold up two celery sticks, one in each fist, and ask, “Which one did I eat?”, apparently thinking my powers of perception are dull enough that I need the incriminating bite-shaped marks and celery strands spouting out every which way, always from the left-hand piece of celery, incidentally. Hey, I didn’t watch all those episodes of CSI for nothing.)
So, last night we had a badminton tournament in honor of Sara’s birthday – and although I’m not allowed to say anything, there was more than one sports injury that resulted. It got a little competitive. I had, like, four rum and cokes so I was feeling sportsmanlike, if not at peak performance. Anyway, my idea for next game? Matching poly shorts and shirt set with team logo, knee socks, and of course, wrist and head sweatbands.
I have to admit, I’m confused by the court layout issues on this Badminton Central article. Specifically Rule 1.1 – I’m pretty sure our court was larger than the forty millimeters specified here. Unless they mean something different by the unit “mm” – but in which case how can it make sense to have a net with a “mesh of not less than 15 mm and not more than 20 mm“? Then again what, no matter how intense the Japanese player looks while swatting his racket, no matter how clever the logo is (the use of a birdie for a “t” in “badminton” is rather weak), I should probably be skeptical of any so-called expert badminton site that drops the “cock” from the entity “shuttlecock”. ‘Nuff said.