It was a good idea to try to avoid the grocery store on Super Bowl Sunday. It was crowded with people jostling to buy ingredients for guacamole and spicy chicken wings. The fun part was seeing everyone decked out in the unofficial Seattle uniform for the day. I've never seen the grocery store so color-coordinated.
Our friends came over and we did a little shadow boxing, some stretches, got pumped. And then, in what has since been called "the most boring Super Bowl ever," the Seahawks pummeled the Broncos 43-8. Our ragtag band of fifth-round draft picks, a yoga-loving coach who'd been fired by another NFL team and a "tiny" quarterback proved all the doubters wrong.
We're the Bad News Bears of football
The city held a Seahawks victory parade yesterday to celebrate our very first Super Bowl win. Over 700,000 people showed up which, when you consider only 600,000 people live within the city limits of Seattle, is a very impressive number.
People skipped out on all other commitments to be there and many parents, including me, called schools to report their kids were sick -- let's call it "Seahawk Fever" -- and wouldn't make it to school that day. Lucien's school later decided all absences due to Seahawk Fever would be excused because it was evident by the number of absences this was a very important event for the community. Some moments in a city's history are so epic and unifying, it feels necessary to put other things on hold for a minute to be a part of them.
It was a sub-freezing day so Lucien and I put on all the clothes we own and waddled downtown with some friends. Our group wasn't alone; streams of people walked alongside us and once they got downtown stood 50-60 people deep at every intersection, cheering, stomping, laughing. The steep hills of downtown came in handy and acted as bleachers, giving the people in the 60th row a birds-eye view of the action below.
It was a loud and proud giant frigid football party
There was a palpable sense of joy radiating from 699,999 spectators. The one person not feeling the love was Lucien because after an hour and a half of waiting, he could no longer feel his fingers. I took my miserable and tear-stained son into the library to warm up. As I pulled him through the crowd to the library doors, he yelled, "Why are you torturing me like this? I don't want to be here, I WISH I WAS IN SCHOOL!" to which all other kids within earshot gasped audibly.
The Loosh is not convinced this is a good time
Lucien and I lucked out; while waiting in the library, we scored prime space at the front window, a head above everybody outside yet toasty warm inside. We even stood next to a couple of women who volunteered to help me lift The Loosh up so he could see even better. The only downside was none of the spectators crowded inside the library were allowed to cheer because it's a library. We instead cheered softly into our cupped hands and silently high-fived each other as players rolled by outside in amphibious vehicles and military pick-up trucks.
Here comes the Legion of Boom
(ridiculous yet truthful nickname for the Seahawks defense)
including my personal favorite,
the mouthy and brilliant Richard Sherman.
It's not a super important thing, winning the Super Bowl. It's insignificant in the grand scheme of living. It's not going to make the world a better place and it's not going to save lives. But damn, it sure was fun.
Coco has become very attached to one of her preschool teachers. If you ask Coco who her favorite person in the world is, she won't name me. It's that damn Teacher Heather.
Coco wanted to buy a Valentine's Day card for Teacher Heather so we went looking for one at the store. She immediately picked out a pretty card with a bright red glittery heart on the front. I agreed it was beautiful and opened it to read the inscription, which unfortunately said, "Oh my darling, the time the two of us spend together, just the two of us, away from the rest of the world, are the most cherished moments of my life."
I then attempted to explain to my excited, shiny-faced daughter clutching her "pretty card" that perhaps it wasn't the most... platonic... card to give a preschool teacher. Coco stuck her lip out and clutched the card harder, resulting in a tense tug-a-war between me, Coco, and a glittery card in the middle of a grocery store aisle. I finally relented, threw the card in the shopping basket and made a mental note to include a mixtape of Barry White slow jams for Teacher Heather. If we're going in, we're going all in.
Teacher Heather opened the card at school today. Coco beamed as Teacher Heather laughed in a whole-bellied kind of way. Then she grabbed Coco and hugged her so hard, laughter tears still running down her face, and winked at me over Coco's exuberantly happy shoulder. I'm glad Teacher Heather is in on the joke and doesn't think my daughter is trying to muscle in on her marriage.
As for our pets, Stella's tail feathers are now dyed orange because she dive-bombed the sink when I was doing dishes and landed in a bowl of spaghetti sauce. I tried to grab her and wash it off but she squawked and gnawed on my hand. Fine, Stella, go ahead and look ridiculous.
Don't you touch my spaghetti tail
Bobo the bearded dragon got all stressed out recently because I removed the paper covering on one side of his tank. It was torn and I didn't think it was important so I ripped it off. What I didn't know at the time is bearded dragons DO NOT LIKE CHANGE -- and they like seeing their own reflections in the glass even less. In response to my careless action, Bobo's beard turned black and he began "glass surfing," which means he frantically tried to crawl up the sides of his tank but of course failed because glass is too slippery for his little reptile feet.
A few frantic Google searches later -- "My bearded dragon seems upset" did the trick -- I now know "glass surfing" and turning their beards black are common behaviors amongst "beardies" and are signs of stress.
To summarize, my bearded dragon is stressed out and my bird is orange. At least the dog seems OK, although he seems to be losing his hearing and wears a diaper at night because he's reached the age where he can no longer hold it all night and our floors are paying the price. Other than that, he's fine.
And we won the Super Bowl.