The Jennifer Dispatches IV: Tim Sequiturs

Jennifer reports to me the following:

Tim woke up from a nap and started to wave his left arm around wildly like he was looking for an alarm clock to shut off.

When Jen asked what he was doing with his arm, Tim said "I'm trying to think of all of the simple classifications of flowers."

Jen giggled quietly and asked him if he knew what he had just said.

"Sure. Yes." he replied, as though she was the crazy one, and then: "I don't knooooooooooooow."

Then he went back to sleep.

Later, Tim had no memory of any of this.

The Jennifer Dispatches III: Tim's Face

Jennifer tells me that, once, while in bed with Tim, he sat bolt upright, clutching his face in both his hands.

He cried out: "My face is too SMALL! I feel like I have a DOLL'S FACE!"

I asked Tim what happened. He said the feeling just went away eventually.

The Jennifer Dispatches II: The Things That Make My Father Laugh (Make No Sense)

My sister sent this email to me today. I can only assume she wanted me to post it here, the curious phrase "off the record" notwithstanding.

"Hey.

Tim and I were up at Mom and Dad's last night. We watched several episodes of Dirty Jobs with Dad, which is a show that makes Tim and I laugh - when it is not about animal hides - then it just makes us feel . . .well, dirty.

So, anyway, we are watching it and Dad is laughing and saying things like "oh my god" - (you know in the way he does where his voice goes up at the end) and asking questions like "now why would he do that?" - (you know in the way that he does). He keeps saying how amazing it is that this guy would do all of these horrible things just to get on TV. He complains and complains, but I swear to god he was laughing so, so hard. Why do you think he pretends to not like things that he does like?!

Oh and off the record, while we were watching television there was a commercial for some random sitcom on TBS or ABC or something like that. I didn't see this clip, I just heard it, but basically there was some joke where the woman says two female names and I guess probably pointed to her breasts or something because then the guy says "You named them?!?!?!"

I'm not exaggerating; Dad laughed for five minutes, and in Dad fashion kept on loudly repeating "You named them?!?!" "You named them?!?!"

Tim and I just looked at each other across the room and tried to laugh a little so that we didn't draw attention to the fact that we were actually both paralyzed with awkwardness and laughing at Dad. It may not be as funny on paper, but I wish you had been there to share in the paralymazment.

Anyway I hope things are okay with you. Talk to you soon. Love you."

The Jennifer Dispatches: My Father versus Cheese and Bread

My sister relates a story of my father on Superbowl Sunday:

Halftime. The family sits around a coffee table laden with snackfoods and appetizers. My father voices a complaint:

“Next time, we should really make some plans for dinner and not just snack. We should have some protein for dinner. I’m tired of having Cheese and Bread all the time. We should have gotten those ribs at the supermarket.”

My sister responds: “We weren’t going to just snack for dinner. Mom ordered a pizza.”

“More Cheese and Bread! Why would I want more Cheese and Bread?!” cries my father.

“Well then why don’t you go to the supermarket and buy those ribs?” asks my sister, foolishly.

“I don’t want to go all the way out to the store to buy the ribs! I just don’t want to eat any more Cheese and Bread! All we ever eat is Cheese and Bread since you came here! This must be your doing!”

“Are you talking about the hors d’oeuvres? There isn’t even that much Cheese and Bread,” says my sister.

This is the last straw apparently. My father leaps from the sofa and hunches himself over the coffee table. Extending one of his stubby index fingers he points violently at a bowl of French onion dip and its companion plate of Ruffles brand potato chips.

“Cheese and Bread!” he exclaims

He jabs his finger at a pate.

“Cheese and Bread!”

He, predictably, stabs his thick digit into the wedge of jarlsberg.

“Cheese and Bread!!”

Even the bowl of sweet pickles is not immune from his wrath.

“Cheese and Bread!”

He punches with his finger at a bowl of Cheetos. He’s almost perspiring with the force of his hate.

“Cheese and Bread!!”

The twin bowl, filled with Fritos.

“Corn Chips! Just like Pizza!!”

My sister, always the glutton for paternal punishment, interrupts my father’s reverie of rage.

“How are corn chips just like pizza?” she asks.

“Shut up!” responds my father, “I’m speaking to your mother!”

My sister announces that she is going to go work on her art history paper. She goes to her room and does so. Later, when the pizza arrives, she leaves her room to find my father, perched stone-faced and alone at the dining room table eating the enormous porterhouse steak and gargantuan baked potato that my mother prepared for him.

My sister went into the living room and finished the game - and the pizza - with my mother.