Olympic fever has swept the Spohr household, and we’ve spent far too many hours watching incredibly fit people exercise while we sit on our butts. We’ve watched so much Olympics, in fact, that I think Maddie is a tad confused about what she is seeing on the screen. If she could talk I fear we’d totally have this conversation:
I raise a “just one moment” finger as I cram a handful of corn chips into my mouth. After a long beat of loud chewing…
ME: “Yes, Chicken Muffin Love Bear?”
MADDIE: “Are those people on the TV human?”
ME: “What do you mean?”
MADDIE: “Well, I know I’m new to this world and all, but in my experience humans don’t move that much. They just sit on couches typing on their computer and snacking.”
I briefly choke on my corn chips, then…
Me: “No, sweetie. They’re not human. They’re, uh, robots. That’s right. Incredibly advanced robots from the future. Now let Daddy finish his corn chips and watch the robots.”
One of our favorite robots is beach volleyball player Kerri Walsh. Heather likes her because Heather thinks beach volleyball is cool, and I like her because despite being a whopping 6’3, she still is incredibly attractive. Not to sound like a jerk, but women of her size normally look more like linebackers than prom queens. Heather is amused by my little crush on Kerri Walsh, and playfully says “Hey, it’s your girlfriend” whenever she comes on the TV.
Anyhoo…at one point NBC did a little background on Kerri (I call her by her first name….we’re totally tight like that) and they mentioned that she is thirty and grew up in the small town of Saratoga, California. This got my attention because, up until I was ten, I lived in Saratoga, California! It occured to me that, since I was only two years older than Kerri, there was a good chance we went to school together because Saratoga only has one public grade school.
Heather suggested I call my parents and ask if they could look in my grade school yearbook and see if there was a Kerri Walsh in either kindergarten or the first grade. Sounds simple, right? Well, if you are a regular reader of this blog you know that nothing is simple when it comes to my parents/Mom.
After enough goading from Heather I finally called my parents and found myself talking to my Mom who said she would look and call me back. I looked to Heather, amazed. “Wow,” I said in the long tradition of famous last words. “That was easy!”
About half an hour later my Mom called and said she couldn’t check because the yearbook “was on the top shelf.” Before I could ask her why it was suddenly impossible to get a book down off a shelf, we had the following conversation:
Mom: “But we don’t need to look it up, dear. She did go to school with you!”
Me: “And you know that how?”
Mom: “Because I remember her!”
Me: “No, you don’t.”
Mom: “Yes, I do.”
Me: “This would have been twenty-two years, Mom, and she wasn’t even in my class.”
Mom: “Honey, I remember. Karen -”
Me: “Kerri, Mom. Kerri.”
Mom: “She was an adorable little thing. Just tiny!”
I look to the TV. Gymnastics is on. I sigh a long, long sigh, then…
Me: “She’s not a gymnast, Mom. She is a volleyball player. And she’s not tiny. She’s actually 6’3.”
Mom: “Right. Tiny, but with the potential to be huge! Just like her parents.”
Me: “You remember her parents now too?”
Mom: “Of course! The Walshes! I used to go to their house all the time! For PTA events!”
NOTE: My mother was never in the PTA.
Me: “Why can’t you just admit you don’t remember her and have Dad get down the freakin’ yearbook?”
Mom: “You think I’m making this up?”
Silence on the line.
Mom: “What are you saying? That I’m crazy?”
More silence on the line.
I get up to go to the kitchen because I realize I forgot to put our left overs in the fridge. As I place them in the fridge I take a bite of food.
Mom: “Still eating, hmm?”
Me: “It was just one bite of some leftovers I forgot to put away.”
Mom: “That’s why you’re fat. It’s after nine.”
Me: “And you would know about being fat, wouldn’t you, Mom?”
Mom: “That’s right! I do! I sure do!”
Me: “Okay, Mom. Is Dad gonna get the yearbook down or what?”
Mom: “This is ridiculous! I told you she went to school with you.”
Me: “I gotta go, Mom.”
Mom: “You know what? I’ll call the school tomorrow.”
Me: DO NOT CALL THE SCHOOL!”
Mom: “Why not?
Me: “Can I talk to Dad?”
Mom: “Why? So you can ask him to get down the yearbook?”
Me: “No. So we can discuss quantum physics.”
A long silent beat passes.
Mom: “Here’s the thing. We moved the yearbooks along with a bunch of other stuff to the storage facility.”
Me: “So you don’t have it?!?!?!?”
Mom: No. Not here.”
Me: “Then why didn’t you just say that?!?!?!”
Mom: “I’m really worried about your weight, dear.”
Me: Goodnight, Mom.”
I hang up.
Long story short, I have no idea if Kerri Walsh went to Saratoga Elementary School on Oak Street, but Heather and I are rooting for her and Misty to win the Gold nonetheless!