I recommend the scallops
My dad and stepmom are in town for a brief visit. I know they’re thrilled to be here, because I am a complete pleasure to be around these days. Fortunately, my children are pretty cute… and as any parent knows, once you have spawned, you pretty much cease to exist in the eyes of your own parents, anyway.
Example 1:
“You’re too thin.”
“Yeah, ummm… LOOK! A naked white-tushied Monkey boy!”
Example 2:
“How are you doing, really?”
“I’m… HEY, have you seen Chickadee riding her new bike, yet? CHICKIE!”
(Etc.)
And on account of the fact that I fed them “Summer Fare” for dinner last night (translation: hotdogs and sausages on the grill, and a big lazy platter of raw vegetables), they offered to take us out to eat tonight. It was a lovely and generous offer, borne of complete amnesia about what it’s like to eat in a restaurant with small children.
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Forwarding addresses
Have you ever had a fight with someone, and you’re REALLY REALLY mad at them, but you also miss them, a little, maybe, but it’s UP TO THEM to make the first conciliatory move because dammit they were WRONG and no matter how many years or how much chocolate you’ve shared, a line was crossed and they had better start APOLOGIZING or you will just have to continue pretending that it’s not ripping your heart to shreds to not be able to talk to them?
Me neither.
Um, except for this current situation I’m experiencing. Which honestly, is no big deal at all. I mean, hey, I have plenty of people around and one little tiff isn’t going to change my life one way or another. Much.
Did I mention the object of my consternation is God? And let me tell you, that bastard is lousy at admitting when he’s been a jerk.
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An illusion of control
The cupboard was bare. Somehow, we ran out of food… um… a while ago. Not completely, of course. But my usually well-stocked kitchen was down to the bare bones and I just hadn’t gotten it together to get to the store. One by one, we ran out of staples. No milk. No bread. No american cheese slices. No yogurt.
No (*gasp!*) pop-tarts.
The situation was becoming dire.
And I tried–lo, how I tried–to just convince the children to join me in my misery and adopt the all water-and-tums diet which I have been so enjoying. “Look!” I would exhort them. “This is a delicious ice cube, which was made by modern magic right here in our freezer! It is both tasty AND refreshing! And really quite filling!”
But I am afraid I have already spoiled the children beyond all reason, for they would only whine in response. We need REAL FOOD, Mama, they insisted. Endless wailing about how they wanted green beans and chicken and blueberries, or something. I don’t know. Brats.
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Hallmark called
“Being run over by a truck doesn’t make you not a good person. It just makes you a flatter person.”
Sink or swim… or float
The thing about some of your more nerdy areas of study is that SOMEONE realized, somewhere along the way, that there would perhaps have to be a greater draw for folks than, say, the joys of higher-order calculus or what have you. Sure, some folks would be drawn to these professions no matter what. But for others, there would have to be some bennies.
Which is why the very geekiest scientists have technical conferences in Hawaii. Woo!
So, once upon a time I was married to a science geek, and he was sent to Maui to present a paper at a conference. His trip was paid for, and all we had to do was pony up for a single plane ticket. And then we were off; headed for paradise.
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Redeeming three
Wow, nothing gets the crickets chirping like a grown woman crying her eyes out. Half my readership, struck silent in an instant! And for my next trick, I shall hurl racial epithets while trying to convert you to the Church Of Pitypartiology!
Or not. Because, um, there may just not be enough crickets in the world for that.
Anyway, your indulgence is/was much appreciated. I’m not quite through wallowing, but I’ll do my best to keep it to a minimum. Over the last few days I was blind-sided not once, not twice, but THREE times (a laaaadyyyyyy…) (apparently, for me, a symptom of distress is the inability to shut off snippets of bad songs in my head). They say bad things come in threes, so at least I don’t have to wait for anything else to blow up on me. Still, the suckage factor? This one goes all the way up to eleven. (If you don’t know the reference, you are dead to me.)
I’d love to hit the REWIND button and undo it all, but given that that’s not an option anyone has offered me, I’ve decided to just stop eating, instead. Seems less messy and more economical.
Haha! See, I’m more jovial already! And totally sort of kidding! And if you’re thinking of lecturing me I’m actually all the way kidding!
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Reinforcements
If I close my eyes, the part of my mind that is adrift will actually impose an undercurrent of motion on my senses. It’s a slight but steady pull. My eyes always pop open before it gets so strong that I’m washed away. But I’m tired, you know. Bone tired. And when I’m too tired to lift my eyelids again, I half-expect I will be taken out to sea.
It must be the rain.
Anyway, if you thought I was in a jovial mood this morning, you shoulda been around this afternoon! Murphy has a bone to pick with me. I don’t know what I did to anger him so, but it was a doozy. I don’t think he’s done with me yet, either.
But that’s not what’s on my mind. I mean, yes, it’s on my mind every single nanosecond, but that’s not what I want to tell you about.
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Also, that Lyle Lovett song is taunting me
I brought cookies in to work today, but you can’t have any. I’m mad at just about everyone. No one here at work has pissed me off lately, so they get cookies. Also, if they’re busy eating cookies, they may not notice that I am about three unkind words away from spontaneous combustion.
And these are really good cookies, so I should be safe for a little while.
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Some dissembling required
Monkey’s birthday is in January–which sucks badly enough, for him, because it’s so close to Christmas–and I have a horrible history of presenting him with birthday presents he can’t run out and use. It seems like a good idea, giving a kid a motorized child-sized Jeep or a bike or something for his birthday. But not in January. That poor child is now resigned to receiving something really cool, looking outside at the snow, looking back at his cool warm-weather gift, and sighing. Loudly.
I’m a slow learner. I recently ran across an amazing deal on this baby. Perfect for Monkey’s birthday! I ordered. It arrived this week. I realized that he might enjoy, say, playing with it NOW while he still could. So I threw mean-mama caution to the wind and said, “HEY! I bought you this for your birthday but let’s play with it now!”
The children keeled over and died from the shock of such indulgence from me. I think I may have been offended. But mostly I was too busy administering CPR to think about it too much.
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Wondering
Do I really have the right to say “take your finger out of your nose” to a child whom I’ve allowed to spend the entire morning watching cartoons in nothing but his underwear?
Discuss.