Awkward!

Awkwardness at the Ballet

Last Friday, after the Great Escape (and subsequent ice cream dinner), my mom and I went to see the ballet at SPAC.

I don’t know anything about dancing, so I can’t review the performances. We were in the 13th row and I had a great view of ballerinas doing their thing. It was a little warm, everyone was using the programs as fans, and I don’t think it got comfortably cool until the performances were drawing to a close. But I can say that I really enjoyed my night out! Especially the last number, with the Leonard Bernstein music and the sailor theme – kind of slapstick and cute. Anyway, around 9PM, after an abstract romantic dance that was a little too artsy-fartsy for me to appreciate, I was getting sleepy and I think Mom was, too. So she offered to get us an iced coffee to split – sweet!

We got our coffee during intermission and looked for a place to sit down – only one empty spot, where someone had left a cup with a couple of ice cubes, rather than tossing their garbage out. Tsk tsk! We sat and argued over how much sugar and cream to put in the coffee, settling for a little sweeter than I like, but not quite as sweet as Mom likes. She stuffed the garbage in the empty cup. (Oh, can you see where I’m going with this? Then maybe YOU’VE run into the Crazy Cup Lady before, too…)

About 10 minutes later, a small woman in her 50s passed by, a searching, desperate look in on her face. Her gaze fell on the cup stuffed with garbage. She gasped. Mom smiled politely. I raised an eyebrow and sort of smiled but not really.

“My… cup…” She said, eyes growing wide with shock.

My mom, clearly wanting to say, “Are you SERIOUS?” instead replied with, “Sorry?”

“I only went--” and her she sucked in a long, shuddering breath “to the bathroom!!”

Crazy Cup Lady stood, drooping and broken, and stared at us.

I gaped back, feeling my eyebrow stuck in the “what the heck” position, but had to break eye contact to avoid bursting out in laughter.

“It was just sitting here,” Mom said flatly.

Crazy Cup Lady whispered something to herself and slunk away.

I started to giggle. Mom stared after her for a moment. We got up and wandered back to our seats, ready to catch the Leonard Bernstein performance. She tossed the garbage cup in the trash.

I patted her shoulder. “Guess we can’t leave empty disposable cups within arms reach, Mom. You’ll just treat them like garbage.”

She shook her head.


Awkwardness in the Bathroom

Well, we’ve been living with my parents for 110 days (not that I’m keeping count…) which means that 6 people have been sharing the bathroom for 110 days, which means that we’ve had a pretty good run.

If you are faint of heart, be assured that the following awkward moment does not involve nudity or poop.

Last night, I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom as Michael turned off the DVD player and computer, so I knew he would be up to brush his teeth as well. I heard him knock on the door so I said “come on in!”

Except who comes on in but my dad, shuffling and half asleep, blinded by the bathroom lights, and completely unaware that I’m the one who invited him in. Maybe he thought it was my mom? Who was lying asleep in the bed he just climbed out of? Not sure.

He leaned toward the toilet.

AAAHHHH!!!! screamed my brain. With my mouth full of toothpaste, I sputtered, “Dad just let me leave first!”

He blinked, sleepy and confused, and continued to lean forward.

Ready to bolt, it was then I noticed that he was leaning forward… toward the back of the toilet… where the box of Kleenex was sitting… to pluck a tissue from the box… and shuffle back to bed.

Note: the shuffle mentioned above is the “half asleep shuffle,” not the “old person shuffle.”

I also noticed that Michael had been standing in the hallway laughing silently. Clearly, he didn’t recognize the gravity of a situation where I a) almost had a heart attack b) almost choked to death on toothpaste or c) almost knocked my dad over fleeing the bathroom. Fortunately, I was able to relax with a nervous, slightly crazy, fit of laughter.

Not Me Monday

"Not Me Monday"... an idea I am borrowing from my favorite Monday blog, Seeking Contentment

Let me tell you exactly what things are like in our home - we have RULES. And you best believe our little guy says "how high" when we say "jump." He doesn't test the limits again and again and again and again to see if we were really really serious that time.


So last night, he knew all about the No Toys at the Dinner Table rule. (It's a good rule.) He didn't plop his tushie in the chair holding Woody from Toy Story. If he had, I would have sternly instructed him to go put that toy in the toybox where it belonged. But he didn't, so there was no issue when we joined hands for grace. It wasn't like I held the toy's hand and listened to it give thanks. That sort of nonsense would never happen here. And if a child were to then hover the toy above his lasagna and make it mutter about how hot the food was? Turn a blind eye? Not me! Engage in a discussion about Woody's missing hat during family dinner time? Not me, either. I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere. Too tired to be consistent? Shame on you. That would never happen to me... after all, dinner is quality family time.


Did I just say dinner was quality family time? Right. So.

I did not stop at Stewarts on Friday and treat my family to ice cream for dinner. And we weren't all starving because I forget the meal vouchers when we went to the Great Escape for the company picnic. Not me, I wouldn't forget something important! And speaking of forgetting things, I did not smirk a little when I realized that Michelle (coworker) almost forgot her own vouchers after repeatedly reminding me about my own. Nope, I'm not that kind of lady. And when we wearily and happily left the Great Escape, after snacking on only smuggled crackers and apples, it wasn't me who decided that ice cream would be a proper meal. So, as you can plainly see, it was NOT my fault either when the ice cream dinner turned out to be a race my four year old was having with me that I knew nothing about. I can also promise you that, when he saw me take the last bite (that I did not wolf down noisily), and howled STOP BEATING ME as though he were, in fact, being beaten and not just losing an ice cream-eating race, I absolutely did not laugh out loud with a mouth full of waffle cone. What kind of mother would react that way? Not this one.

Dignity. I handle things with dignity.

The next day, when my son came up to me and announced in a loud voice "ROUND 1, FIGHT!" and put up his dukes, naturally I explained to him that violence was not acceptable in our loving, Christian home. I certainly did not bellow my husband's name, accuse him of corrupting our child, and stomp away. That sort of aggression? Emphatically not me. Furthermore, when my child repeated this behavior the next day, I did not pull a 180. I explained again (I swear!) in my quietly angelic voice that we do not put up our dukes like we are going to punch our mommy. Under no circumstances did I laugh at the innocent little one and raucously assure him "Knock yourself out, Buddy, but Mama is the Megaboss, I would OWN you." Who taunts a four year old; besides, he doesn't even know what a Megaboss is! Therefore, as I'm sure you already guessed, I concluded my morality lesson by teaching him an appropriate Bible verse, and it most certainly did not end with me swinging my puny opponent around by the feet and depositing him headfirst on the couch. Heavens, no!

A House? For us?!

We have been approved and are in contract for the house we want!

I am trying to focus on the positive which is - moving into a beautiful home. Sometimes the stress is a little overwhelming, though. I've had to invest in a dental guard because I have been clenching my teeth so much at night that my jaw hurts all the next day. And I make weird grins to ease the discomfort. And then my boss stops in the middle of a sentence to ask what the heck is the matter with me. And I'm so tweaked out with stress that I am just saying whatever comes to mind; not just "Tell us what you really think, har har har," more like "Um, are you smoking weed?"

It's frustrating getting everything going for the closing. Things keep changing. We have had some blog-worthy conversations with the realtor and mortgage person... conversations that leave us more confused than (most of) our discussions with Elliott...I swear they just make stuff up as they go along!

And did I mention that buying a house is expensive? No? Guess what? It costs money. Lots.

Mom, Can I have a drink?

Warning, it will hurt you to read this. This isn't "cute things my kid says" it's more like "someone please tell me this is just a really annoying phase, emphasis on phase."

Other disclaimer: we are working on Listening and Not Interrupting People skills. Unsuccessfully, duh.

"Mom, can I have a drink?"

"Sure, what would you like to drink?"

Louder, "Mom, can I have a drink?"

"What would you like to drink?"

Frantic, "Mom, can I have a drink?"

"Listen. To. Me."

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

"What did I say?"

"I don't know!!! I don't know what did you said?!!!"

"I said, what would you like to drink."

"I would like juice."

"O--"

"Juice! I would like juice."

"--K"

"I would like juice, Mom!"

"OKAYI'MGETTINGYOUSOMEJUICE!"

"Thank you"

"You're --"

"THANK YOU!"

"--Wel--"

"Thank. YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU"

...

Elliott Says (Part 2)

Putting Elliott to bed a few nights ago:

"Mommy, do you have a big [boy parts]?"

"No, I'm made a little differently than you are."
I begin panicking and pray PLEASE don't ask for more details PLEASE don't ask.--

"Oh, your pee pee is in the back and you poop in the front?"

"Um, no, that part is the same. Hey, isn't Toy Story 3 coming out tomorrow?"

---------------------------------------------------

Singing a song from Children's church...

Who's in church today, church today, church today
Who's in church today
What's your name?
Kintzakahoon!
HIIiiii Kintzakahoon!!!

Who's in church today, church today, church today

Who's in church today
What's your name?
Pujo-Pujo!
HIIiiii Pujo-pujo!!!


Aaaaannnd on and on with the unpronounceable names :P

----------------

You probably had to be there, and hear him say it, to realize what a compliment this was:

"I love my mommy and my daddy and my grandma and my aunt Marybeth and ... I LOVE MY OLD GRAY POPPOP!"

Five Reasons I Love Living with my Parents

In no particular order...

Not having to cook every night!
I’m sure my mom appreciates that reason, too. I also like that my mom cooks meat… it means I don’t have to! (Unless I really want to but, as a vegetarian, it’s a relief to be off the hook.)

My dad’s singing.
The songs he’s been singing since we were born – Janis Joplin, Disney, the usual stuff. The made up songs about worm guts and boogers. That Beyonce song you didn’t think a 60-year old man would know. The muffled but dramatic vocals coming from the shower. Best of all, I think we all love the songs he doesn’t entirely remember, where he just sings that same, beloved verse over and over again, without losing any gusto.

Elliott’s strangely normal transition.
The fact that Elliott adjusted right away and didn’t want to go back to our apartment. The first night, as it got late, he just said “can we stay here?” and I said.. “sure!”

From day one, he was home. Except for the one and only time that Poppop reprimanded him with a raised voice. Crushed, Elliott crawled on my lap and asked to go live somewhere else, like church or school.

But then they made nice and it was his home once again.

The beauty
I can just step outside and sit down, instead of walking (or driving) to a park. There are mountains, birds, fog, peace, the pond. It almost makes me want to live here forever. Except for the living-in-a-small-town part.

Reconnecting with my siblings
If it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t know any more about their lives than the rest of Facebook. I almost never plan my own visit to see my sisters and brother – I will just catch up with them next time we are all “home.”

Things that would make me love it even more…
If my mom and I had the same size feet.
If my dad liked eggplant.
If our cats could be friends.

Glorious Commute

Ignition. Clock starts
Multitasking killed my brain
Racing down the road

Road work. Halts. The Flow.
Blood pressure soars. A long sigh.
Late to work again?

Foiled at every turn
Short cuts turn to scenic routes
Rows of orange cones

On the open road
Aged drivers creeping along
I sigh, defeated