Raw Drip

Picking up Adam from school today, he enthusiastically recounted every detail of his day from the letter W they studied in reading this morning, to the suspicious substance identified as “buttered noodles” which were served for lunch.  As he skips from one topic to the next, in rapid-fire style , it seemed as though he was out to break the world record for the number soul-baring confessions revealed in two minutes or less. 

And then a funny thing happened on the way home.  Silence.  In fact, it was so quiet that I actually looked back to check and make sure I hadn’t just imagined that I’d picked up my kid.  Nope, he was really just sitting there silently watching the world going by through his window.  

And then something even stranger happened – I kinda’ freaked out. I did what any mom does and tried to fill the conversational void.

“Let’s play a game.  How about I Spy?  In fact, I Spy the word ‘park’. Do you see it, too?  It’s on a green sign.  The word park starts with the letter P, right?”

“Mama…”

“Yes, Adam.”

“Can you please stop talking to me?  My bwain is tired and wants to west for a wittle bit.”

[screeching brakes]

Seriously?  Seriously?  Have I just been shushed by a 4 year old…for talking too much?

I had.  

And, then, a final funny thing happened on the way home from daycare – I realized that the quiet kid in the backseat was enthralled by the world outside his window, completely content to just be in the moment.  All my yammering was distracting him from enjoying some peace in an otherwise hectic day.  More so, this need for quiet meant that my baby was growing up and he didn’t need me to entertain him as much as he needed me to be a safe place to share his ideas and his worries and then, to honor & respect his very human need for solitude.

Once again, I am left scrambling to understand my evolving roles & responsibilities with this ever-changing little person.  I know that’s what all parents are doing, so there’s some comfort in numbers.  At the end of the day, after the children are asleep, and with the dog at my side, it’s Dick who provides my safe place to share my ideas and worries, and it’s the sound of silence that brings us comfort.

Cruising through my neglected Facebook Inbox today I stumbled upon the following message from a good friend relaying a sadly, all too familiar, story.  

“So … I get a Harry + David box in the mail from my brother and I’m thinking, ‘Woohoo! My big brother loves me and is thinking about me!’And I open it and it is all fruit and low-fat snacks. Dried fruit. Fat free cake (!!) and fat free popcorn. And I am left thinking, ‘My brother loves me and is thinking about me – and what he thinks is that I am fat.’

All that awesome chocolate H + D sells and I get dried fruit. I do love their pears, so I’ll go eat a gourmet pear and be thankful and stop being a fat, bitchy ingrate.”

I feel her pain.  I think I’m pretty open about my gifting hang-ups, but there’s something particularly traumatic about a gift that moves from thoughtless crap into thoughtful crap.  And, when that thoughtful gift screams, “I worry about how fat you’ve become”, it’s hard not to take it personally.  I know you’re supposed to console yourself with that old platitude, “It’s the thought that counts…”, but when that thought is, at best, harsh and , at worst, downright insulting, how do you respond?

Option #1: The Passive/Aggressive Bitch e-Card Approach

Option #2: The Honest, Open Communication Approach

Dear Big Bro,

Thank you for the Harry & David gift basket.  Most gift baskets are chock full of deliciously decadent treats that really help a girl going through a crisis.  The moment I saw a box from H&D on my doorstep, I could already picture myself watching some bad reality TV and tucking into some good ole’ fashioned comfort food.   But to my surprise, your basket with it’s carefully selected contents of fat free cake, fat free popcorn, and low calorie dried fruit, certainly made up in thoughtfulness what it lacked in flavor!

I’m sure it’s unnecessary, but I’ve enclosed a photo of myself, enjoying your gift – so you’ll always have something to remember me by after my obesity-related, premature death. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Again, thanks for looking out for me.

Love,

‘Sis

P.S. I’m pudgy, not stupid.  Please spare me all the coy subtlety next time and go with a ‘Sympathy’ card. It’ll cost a lot less and taste about the same as that cardboard labeled “fat free cake”.  

Option #3: Get therapy

Admittedly, this is the costliest of the three options I’ve presented, but it certainly stands a much better chance of achieving positive, lasting results.  Some women have reported improvements in their self-esteem in as little as two sessions.  With therapy, you’ll be able to empty your basket of fear, self-loathing, and anger – and fill it with a bountiful harvest of fulfillment, and all the fruits of your self-improvement labors!

Hm.  Nope.  The more I think about it, the more Option #3 seems way too much like work.  Instead, I’m leaning towards…

Option #4: Bring it.  Cover all that fat-free crap in chocolate, salt, whipped cream & butter.  

Let’s face it, even a basket of the healthiest food is gonna be pretty tasty when served with a heaping side of self-indulgence.  Bon appetit!

 

I think it’s my latest head cold that has me feeling like a raw nerve, but today’s 10-minute run to the grocery store sure didn’t help.  My edginess was aggravated by the mob of elderly thugs who invaded my quiet suburban grocery store, seemingly for the sole purpose of trying to kill me, or at least bug the crap out of me.

Before I go on, you should know that I’ve always been extremely tolerant of the elderly, having been an old person trapped inside a young person’s body most of my life (ironically, the older I get, the more I feel like a young person trapped in an old person’s body).  Anyway, ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you of my great affinity and compassion for elders.  I was the kid who used to be a volunteer reader at the nursing home.  I would read to the lonely grandmas & grandpas, listen to their stories and talk to them about their families, and I can honestly say I enjoyed their company.  But today, in my weakened condition and sans even a modicum of patience, my sterling reputation with the elderly has been compromised.

Let the ranting begin…

Attention Elderly People:

• Who told you it’s acceptable to drive in reverse using only your side-view mirrors?  Do you drive forward with your eyes closed?  Ah-ha! Didn’t think so.  Because driving – whether you’re going forward or backward – should be accompanied by LOOKING. So sorry, but you’re gonna have to turn that arthritic little neck of yours before you run over a perfectly nice mom in a grocery store parking lot.
• I think we’ve established that most of you have great difficulty parking (and driving) safely, so why do you feel it’s necessary to back into parking spaces?  Do you find yourself in the position of needing to make a quick get-away, often? Rather than make everyone wait while you spend 20 minutes trying to back into a space (using only your mirrors, of course), how about you just pull forward into a space like a normal person?
• Do you realize it’s called a remote keyless entry device because it can be used REMOTELY?  That’s right; you don’t have to stand next to the car, pressing the “lock” button as if you were starring in a video demonstration called “How to Depress a Button.”  Besides, no one wants to steal your rusting 1989 Ford Taurus station wagon, anyway.
• How do you manage to get in front of me on every, single aisle of the grocery store moving at that glacial pace you love, while completely blocking the aisle to all other traffic?  Seriously, I want to know how you do that. Because, dang!, it’s a skill…
• Does the AARP require you to bypass manned checkout lanes for self-checkout lanes so you can act as an undercover agent, exposing malicious price-gouging of the elderly?  Is it part of your secret spy work to then bungle up the computerized menu, forcing a manager to come over and manually ring up your purchase as you bitch and moan about “all these god-damned computers everywhere”?  Here’s an idea, if you’re intimidated by your automobile remote, how about you do the rest of us a favor and stay the heck away from computerized checkout lanes? M’kay??
• I realize you’ve been around much longer than I have and have a wealth of knowledge to share, but would it be possible for you to withhold sharing your opinion about EVERY product on the pharmaceuticals aisle?  I know that cold medicine I picked out will only mask my symptoms, rather than speed my recovery – and I’m okay with that.  That means you need to be okay with it, too and LET IT GO.

I realize that in Florida I’m outnumbered by oldies.  But I think today’s frustrations stem from feeling as if I’ve joined their ranks.  With fever, body aches, and a sore throat for the gazillionth time this year, never have I felt older than I have today.  Today’s onslaught of the oldies has provided me with a glimpse into my future, full of failing health and waning patience.  All this good humor, charm and grace you’re accustomed to from me, well, it’ll be gone soon and I’ll be just another opinionated, swearing, blind-driving, old bag who used to occasionally have something funny or interesting to say.

Ugh.  Never mind…I’m just tired.  It’s 5 o’clock, time for my next pill, and way past my nap time.