Relinquishing Control
I like things done the right way (aka my way) and thus I am terrified to relinquish control of anything unless I absolutely have to – as was the case yesterday.
For the first time this year, Ali had to pick Maya up from school. In addition to being terrified he wouldn’t be able to tear himself away from his computer in time to get her, I was also concerned that he would forget to…
- Bring her a snack.
- Keep track of her water bottle – she’s already lost 3 since September.
- Make sure she goes potty before heading to the park/playplace.
- Threaten her within an inch of her life to keep her sweater ON.
- etc.
- etc.
God, sometimes even I get tired of hearing myself nag.
Maya looked cute in the morning...I won't scare you with an "after" picture.
Anyway, things went as expected. As in, Ali forgot all of the above.
My starving, dehydrated, chilled-to-the-bone child was taken to a nasty mall food court where she was fed sodium-laden, bottom-of-the-rung-quality chicken from Panda Express. I couldn’t find the courage to ask about the potty situation. Some things are better left unsaid.
I’m trying to be positive though – at least I didn’t have to witness the piteous looks she received from the other food court patrons who likely assumed that Ali was a single dad. Because why else would a kid have dirty fingers, unkempt hair, and soy sauce all over her face?
Nobody can accuse me of not looking at the bright side of things.
Xbox Bootcamp
I’ve been saving up for a while now.
Not for my New York trip, which I probably should be saving for seeing as I plan to spend an entire day at Bloomingdale’s; and not for marriage counseling, which we might need if Ali doesn’t stop shoving his socks under the couch.
No, the truth is that I’ve been saving for Maya’s therapy fund instead.
After yelling, “If you don’t buckle down and start learning how to add yellow school buses, you will never graduate kindergarten,” today, I fully accept that I am beyond the point of no return.
I realize my shortcomings but I also realize I cannot stop myself. I have made peace with this because I have faith that Maya’s shrink will eventually reset her psyche to where it should be.
What I am not at peace with is Ali further corrupting Maya’s delicate mental state by putting her through Xbox Kinect Bootcamp.
Since Ali brought home his latest toy last Friday, he has done nothing but yell at Maya:
Tacky Disney pajamas pulled up past her knees? Check. Soccer/Xbox dad? Check. 3 hour Xbox marathon? Check.
“Why aren’t you listening to me? Jump…JUMP! If you hide, it can’t see you. IT CANNOT SEE YOU! Stand farther back. FARTHER! If you don’t listen to me you are going to lose. Do you hear me? LOSE! Face the sensor. Face it!”
After this weekend’s bootcamp, I think I need to take on a second job because Maya’s shrink and/or bail is going to be a lot higher than I anticipated. And all because of an Xbox.
It all boils down to this – everything is Ali’s fault. Per usual.
I am not a short-order cook.
Once in a rare while I generously snap out of my bad mood and offer to do something nice for my family. Today, since Ali was working from home, I decided to make him lunch before I headed to work.
Me: “Do you want me to make you a turkey sandwich?”
Ali: “Ummmm….”
2 minutes elapse. I roll my eyes.
Me: “It’s not a life altering decision you know. It’s a sandwich. Yes or no?”
Ali: “I guess so. But only if you put hummus in it.”
I refrain from asking when I DON’T put hummus in his sandwich. I roll my eyes again.
Me: “Do you want one or two?”
Ali: “One or two what?”
I grit my teeth.
Me: “Sandwiches!”
Ali: “One and a half.”
I somehow stop myself from mentioning that 1.5 sandwiches will put the entire loaf of bread at an odd number, thereby making future sandwiches a challenge. I quiet an impending panic attack.
Me: “What do you want on the side?”
Another 2 minutes elapse. The rage I feel inside? There are no words to describe it.
Me: “Frickin’ A! I’m not sure if you know this or not, but making you a sandwich isn’t the only thing I have to do today!”
Ali: “What are my options?”
Me: “Options? Holy s@#$, seriously?”
A turkey sandwich with a side of "I'm going to smack you upside the head if you ask me another ridiculous question."
It’s a miracle really that I refrained…from everything. From stating that I’m not a short-order cook. From throwing a bag of Doritos over his head. From running away and finding a husband who can appreciate the simple gesture of a turkey sandwich.
Anymore questions as to why I don’t offer to do nice things for my family very often?
I didn’t think so.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 