filters, impressions, and suffering
Since my last post…
- Ali returned from L.A., flew to D.C., came home to inform me that I have brittle hair and need to do something about it, and then left for Boston.
- The Takeaway: Pantene isn’t cutting it anymore – my hair is in a bad place. And my husband still needs to learn to filter.
At Tao, one of our favorite restaurants in NYC.
- Maya had a holiday party with 3 of her friends. I put together cute holiday gift bags (if I do say so myself) complete with matching earmuffs, matching T-shirts, holiday pens, erasers, and more. It’s been 5 days and Maya’s gift bag is still sitting in the living room, mostly untouched. And when I dropped Maya at school this morning we spied a pair of the aforementioned earmuffs abandoned and headed for the lost and found.
- The Takeaway: My gift bags clearly made a huge impression. On me.
Apparently the dim lighting at Tao camouflages my brittle hair.
- Since nobody else wanted to venture out into the cold to hit the grocery store this weekend (I needed help carrying the bags), I took a stand and decided not to go at all. Thus our fridge is currently empty except for one banana, ketchup, mustard, jam, M&Ms, and frozen fish sticks. (And milk of course. We always have milk as you know.)
- The Takeaway: I’m very much regretting my “stand” and will continue to regret it as dinner approaches.
- The Takeaway 2: I inevitably suffer when I try to make others suffer.
Lucky Maya has no brittle hair.
Ali is returning from Boston tonight, to a home with no food, a daughter who has no appreciation, and to a wife who has brittle hair.
I almost feel sorry for him.
it was a blur
When we return from a trip of any kind, there are two Very Pressing Matters that need to be addressed ASAP:
#1. How do we ensure that there be milk for Ali’s tea and cereal? And not just any milk, but lactose-free organic 2% milk.
(Although 1% will also do in a pinch. Because Ali is low-maintenance like that.)
Our trip to LA was a blur…literally.
#2. How can I minimize the amount of time that Ali’s suitcase will block the front door? Because:
- It WILL block the front door. For at least 24 hours.
- My subtle hints to unpack will go unnoticed.
- My not-so-subtle hints to unpack will go unnoticed.
- I will lose my @#$% and the suitcase will finally be partially emptied (of course).
- I will lose my @#$% again and the suitcase will be 97% emptied (it’s never FULLY emptied, just FYI).
- The suitcase will eventually be rolled back into a closet. At which point I will cringe because I will be picturing the 1 billion strains being transferred from the filthy suitcase wheels to my Swiffered floors.
The trip started off precarious, with a number of near-vomit incidents in the plane and car. Bad hair and wrinkles made several appearances, however.
Anyway, since I left for Los Angeles after Ali did, I proactively resolved Pressing Matter #1 by making sure to purchase and place an unopened container of the approved variety of milk in the fridge for my husband.
Traffic was battled and friends were seen….
Unfortunately, we are going on 36 hours and Pressing Matter #2 is still pending, as evidenced by the fact that I’m still staring at, and climbing over, Ali’s suitcase.
And kind words and insults were thrown by and at family members (mainly my brother). All in all, it was a good trip.
I’m about to lose my @#$% AGAIN (a new record for me).
Which means things will get done. But which also means that my floors are about to be bacteria ridden….
I guess one can’t expect it all?
she’s beside herself (maya guest post)
My mom’s OCD has been in full force lately, and I’m definitely seeing the brunt of it.
In Princeton, New Jersey a few weekends ago….I think my mom is hoping that surrounding me with smart people will make me “strive harder” and “be motivated.” Buzzwords.
For example, just this past week alone my mom went ballistic and accused me of:
- Dropping cereal all over the kitchen when I was pouring it into my bowl.
- Dropping cereal on the dining table and on the floor under my chair because I wasn’t focused while eating.
- Eating cereal with too much sugar (obviously my dad took me to the grocery store).
- Eating three bowls of the offensively sugary cereal in a span of ten minutes.
- Leaving the cereal box on the dining table. Along with my bowl. And a splash of milk for good measure.
At the RISD Museum in Rhode Island…where my mom forced a little bit of culture on me at 10 AM. On a Sunday.
My mom’s theory is that I’m either misbehaving because I’m high on sugar (27 grams of sugar at breakfast will do that to you) or because I’m getting older and testing those boundaries again.
The correct answer is: none of the above.
In Providence…it was FREEZING cold and I didn’t bring a jacket. Like I was supposed to. 😦
The truth is that I do (or don’t do) things because I’m straight up lazy in most aspects, with the exception of striving to find ways to get my dad to let me do things my mom won’t approve of.
In any case, this latest escapade provided my mom with some much needed motivation to invent “new consequences” for my cereal (and other) offenses.
And these consequences go way beyond taking away TV time or library visits.
The State House is very pretty. And very large. I know this because my mom made me run around it several times after my dad and I demolished a very large piece of chocolate cake.
No, she’s become far more creative than that!
My mom’s latest punishment is having me write essays about why I did “X” and why I won’t do “X” again, and what the consequences will be if I do.
So far I’ve had to write two essays. One about how I won’t ever be rude to a family member on FaceTime again, and I’m forgetting what the other one was at the moment, but it likely had to do with me forgetting to do something.
The train ride was great because I didn’t get motion sickness! I wish there was a train that goes from NYC to LA because we’ll be making that trip pretty soon. I know this because my mom is already collecting barf bags.
Suffice to say that I hate writing essays.
One essay that I wouldn’t mind writing, however, is “How Ultimately She’s Just Hurting Herself Because It’s Her Hard Earned Money That’ll Be Paying My Therapist.”
One day.
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 