the fork
There is a fork that resides, almost permanently, on our kitchen counter.
This fork is stationed approximately 1.5” from the fridge and approximately 1’ from our hanging cutlery rack. *
Quick trip to LA = Messy Hair All Around
For a while, the fork’s constant presence on the counter befuddled me:
- Was the fork somehow falling out as I emptied the dishwasher?
- Was Maya using a fork to comb her Barbie’s hair again (not unheard of)?
- Did the fork fall from the hanging cutlery rack and shift itself 12 inches to the right, just to annoy me?
Early Morning Walks on the LA Coast = Even Frizzier Hair
But my hypotheses only yielded more unanswered questions:
- Why was it always a salad fork? Why not a larger one?
- And why always a fork? Why not a spoon or knife?
Maya’s hair eventually settled down…mine required a magical Brazilian concoction to do the same.
And so I finally broke down and posed the question aloud, in my most neutral and least offensive voice, being sure to address nobody in particular so that I couldn’t be accused of pointing fingers.
Me: “Can someone please tell me why there is ALWAYS a fork sitting on the counter next to the fridge?”
Ali: “Because I use it to take the tea bag out of my tea.”
Maya knows that sharing hats = OFF LIMITS (I have a ridiculous fear of lice). But I’m going to assume The Captain is all clear and let it go this time.
So now it’s the sugar bowl AND the fork, in a kitchen the size of a stamp. It’s also Day # 14 of Ramadan and I’m working on 4.5 hours of sleep each night, for the last week at least.
I may be overreacting here but I’m thinking we should rename the kitchen “Ali’s tea-making facility” and call it a day.
*I received lots of grief for adding this to our gift registry…I believe several people referred to it as “tacky.” But 14 years later I believe it is probably the most brilliant, and most used, gift we received.
guilt trip (maya guest post)
GUILT-Y PAR-ENT SYN-DROME
giltē pe(ə)rənt sinˌdrōm
An illness that occurs in parents when they feel bad they can’t (or won’t) give you their full attention. This syndrome causes parents to give in on things they normally wouldn’t, in order to make you – and mostly themselves – feel better.*
These days it seems like my mom is never around, which means her “Guilty Parent Syndrome” is in full swing! And trust me when I say I’ve been taking advantage of things.
So far I’ve guilted her into buying me cool things like a magic pen (which I’ve already lost), an overpriced book from the airport bookstore (which I’d already read), and even a 6-pack of double-sided tape!
(I love Scotch tape more than life itself).
Humidity = Terrible Hair. And no amount of Frizz-Ease can help.
Note: One thing I will not ask for again? Help with my fractions. I definitely won’t make THAT mistake again.
But a few weeks ago I felt a bit guilty about taking advantage of the situation.
You see, I was in a magic show at school and Mama promised she’d be there, despite the fact it was at a very bizarre time of 3:45 pm. And despite her incessant complaining about the random timing she did make it! I saw her just as I finished my trick.
But she looked kind of sad, and I heard her telling my dad that it took her an entire hour to get from the studio where they were filming to my school because of some crazy accident.
Father’s Day in Central Park
So anyway, I felt bad because I think she missed the entire show. And I could tell she was lying when she said her eyes were red because her “contacts were bothering her.”
Still, I have to admit that I enjoyed the cookies she brought home for me. And the Tootsie Rolls and 2 Hershey Kisses she let me have later that day.
More bad hair…this time in Central Park
Yes, I’m imperfect. But summer vacation is coming, and Ramadan is a week away, which means Mama will be in the most horrible mood ever.
So don’t judge! Things are going to get ugly around here…I have to take advantage of the good times.
*This syndrome appears to only affect mothers…fathers never seem to feel guilty. About anything. Ever.
the takeaway
We went to Philadelphia for a last-minute trip this past weekend, where I proceeded to fall flat on my face, in the middle of a busy intersection, for no less than the third time this year.
(In case you are bored / want to laugh at my expense, you can read about one of my previous trips here.)
My thoughts during my most recent “trip:”
My new and very ugly Keds may be comfortable, but maybe the fashion world is trying to tell me that ugly shoes are ugly shoes. And if I continue to wear them, I will continue to suffer the consequences.
Myself, my sunglasses, and the contents of my purse may be sprawled all over Sansom Street, but at least my favorite jeans are relatively unscathed.
If I don’t get up right now, I’m seriously going to get run over.
Luckily, Philadelphia is not New York, and no less than three nice individuals ran over to assist. They guided me to the side of the road, offered to call someone, offered to get me ice for my knee, and then offered to drive me home.
I was kind of speechless. And that RARELY happens.
Philly Restaurants that I highly recommend: Parc, Twenty Manning Grill, and Farmicia.
My thoughts after my most recent “trip:”
My fall was probably karma coming back to bite on me on the !@#, since it happened minutes after I left Maya and Ali at a gelato place, insisting that I needed five minutes alone, where nobody was asking me if they could have more ice cream, another latte, and what were we going to do for dinner?
((In my defense, the entire weekend was spent alleviating my working parent guilt by making it the Maya show. I endured several children’s museums, 60 minutes at the US Mint, many parks, many gift shops, and the “Please Touch Museum” which, incidentally, made me want to throw myself into the Schuylkill River (Ali concurred).)*
The takeaway from this post: I am severely uncoordinated, impatient, and lack an appreciation for museums. But my jeans are in good shape.
*Sorry for the double parenthesis. But mathematically, it works.
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 