12 years
I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s really rare for Ali to get mad.
This is good because I obviously get mad enough for the both of us. This is bad though, because when Ali gets mad? He gets really mad. Like “makes a scene” mad. Which is exactly what happened on Saturday night, as we celebrated 12 blissfully happy years of marriage.
And if you sense a bit of sarcasm you wouldn’t be wrong.
Apparently the waiter is as hopeless at taking a clear picture as I am.
Anyway, here’s what didn’t set my husband off:
- The fact that we were 10 minutes late to dinner at Crustacean because I suddenly felt the need to stop and buy a birthday gift for someone.
- The fact that the restaurant’s hostess was rather bitchy in that uptight, “I’m super important because I’m the hostess of a trendy restaurant” sort of way.
- The fact that valet parking was $10.
- The fact that we were seated right next to the noisy kitchen, despite the restaurant being approximately 60% full.
- The fact that our waiter tried to up sell us on the whole “sparkling or flat water” thing. (I only succumb to that one in Europe).
- The fact that the Shrimp Mousse appetizer was quite possibly the most disgusting thing we’d ever tasted.
Here’s what did set my husband off: The fact that we were seated next to a balustrade that Ali insisted prevented him from fully stretching out his elbow, thereby not allowing him to “eat efficiently.”
I know I sound ungrateful here but deep fried bananas? I don’t eat greasy things…and I don’t eat bananas. I Just. Said. No.
Watching my husband chase down the hostess and then talk to the manager – neither of whom particularly cared about Ali’s challenges concerning a wooden wall – was surreal. But once a year I try to be respectful of the little things, even if that means facilitating my husband’s need to stretch his arm.
After 12 years, I’m guessing it’s the least I can do.
a bit miffed
When I’m around Maya my mood can change so quickly that I often fear I’m becoming Sybil.
A perfect example was yesterday morning. Things started out okay but quickly went downhill after I said the following at least 15 times: “Can you make sure you have your backpack and a sweater? Can you find some socks and put on your shoes? We need to go in 5 minutes.”
Despite my 15 warnings, I found myself waiting at the front door loaded down with 20 pounds of stuff, while my shoeless, shivering child casually glanced around for her backpack as though we had all the time in the world.
And thus I started my morning lecture.
“For crying out loud Maya, I put your lunch, your water bottle, and your homework inside your backpack. Is it too much to ask that you simply put your backpack by the front door?”
Did you know that $5 isn’t enough from the Tooth Fairy anymore? My toothless child is taking us to the cleaners.
I was about to launch into my “Short of brushing your teeth for you I really don’t know how much more I can do for you,” speech when the elevator opened and I saw our building engineer. And just like that, I instantly transformed in to Little Miss Molly Sunshine as I asked about the engineer’s plans for the summer holidays.
Maya looked at me, a bit miffed and bit mystified and really, I don’t blame her.
So what I want to know is why I can find it in me to be polite to random acquaintances but finding the energy to be nice to my own kid is often impossible?
the library book
Last weekend, against my better judgment, I let Ali borrow a book from the library.
I know what you’re thinking: “Ameena, must you control every single aspect of your poor husband’s life, including his reading material?”
Of course I must. And in a minute you’ll understand why.
Aside from worrying about overdue books this weekend, I also attended a very cute baby shower.
Me: “Ali? Did you forget that you don’t read books?”
Ali: “It’s a long weekend so I just want to have it on hand. Just in case.”
Me: “So then why don’t you pick a book with a 3 week time frame instead of a new release? This one has to be returned within 7 days.”
This last statement was met with silence. Likely because it made sense and Ali often has no response to things that make sense.
Me and my friend Nadia at the shower. Here’s the truth: If she wasn’t the nicest person in the world I’d be really jealous of how pretty she is.
Saturday: The book remains by the front door, untouched.
Sunday: I move the book next to Ali’s computer so he’ll notice it. He doesn’t notice it.
Monday, 8:15pm: Ali says, “There is nothing on TV tonight. See? I’m so glad I have a book now.” He shoots me a triumphant look.
Monday, 8:23pm: As expected, Ali puts the book back on the table and turns on Shark Tank instead.
Tuesday – Thursday: The book is staring me in the face. Begging me to return it before I forget about it.
Friday 5:30pm: I tell Maya, “Dad’s library book needs to be returned and he won’t be home tonight. We need to drop it off before we go to dinner with your uncle.”
Friday 6:15pm: I tell Maya, “We forgot to return Dad’s flipping book and now the library is closed.”
Friday 6:16pm: Maya says, “Dad doesn’t know anything about anything.”
Not sure exactly what “organic salmon” means but this was phenomenal. Farmed or not.
I wish I could say I told Maya “not to talk about her father like that” but I didn’t. I guess I forgot?
Kind of like someone forgot to return their library book….
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 