It was Sunday morning, and I was in that brief half-waking, half-sleeping state when worries do not yet clog your mind and quicken your pulse. I noticed that sunlight was peeking through the blinds and, surprised, I wondered how late it was. With one eye open, I looked over toward the clock - it was 6 something, and no peeps were coming from Nathan's room, so I rolled back under the covers in delight.
A little while later, I woke again and noticed that it was REALLY bright in the bedroom. Panicked, I looked at the clock again, but it read only 7:10. I elbowed Jason and exclaimed that it was very bright in the room for such an early hour - usually it's still pretty dark when we wake up around 7. I quickly concluded that it was the start of Daylight Savings Time, which made sense because our alarm clock is supposed to be some kind of "smart clock" that automatically resets itself when Daylight Savings Time starts and ends. I was a little surprised that I hadn't heard any reminders about DST, but hey - I'd been away for the weekend and hadn't been watching any TV or goofing around on the internet, so it was possible that I'd missed it.
When my clock read 7:34, Annabelle burst into our room, wearing her cheer uniform and an anxious face. "Mom! It's 8:34 - weren't we supposed to be at the field at 8?" I gave Jason a knowing look and launched into a lengthy explanation of what Daylight Savings Time was and why we still had about 20 minutes before we needed to leave.
I kept lazing around and chatting with Jason for a few more minutes before reluctantly getting dressed. As I was putting my shoes on, Jason said, "Are you sure it's Daylight Savings Time? You should check. The computer clock would say the correct time."
I checked my laptop: it read 8:44.
Oh, shit.
I googled Daylight Savings Time 2009. It said "November 1."
Oooooooh, shit.
The clock, purchased several years ago, had not received the memo when Daylight Savings Time dates were changed, so it had set the hour back on the wrong date. Smart clock, my ass.
Jason jumped out of bed and started working on Anna's ponytail while I simultaneously brushed my teeth, smell-checked yesterday's bra off the floor, and looked for the team manager's cell phone number. Not only were we going to miss practice and possibly be late for the start of the football game, but I had also missed my volunteer shift at the raffle table.
As Annabelle started to wail that Dad wasn't doing her hair right and that she'd known we were late all along, I connected with the team manager. "How far away are you?" she asked, "We're doing photos right now! Bring your form to the back field - we're about to do the team photo - we'll wait for you."
Ah, right! It was picture day to boot. Of course.
Cursing, I ran out to the van with no coat and no keys, a crying cheerleader trailing behind me. "Get in!" I barked. Then, "Shit! Keys!"
Five seconds later, I re-emerged from my house after dropping several f-bombs at my husband, with keys in hand, but still no camera, coffee, checkbook, or coat.
I defied the posted speed limit signs and made it to the field at warp speed. Annabelle suffered through a bogus pep talk about "pulling it together" even as her mother's voice cracked with emotion.
We arrived, and I was full-on crying behind my sunglasses, in shame, embarrassment, and most of all, frustration. Last game of the season and no camera? Picture day and ill-constructed Dad-ponytail? Well-prepared, responsible daughter and day-ruining Mom? It was all so upsetting.
As I crouched on the ground, haphazardly filling out the photography order form, desperately trying to hide the fact that I, a grown woman, was crying at cheer practice, my daughter's teammates and their moms rallied around her to get her smiling. I felt overwhelmed with love for all of these people. They did what I couldn't, and within a minute Annabelle was laughing and joining her mates in the team photo.
The girls then ran to the football field, ready to cheer on their football-playing teammates. I looked on with relief as the adrenaline finally shut off and the full body blush gave way to my natural pale skin. I volunteered in the Snack Shack to make up for blowing off my shft at the raffle table. At halftime, Annabelle was not a "base" in the stunting group as usual because she had missed the pre-game practice. But! She got to do a cartwheel right in front of the stunt groups instead!
And so, I was forgiven. By my daughter, her team, and by myself.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Sweatpant justice
While shopping at Target on Friday I spotted something I never imagined could excite me so: a big rack of Hanes Her Way sweats in all different colors. The big picture-sign above the shelves of fleece informed me that these cozy pieces were just $6 each, and the woman in the picture looked so comfy and happy.
So I bought a couple of sets. Now these are not clothes you'd actually wear to the gym. No, women must be wearing tighter-fighting yoga or running pants with some kind of coordinating tank and zip-front jacket when sporting gym clothes in public. It's the code. These sweats are more the old-fashioned type: a boxy, unfitted sweatshirt with loose-fitting straight-leg sweat pants in mix-and-match colors like black, gray, and purple. These are the sweats I remember from childhood, minus the elastic cuff at the bottom of the pants-leg. Apparently no one wants to go that retro.
I was so excited about buying these (Only $6 per piece! Comfy and warm for these chilly autumn nights!) that I immediately washed them when I got home, eager to wear them later that night. (This is significant because I had mulitple laundry piles waiting patiently for their turn to be washed, and I shockingly let these sweats cut the line.)
Jump to 7:30 that night. I've tucked the kids into bed, and I am deciding which TV show to watch while waiting for Jason to get home from work, decked out in my cute little jeans that make my bum look smallish. I'm still wearing my bra and a nice shirt, too, so that I will still look presentable when he gets home. (Overall, still closer to Roseanne on the done-up scale than to Donna Reed, but trying, anyway.) The minutes tick by as I squirm in my uncomfortable clothes, trying to relax and enjoy another gross-out episode of CSI:Miami. My mind keeps returning to thoughts of the sweats, washed, dried, and folded neatly in my closet. But I resist putting them on and wait for Jason.
And wait.
By the time he gets home, it's close to 10:30, and I give him a quick hello, barely listen to some stories about his day, and then race to the closet to change into the sweats. He saw me in the jeans and shirt, right? As long as he saw me, even if only for five minutes, I get credit, right?
But credit from whom? He probably didn't even notice. And I spent two-and-a-half hours cooped up in tight, pinchy jeans when I could have been lounging in soft, cozy fleece.
So from now on, husbands of the world, a new rule: if you're going to get home from work after 9pm, please do not expect to see your wife's cute little denim bottom and perky little push-up bra. Instead, you can expect to see your wife in amorphous $6 sweats. But, hey - at least she'll be soft to snuggle.
So I bought a couple of sets. Now these are not clothes you'd actually wear to the gym. No, women must be wearing tighter-fighting yoga or running pants with some kind of coordinating tank and zip-front jacket when sporting gym clothes in public. It's the code. These sweats are more the old-fashioned type: a boxy, unfitted sweatshirt with loose-fitting straight-leg sweat pants in mix-and-match colors like black, gray, and purple. These are the sweats I remember from childhood, minus the elastic cuff at the bottom of the pants-leg. Apparently no one wants to go that retro.
I was so excited about buying these (Only $6 per piece! Comfy and warm for these chilly autumn nights!) that I immediately washed them when I got home, eager to wear them later that night. (This is significant because I had mulitple laundry piles waiting patiently for their turn to be washed, and I shockingly let these sweats cut the line.)
Jump to 7:30 that night. I've tucked the kids into bed, and I am deciding which TV show to watch while waiting for Jason to get home from work, decked out in my cute little jeans that make my bum look smallish. I'm still wearing my bra and a nice shirt, too, so that I will still look presentable when he gets home. (Overall, still closer to Roseanne on the done-up scale than to Donna Reed, but trying, anyway.) The minutes tick by as I squirm in my uncomfortable clothes, trying to relax and enjoy another gross-out episode of CSI:Miami. My mind keeps returning to thoughts of the sweats, washed, dried, and folded neatly in my closet. But I resist putting them on and wait for Jason.
And wait.
By the time he gets home, it's close to 10:30, and I give him a quick hello, barely listen to some stories about his day, and then race to the closet to change into the sweats. He saw me in the jeans and shirt, right? As long as he saw me, even if only for five minutes, I get credit, right?
But credit from whom? He probably didn't even notice. And I spent two-and-a-half hours cooped up in tight, pinchy jeans when I could have been lounging in soft, cozy fleece.
So from now on, husbands of the world, a new rule: if you're going to get home from work after 9pm, please do not expect to see your wife's cute little denim bottom and perky little push-up bra. Instead, you can expect to see your wife in amorphous $6 sweats. But, hey - at least she'll be soft to snuggle.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Working out, or hardly working?
I just checked Nathan into Child Watch at the YMCA, where he is happily playing with other tots whose yoga-pantsed, stainless-steel-water-bottle-carrying moms have dropped them off, too. It's that time of the morning, when the dads have gone off to work and the moms who stay at home with their children hit the Y to whip their post-baby bodies into shape.
With nothing on the calendar for this morning, I woke up with the idea to come here so that I wouldn't have to spend another day hanging around the house, trying to do laundry while Nathan follows me around, asking the same 3 questions over and over. ("What are we gonna have?" "Where are we gonna go to?" "What are we gonna do?") And after dropping all that cash on furniture last weekend, I figured I should lay low on the going-out front.
So, I put on some sweatpants and sneakers, made some tea for my travel mug, and headed to the gym. Well, not the gym, exactly. I never really intended to work out here this morning, but I figured I'd dress the part so I don't stand out. Instead of going into the Wellness Center and toning my ass on an elliptical, I sat my ass right down in one of the overstuffed leather chairs in the corner of the lobby with my laptop. Free Wi-Fi! (Y-Fi?)
And here I sit, feeling equal parts guilty and smug. But mostly just happy to be sitting, quietly enjoying my tea. Hey, you've got to grab these moments however ... and wherever ... you can.
With nothing on the calendar for this morning, I woke up with the idea to come here so that I wouldn't have to spend another day hanging around the house, trying to do laundry while Nathan follows me around, asking the same 3 questions over and over. ("What are we gonna have?" "Where are we gonna go to?" "What are we gonna do?") And after dropping all that cash on furniture last weekend, I figured I should lay low on the going-out front.
So, I put on some sweatpants and sneakers, made some tea for my travel mug, and headed to the gym. Well, not the gym, exactly. I never really intended to work out here this morning, but I figured I'd dress the part so I don't stand out. Instead of going into the Wellness Center and toning my ass on an elliptical, I sat my ass right down in one of the overstuffed leather chairs in the corner of the lobby with my laptop. Free Wi-Fi! (Y-Fi?)
And here I sit, feeling equal parts guilty and smug. But mostly just happy to be sitting, quietly enjoying my tea. Hey, you've got to grab these moments however ... and wherever ... you can.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Friday Follow-Up
It's Friday, y'all! I told you it'd come fast this week, and it sure did. So, here are some updates on past stories:
First, I want to thank you all again for the amazing support you gave me while I was going through my miscarriage. Last week was ROUGH, but this week has been all about keeping busy and moving on. I'm feeling good, although I do seem to have developed a bit of an angry edge. (On the inside, so don't worry that I'm going to cut you or anything.) I thought I recalled hearing something about anger being one of the 7 stages of grief, so I Wikipedia'd them, figuring anger must be the last one before the Being Over It stage. Turns out it's actually only step 3 in the process. Ouch.
But wait! I seem to be in hyperdrive, because I am simultaneously experiencing:
Anger: I'm swearing in my head a lot more than usual, especially when I see baby stuff. Fuck off, Pooh booties.
Reflection: Been thinking about the crazy ride we were on when we discovered that we were surprisingly expecting and then surprisingly not expecting anymore. Wondering whether we'll decide to try again or keep things as they are.
The Upward Turn: Experiencing a welcome lift in mood and productivity - for example, I cleaned for the whole morning while Nathan was at playgroup on Tuesday...typically something I'd do only to avoid embarrassment if company's coming over, or to avoid playing another game of Go Fish with Nathan.
Reconstruction and Working Through: I finally decided what I wanted and bought furniture for the living room, family room, and kitchen on Monday, and am currently investigating window treatments. Thinking about personal and "professional" (i.e. blog) goals. Noticing that my body feels back to normal. (Bye, bye, bigger boobs.)
Acceptance and Hope: I accept that this kind of thing happens. A lot. And I hope that it won't ever happen to me again. For closure, I morbidly peed on a stick yesterday, and I saw only the one lonely pink line, when last week there'd been two. I'm a visual kind of person, so this creepy maneuver helped me turn the page.
So there you have it: proof that women can multi-task anything, even grief.
In other news, Romeo accidentally injured Annabelle in school yesterday and he felt terrible. He seems like a pretty nice kid, actually. For a player. He kept apologizing (although it was an accident), and he told her that she looked pretty, despite the bloody lip.
And the Academy called this morning. Madeleine has been nominated Best Supporting Actress for her portrayal of Mom's Embarrassing Interview Fart in The Emotions Game. She says she's honored just to be nominated, but you know she wants to bring home that statue.
First, I want to thank you all again for the amazing support you gave me while I was going through my miscarriage. Last week was ROUGH, but this week has been all about keeping busy and moving on. I'm feeling good, although I do seem to have developed a bit of an angry edge. (On the inside, so don't worry that I'm going to cut you or anything.) I thought I recalled hearing something about anger being one of the 7 stages of grief, so I Wikipedia'd them, figuring anger must be the last one before the Being Over It stage. Turns out it's actually only step 3 in the process. Ouch.
But wait! I seem to be in hyperdrive, because I am simultaneously experiencing:
Anger: I'm swearing in my head a lot more than usual, especially when I see baby stuff. Fuck off, Pooh booties.
Reflection: Been thinking about the crazy ride we were on when we discovered that we were surprisingly expecting and then surprisingly not expecting anymore. Wondering whether we'll decide to try again or keep things as they are.
The Upward Turn: Experiencing a welcome lift in mood and productivity - for example, I cleaned for the whole morning while Nathan was at playgroup on Tuesday...typically something I'd do only to avoid embarrassment if company's coming over, or to avoid playing another game of Go Fish with Nathan.
Reconstruction and Working Through: I finally decided what I wanted and bought furniture for the living room, family room, and kitchen on Monday, and am currently investigating window treatments. Thinking about personal and "professional" (i.e. blog) goals. Noticing that my body feels back to normal. (Bye, bye, bigger boobs.)
Acceptance and Hope: I accept that this kind of thing happens. A lot. And I hope that it won't ever happen to me again. For closure, I morbidly peed on a stick yesterday, and I saw only the one lonely pink line, when last week there'd been two. I'm a visual kind of person, so this creepy maneuver helped me turn the page.
So there you have it: proof that women can multi-task anything, even grief.
In other news, Romeo accidentally injured Annabelle in school yesterday and he felt terrible. He seems like a pretty nice kid, actually. For a player. He kept apologizing (although it was an accident), and he told her that she looked pretty, despite the bloody lip.
And the Academy called this morning. Madeleine has been nominated Best Supporting Actress for her portrayal of Mom's Embarrassing Interview Fart in The Emotions Game. She says she's honored just to be nominated, but you know she wants to bring home that statue.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Seven going on seventeen
Annabelle, my second-grader, has a boyfriend. She came home last week telling me that this boy - we'll call him Romeo - asked her if she had a boyfriend. "No," she answered shyly. "Why, do you have a girlfriend?"
And so it began.
The next day, Romeo disclosed to Annabelle that he already had a girlfriend, technically, but that she could be his "number two." She was game, although it did seem to weigh on her a bit as she confessed her secondary status to me on the way home from school.
The day after that, I saw Romeo for the first time, as he walked Annabelle out of the front doors to the car pick-up line. He was cute, and he seemed really into her. I caught him looking at her once she was in the van and buckled up, bubbling over with stories of her day.
Then, he bumped her up to "first girlfriend" status. I asked Annabelle what it meant to her to be someone's girlfriend. She explained that the two of them are together all the time, and had even gone for a romantic walk at recess. "A 'romantic' walk?" I asked, eyes bugging out. "Yeah," she grinned. "We were about to hold hands, but the whistle blew and we had to go back inside."
Phew.
Annabelle and her boyfriend have been joined at the hip (not literally, I hope) throughout the day: during morning work time, at music class, in the cafeteria. But yesterday, this Lunchtime Lothario announced to her that he wasn't sure that he wanted "to be with her anymore." She kept silent and went back to work on her Christopher Columbus coloring pages, unphased. Later, he approached her again with a similar pronouncement. This time she warned him, "You'll have to tell a lot of people you changed your mind, then, because you told everybody about us." (This had been a source of great embarrassment for her - she'd have preferred keeping things on the DL.) He backed off immediately and claimed that he'd never really wanted to stop being her boyfriend. Then he gave her an Arthur sticker.
I am blown away by these developments. Aren't boys supposed to be blind to the opposite sex until, like, middle school? I thought it was the girls who were supposed to be the first aggressors, what with their earlier development, maturity, and Disney princess movies. I can't believe that this little boy has been trolling the schoolyard for girlfriends. Plural.
And hey, where is Little Cassanova learning this behavior? Who is the kid's dad, Hef??
And so it began.
The next day, Romeo disclosed to Annabelle that he already had a girlfriend, technically, but that she could be his "number two." She was game, although it did seem to weigh on her a bit as she confessed her secondary status to me on the way home from school.
The day after that, I saw Romeo for the first time, as he walked Annabelle out of the front doors to the car pick-up line. He was cute, and he seemed really into her. I caught him looking at her once she was in the van and buckled up, bubbling over with stories of her day.
Then, he bumped her up to "first girlfriend" status. I asked Annabelle what it meant to her to be someone's girlfriend. She explained that the two of them are together all the time, and had even gone for a romantic walk at recess. "A 'romantic' walk?" I asked, eyes bugging out. "Yeah," she grinned. "We were about to hold hands, but the whistle blew and we had to go back inside."
Phew.
Annabelle and her boyfriend have been joined at the hip (not literally, I hope) throughout the day: during morning work time, at music class, in the cafeteria. But yesterday, this Lunchtime Lothario announced to her that he wasn't sure that he wanted "to be with her anymore." She kept silent and went back to work on her Christopher Columbus coloring pages, unphased. Later, he approached her again with a similar pronouncement. This time she warned him, "You'll have to tell a lot of people you changed your mind, then, because you told everybody about us." (This had been a source of great embarrassment for her - she'd have preferred keeping things on the DL.) He backed off immediately and claimed that he'd never really wanted to stop being her boyfriend. Then he gave her an Arthur sticker.
I am blown away by these developments. Aren't boys supposed to be blind to the opposite sex until, like, middle school? I thought it was the girls who were supposed to be the first aggressors, what with their earlier development, maturity, and Disney princess movies. I can't believe that this little boy has been trolling the schoolyard for girlfriends. Plural.
And hey, where is Little Cassanova learning this behavior? Who is the kid's dad, Hef??
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
I'm a winner!
I won a little contest on Christine Green's blog, grown ups are like that! I didn’t do anything special to “earn” the win, but I am still excited that my name was the one she picked out of a hat. So I will soon be the proud owner of a book of beautiful writing about motherhood called Mother Muse. Isn’t winning something the best feeling?
But I’ll tell you what’s an even better feeling: thinking of myself as a writer. Yeah, my blog is written in a style that’s more like a journal than like anything you’d find in the Literature section at Barnes and Noble, but hey, I am writing. I go through my mom routine, wondering what to do with those chicken breasts, searching for that missing sock, and all the while I am thinking about what I’m going to write about next. One of the kids says something funny, like “Mom, you need to change my diaper. I stink!” and I laugh, “That’s going in the blog.” I even carry a Where the Wild Things Are journal in my purse so that I can jot ideas and funny quotes as they happen. All of these things, combined with the fact that I publish musings on the internet, make me a writer, I think.
But I feel so much more like one today because I won Christine’s contest. You see, Christine is a real, honest-to-goodness writer and I admire the hell out of her. To be associated with her in some way – even just by winning a giveaway on her blog - makes me feel all puffed up and proud.
I met Christine a year-and-a-half ago, through MOMS Club. I met her just the one time - she lives a couple hundred miles away - but I was so impressed with her. We became Facebook friends, and I soon learned that she’d been published in a collection of essays and poems and in a local parenting magazine. Wow. Published! More than once! I started reading her blog, and my respect grew as I devoured each thoughtful, artfully-crafted post. And then, I saw photos of her penning her name at a book signing, and whoop, she officially became my idol. Published, reading her work to a crowd in a book store, and she wears glasses to boot. (I’ve always dreamed of wearing glasses, but my stupid eyes work fine.)
So, thank you, Christine, for the book I won, and for inspiring this mom to follow her dream of writing.
But I’ll tell you what’s an even better feeling: thinking of myself as a writer. Yeah, my blog is written in a style that’s more like a journal than like anything you’d find in the Literature section at Barnes and Noble, but hey, I am writing. I go through my mom routine, wondering what to do with those chicken breasts, searching for that missing sock, and all the while I am thinking about what I’m going to write about next. One of the kids says something funny, like “Mom, you need to change my diaper. I stink!” and I laugh, “That’s going in the blog.” I even carry a Where the Wild Things Are journal in my purse so that I can jot ideas and funny quotes as they happen. All of these things, combined with the fact that I publish musings on the internet, make me a writer, I think.
But I feel so much more like one today because I won Christine’s contest. You see, Christine is a real, honest-to-goodness writer and I admire the hell out of her. To be associated with her in some way – even just by winning a giveaway on her blog - makes me feel all puffed up and proud.
I met Christine a year-and-a-half ago, through MOMS Club. I met her just the one time - she lives a couple hundred miles away - but I was so impressed with her. We became Facebook friends, and I soon learned that she’d been published in a collection of essays and poems and in a local parenting magazine. Wow. Published! More than once! I started reading her blog, and my respect grew as I devoured each thoughtful, artfully-crafted post. And then, I saw photos of her penning her name at a book signing, and whoop, she officially became my idol. Published, reading her work to a crowd in a book store, and she wears glasses to boot. (I’ve always dreamed of wearing glasses, but my stupid eyes work fine.)
So, thank you, Christine, for the book I won, and for inspiring this mom to follow her dream of writing.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Family dinner
Does it feel like Monday today or what? I've been so confused all morning, setting out a gym-day outfit for the wrong girl, gearing up for the wrong after-school activity, and wondering whether the trash goes out or not. But I love this kind of week, the short kind. It'll be Friday even before we can moan, "Is it Friday yet?"
We had a nice long weekend here at the Paradis homestead. Jason turns 35 today, so I got the idea to take him out on Sunday for his birthday. Little did I know that Sunday was the day that both the Red Sox and the Patriots would be playing. (And losing.) It worked out okay, though - we headed over to Bar Louie at Patriot Place to watch the games. The food was good, and the beer was good, but as halftime approached and we'd already been sitting there for two or three hours, we decided to make a mad dash home to watch the rest of the game on the couch, drinking our fridge beer for half the price. I don't want to use the term "old farts," but let's just say that we didn't even touch any more beers at home, and I was dozed off on the couch in my pj's by 8:15.
Still, it was nice to be able to walk around the house, talking in full voice after 7:30pm because there were no sleeping children about. And it was really nice to wake up on our own terms the next morning, which is usually my favorite part about sending the kids over to Grandma's for a sleepover.
So then, after having the wonderful chance to actually miss the kids, we all gathered around the table last night for a family dinner. I made lasagna, Jason's favorite meal, in honor of it being his birthday eve. We dined on matching plates, the novelty and excitement of which still has not worn off, and enjoyed each other's company. After we ate, we decided to play this game that makes us laugh when we're all together at the table. (That doesn't happen often because Jason usually works late.) One person, the judge, picks an emotion, and the rest of the participants have to pose in their best display of that feeling. Then the judge chooses the most convincing poser as the winner.
Well, last night we took our game to the next level. Now it's more about improv than modeling. Jason, as the first judge, created a scenario for each of us and we had to act accordingly. So, for "excited," he told Annabelle that we were going to Disney World, Madeleine that she was getting a pony, and me that we had won $127 million in the lottery. (Annabelle's reaction was the most genuinely excited-looking, so she won that round.) Next, Annabelle judged and chose "embarrassed" as the feeling she wanted us to emote. She told her sister that her friends were looking at her while she was getting dressed in her bedroom. (I guess they were supposed to have been hiding in the closet or something? Creepy!) Coming up with Jason's scenario was tricky - he doesn't embarrass easily. So Mad and I pretended to be his bosses, sitting at dinner with Jason after work one day. Annabelle pretended to be the waiter, who gave Jason the old, "I'm sorry, Sir, but your card's been declined." The girls' performances were great, but Jason remained annoyingly unrattled.
But the best was the scenario they cooked up to get me to act embarrassed: I was on a job interview, sitting across the table from my prospective boss, Annabelle. She asked me to tell her a little about myself, and as I began to answer, Madeleine, crouched on the floor right behind my bum, made farting noises. It was hysterical! We were all laughing so hard, we forgot to pick a winner.
The whole dinnertime was awesome because I actually enjoyed myself. I know this makes me sound like a jerk, but I usually HATE to sit down at the dinner table. I prefer to serve the kids and then go do my thing for the few minutes that I know Nathan is sitting down somewhere. And who wants to sit down and eat the gross dinners that I've made, anyway? Not me! (shudder) But I know that's wrong, and that I need to be a good role model for table manners and eating, and that it's a great opportunity to have family time and talk about our day. So, now that we've got the new dishes and use non-disposable cups like city-folk, I'm sitting down at the table more and allowing myself to relax and enjoy it a little.
We had a nice long weekend here at the Paradis homestead. Jason turns 35 today, so I got the idea to take him out on Sunday for his birthday. Little did I know that Sunday was the day that both the Red Sox and the Patriots would be playing. (And losing.) It worked out okay, though - we headed over to Bar Louie at Patriot Place to watch the games. The food was good, and the beer was good, but as halftime approached and we'd already been sitting there for two or three hours, we decided to make a mad dash home to watch the rest of the game on the couch, drinking our fridge beer for half the price. I don't want to use the term "old farts," but let's just say that we didn't even touch any more beers at home, and I was dozed off on the couch in my pj's by 8:15.
Still, it was nice to be able to walk around the house, talking in full voice after 7:30pm because there were no sleeping children about. And it was really nice to wake up on our own terms the next morning, which is usually my favorite part about sending the kids over to Grandma's for a sleepover.
So then, after having the wonderful chance to actually miss the kids, we all gathered around the table last night for a family dinner. I made lasagna, Jason's favorite meal, in honor of it being his birthday eve. We dined on matching plates, the novelty and excitement of which still has not worn off, and enjoyed each other's company. After we ate, we decided to play this game that makes us laugh when we're all together at the table. (That doesn't happen often because Jason usually works late.) One person, the judge, picks an emotion, and the rest of the participants have to pose in their best display of that feeling. Then the judge chooses the most convincing poser as the winner.
Well, last night we took our game to the next level. Now it's more about improv than modeling. Jason, as the first judge, created a scenario for each of us and we had to act accordingly. So, for "excited," he told Annabelle that we were going to Disney World, Madeleine that she was getting a pony, and me that we had won $127 million in the lottery. (Annabelle's reaction was the most genuinely excited-looking, so she won that round.) Next, Annabelle judged and chose "embarrassed" as the feeling she wanted us to emote. She told her sister that her friends were looking at her while she was getting dressed in her bedroom. (I guess they were supposed to have been hiding in the closet or something? Creepy!) Coming up with Jason's scenario was tricky - he doesn't embarrass easily. So Mad and I pretended to be his bosses, sitting at dinner with Jason after work one day. Annabelle pretended to be the waiter, who gave Jason the old, "I'm sorry, Sir, but your card's been declined." The girls' performances were great, but Jason remained annoyingly unrattled.
But the best was the scenario they cooked up to get me to act embarrassed: I was on a job interview, sitting across the table from my prospective boss, Annabelle. She asked me to tell her a little about myself, and as I began to answer, Madeleine, crouched on the floor right behind my bum, made farting noises. It was hysterical! We were all laughing so hard, we forgot to pick a winner.
The whole dinnertime was awesome because I actually enjoyed myself. I know this makes me sound like a jerk, but I usually HATE to sit down at the dinner table. I prefer to serve the kids and then go do my thing for the few minutes that I know Nathan is sitting down somewhere. And who wants to sit down and eat the gross dinners that I've made, anyway? Not me! (shudder) But I know that's wrong, and that I need to be a good role model for table manners and eating, and that it's a great opportunity to have family time and talk about our day. So, now that we've got the new dishes and use non-disposable cups like city-folk, I'm sitting down at the table more and allowing myself to relax and enjoy it a little.
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