I haven’t been blogging lately because the news haven’t been good, and I don’t mean the national financial crisis. Just the usual things that happen in life but happening one after the other, like the Biblical Job or Charlie Brown.
The biggest challenge has been getting Mom out of the house she’s lived in for more than 20 years: boxing, throwing, selling, throwing, and cajoling her into a new life. She’s living with us now and that has mostly been fun. (More on that later!)
But didn’t want to send out negative vibes to you all, at least not until I’ve processed everything. Everything that’s happening in my life is happening in other people’s lives too and when read the news and see the TV stories, it sometimes get TOO depressing, especially if I see Mom trying to be cheerful when she jokes she’s homeless or hear her rant about a million little things she should have done before the move.
Choose to be happy, people.
I just finished the Monday column today, but was a bit flustered because my deadline got moved up. I had three hours to write it, that’s doable, but then Wonder Boy needed lunch, my sister called and needed to vent about Mom and the move, my Mom called to make sure I could pick her up later tonight, and Firstborn Son needed to get picked up from school.
Needless to say, I was half an hour late, agonizing over the column while my two boys chattered around me.
“Go downstairs and watch TV,” I said like the good mother I am.
Joseph was dutifully quiet behind me. Sandro kept coming up to me with minute by minute reports of how well he’s eating Pez candy for the very first time.
I let him have it. In one long exhaled breath, I explained how I am doing my work and needed to think and if I kept hearing his voice I would lose my train of thought and have to start over and then it would take me longer to join him in his play.
He looked at me from under impossibly long lashes and whispered penitently, “Sorry.”
I turned back to the computer.
A minute later, I hear a soft voice by my elbow.
Just as I was feeling guilty about losing my temper, my little man looks at me, works his eyebrows into a frown and intones: “Why don’t you just work somewhere else?”
At this point, his older brother takes him by the hand and says authoritatively, “Sandro, you need to leave Mama alone. You’re only making her angry. Did you hear the stomp?”
It seems my son has learned that when Mama stomps her foot, she means business. Hubby thought that was so endearing when I did it during our dating days. Doubt our kids think the same today.