…or, something like that…butt, then again…life can be such a bitch, sometimes and (a real pain-in-the-ass, even) is it any wonder moms (and dads) walk around with this sort of…you know…UGH!…kind of look on their faces!?!?
Especially at this time of year.
So, here’s the thing…about last night…Thing Two’s girl scout troop had a bowl-a-thon a few weeks ago and has adopted a family (single mom and two girls) for Christmas and I was invited, along with two other moms, to a friend’s house to wrap the gifts.
A whole lot of presents…good music…and homemade wine (yes, one of the mom’s family makes their own ROCKIN’ red wine!) later, we…you know…started talkin’.
A lot.
And drinkin’.
Okay, I do believe that a little red wine…goes a long way…and, by the way…can wrap like nobody’s business…and know how to hold my liquor…thank you, very much.
My tongue, not so much.
In fact, we were done wrapping in little less than an hour…but, the talkin’ went on…and on…and…well, at one point, wine-making-mom looked down at her watch and said:
“Whoa, is it one o’clock in the morning, already!?!”
Honestly.
What can four women…who’ve known each other for more than five years, now…talk about…for six hours!!!???!!!
Nope.
Not just the kids – we weren’t born moms, ya’ know – we talked of life b.c. (before children) which, of course, led to conversations about our husbands – apparently, I am NOT the only one frustrated with hers, at the moment – and whatever else happened to be on our minds.
Times four.
That’s a whole lot of talkin’ – especially at this time of year – and I was…well…that was some mighty fine wine…and thanks to our girls…we were going to make a family…very happy…so, I was feelin’ pretty festive, actually.
Until.
Well, the morning after isn’t always easy…is it?…especially at this time of the year…when perhaps being visited by old ghosts of the past…can seem like even more of a pain-in-the-ass, than usual.
And then…the door bell rings…the dog barks…the cats go running…rugs, ornaments and the occasional killer dust bunny goes flying…and all bets are off.
Until.
The surprise visit…from my parents.
“We’ve decided that your husband needs to get rid of that piece of shite he’s driving.”
[eyes go wide]
“We’re going to help you get that used car he’s been eyeing.”
[mouth goes dry]
“For no other reason than the poor bastard needs a break.”
[blinking back tears]
“And you’re going to be the one to tell him!”
Shite.
I mentioned the arguments, the late nights and the fact that we were…treading water…lightly, so to speak…and that…though, their good intentions were very much appreciated…I did NOT want to go there, again.
My father simply smiled and agreed:
“I know you think we don’t understand…but, do I really have to remind you…that we do?”
[flashback to 1975]
While the Jeffersons were moving on up…my parents were busy moving us (we were 11 at the time) into a house…one that they could finally call their own…or, as he and my mother dubbed, “the rat’s nest,” appropriately enough.
It took my parents the next 30 years of tearing down, adding on and renovating to realize their dream home – a nest their kids would consider worth flying home to…and from…one day.
“We’re not helping you…just because you guys have helped us…you don’t have to help us, either.”
I bit my lip…but, it didn’t help hold my tongue.
“Yes, I do…and you do…because, there are enough people out there who don’t care…and won’t…and if you won’t…and I don’t…then, who the hell will…right?!?”
[blank stare]
UGH, frickin’ ghosts; stupid car!
I know it’s a lot to take in (especially at Christmas) but – after sixteen years – it’s okay, honey…I’m sorta…you know…still learning…to take the good…along with the bad, too…even if it means swallowing your pride, a little.
Besides, after a while, it all tastes just like chicken – Hakuna Matata!
