Thank You for Asking

Fathers

I am not sure I approve of Bjorn Bags being worn by fathers.  I know I have startlingly old-fashioned ideas when it comes to men, and I’m convinced it’s my own father’s fault.  He was (“is” actually, for some reason I always speak of him in the past tense -- I’m sure my next 15 years of therapy will get to the bottom of that) a cigarette-smoking, hard-drinking, never-heard-of-a-child’s-sporting-event-he-felt-compelled-to-attend father.  We all adored him.  I can assure you if they had Bjorn Bags in his day he would have thought they were just great…for somebody else. 

To be fair, it is not Bjorn Bags per se (Beloved himself was not above wearing one) that bug me.  It is more the type of father the Bjorn-Bag-wearing-man is likely to grow up to be.  If he is not careful, he will find himself one idle Halloween night in an adult Spider Man costume, or talking about sustainable produce or even using the word “artisanal*.”

Whenever I hear an overly solicitous father calling their child “sweetie” (yuk) or “nice-job”-ing it, or “it doesn’t matter if you win or lose…” I feel a twinge of appreciation for Beloved’s brusque fatherly manner.  Yes, yes I know I forced him to seek outside-couseling because, amongst other things, he never lets any of his boys win…no matter what they are playing.  They reached a point where they refused to play tennis with him because the victory dance he did after beating them was too embarrassing.  Youngest once asked me what “IN YOUR FACE!” meant and why did daddy say it every time he beat him at checkers.  After remarking what a good little basketball player I thought Middle was when he made a spectacular three-pointer Beloved said bluntly, “he’s not that good it’s just the rest of the team is so bad.”

Yet, they all adore him.  I suspect more than they do me!  I suspect that because they tell me that at least once a week.  Why?  I make so much effort…then I get mad because no one is appreciating how much effort I am making.  They all look at me like I’m crazy and no one is quite sure why I’m so mad (including me).  Then the four of them go downstairs, eat bad food and watch football.  No one tells them to pick up their socks or not throw popcorn all over the floor and if they do finally do something that bugs Beloved he just says, “knock it off” and forgets about it.  I can assure you I never “forget" about anything.  Including the fact that I was the sucker that wore the Bjorn-Bag!   

*not to be confused with other words I hate such as:

• Sensual
• Tush
• Make Love
• Climax  (seems there’s a trend here)
• Classy
• Nourishing
• Connected (as in “I feel so connected with you right now”)
• Probiotic
• Incidentally
• Heretofore (never actually heard anyone say this, but would pitch a fit if I did)
• Hunnerd  (instead of hundred…you’d be surprised!)

 

 

Honesty

Beloved and I have an honest relationship.  In fact, I sometimes wish he we weren’t  
quite so honest with me each other.  I totally understand that being honest is good, and I always tell my children that honesty is the best policy, but Beloved really takes it to the limit.  I am somewhat used to it, but it can be startling to others, as guests who come for dinner at our home can attest.  When Beloved decides he is finished with our dinner party he walks upstairs to our bedroom, dons pajamas and nightcap (if he had one), returns downstairs to walk the dog yawning loudly when he passes the dining room.  Our friends are a hardy bunch, and they don’t do anything rash like leave, but they do feel uncomfortable for a moment or two.

I appreciate Beloved’s no nonsense, honesty, especially after the exhausting experience of living with my own sometimes questionable character.  The problem is it seems to be rubbing off on everyone I come in contact with.  Rosee never fails to apologize for waking me (with a very critical look on her face) when she arrives every day at 2:00 in the afternoon.  It puts me in a difficult position, as she very well knows.  Protesting that, "of course I wasn't sleeping" makes me appear guilty.  She just can’t seem to get over those one or two times she arrived whilst I was taking a quite-common-in-Europe afternoon respite.  

The Ladies are another problem.  They are super sweet and everything, but I’m afraid they are living up to the stereotype of religious people being somewhat judgmental.  If we’ve had a party the night before I have to get up at the break of dawn and hide all the evidence.  For a long time I chalked it up to a language/customs barrier, but I’m starting to think it’s just rude when they look at the number of bottles, speak to each other in a disapproving Portuguese manner, then ask how I am feeling this morning.  I trill a happy little non-hungover laugh and say, “Why I feel fabulous…ohhhh!  d’ you mean because of those (looking with surprise at the bottles as if I forgot they were there since they have so little to do with me)?  Goodness, we had scads of people over last night, a huge party in fact.”  At which they begin to pointedly stack the dirty dinner plates (a far lesser number than I intimated).
 
 I won’t even go into Youngest’s honesty issues.  I’ve tried to explain to him time and time again that honesty is a very good thing, but sometimes it’s better to be honest with Mommy privately than to be honest, for example, to the transgender person at Cal Mart.

The frustrating thing is with all this honesty being directed at me I still let everyone else off the hook.  When one of my acquaintances show up with a completely new face and say it is because they started curling their eyelashes do I show by even a glimmer that I am anything but completely accepting of their explanation?

When I compliment a friend on the necklace they are wearing and they say, “thank you, it was handed down from darling Grandmama” do I remind them that I was actually with them when they bought it?

When someone talks about the year they graduated that is years later than I know it was from a university that I’m pretty sure they didn’t attend I never point out that that would make them my babysitter’s age.

And when some silly person talks up the super important PR career they had in New York when I know very well was little more than an assistant’s role, do I remind them…well actually that’s me and of course I don’t, but you get my point!