Sunday, April 16, 2006

Life is short; Easter is long.

After a lengthy three days at home with my children, I have come to the startling conclusion that my children are a lot like my relatives. Only younger. I mean, it's uncanny how much they remind me of my family. Not my in-laws--the family I grew up with. As in, my bothers and sisters. Or even (she added, looking around nervously) my mother. Who was not nicknamed "The Witch of Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts" for nothing.1

Not that my children really act like mother (thank God) except for being able to get on my last nerve and make me completely crazy ... but this weekend has reminded me of what I don't like about holidays with my family:

1. The non-stop talking about subjects that bore me comatose.
2. The fighting.
3. The utter lack of gratitude for my extreme thoughtfulness.
4. The television and/or Nintendo being on ALL THE TIME unless I put my foot down, but when I do that, the reaction, if verbalized, would translate to: "I'm bored; play with me. Right now. No, I don't care that you're elbow-deep in soap suds washing millions of dishes. I said now, woman!"
5. The almost constant eating and drinking and making messes in the kitchen. By lunch time today, I was ready to hand out K-rations for Easter dinner.
6. The non-stop talking. Yes, I know I already mentioned it. But it's a constant.

This does not mean I don't love my children. The whole time they are boring me comatose, I'm wishing they'd shut up about Pita Lion or Kitty City and just let me poke them in their cute little tummies or count the freckles on their noses or whatever. Instead, I have to listen to the long, involved adventures of their fictional characters. They both make up wildly elaborate imaginary worlds derived from popular children's entertainment, like Harry Potter or Wallace and Gromit or The Winx Club ... but with all kinds of levels and tournaments, a la Pokemon, in the case of the boy, and ridiculous numbers of characters and relationships, a la the Bratz, in the case of the girl, and I can't possibly keep it all straight. I've tried, and that way madness lies.

So honestly ... I can't wait to pack them off to school tomorrow. They go on and on and on. I can't imagine where they get that from.

1 Three guesses as to who came up with that one.


  1. Having recently suffered (and by "suffered" I mean tried very hard to look interested while struggling to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head) through a 20-minute explication of a skiing adventure my son had, complete with names of, ratings of (blue, green or black) and descriptions of each and every run involved in this adventure, I feel your pain.

  2. So true, so true.
    And my mother states, with much satisfaction and a glow in her eye, "Yes, darling. Just like YOU at that age. In fact, you were much more, ah, imaginative and talkative." And she gloats!
    And if you give a bored "Uh huh" kind of I'm-trying-to-fool-you-that-I'm-listening kind of reply, they nail you! "Did you understand me, Mommy?!" and then re-tell it, s-l-o-w-e-r this time so that their poor, befuddled mommy will understand this life-changing story they must invent and tell.

    I find that inviting a newcomer into the dinner avoids the tried and true but trite tales from being retold. And limiting the available alcohol helps with the banality too (can you tell I do not drink?).

  3. I thought the version of the descriptive you devised merely RHYMED with that.


  4. Imaginary worlds are great. I got a couple going on right now. Wait... how many? Okay, this could get schizophrenic.


Gentle Readers:

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xxx, Poppy.