We have raspberries. Growing in our very own yard. I am still blown away by my new life, by my suburban riches. I keep marveling to myself, mouth askew, "I have a driveway, a yard, a raspberry bush..." I must look like a mental patient to the neighbors.
As I nibble a sweet berry I must note, Stella has officially turned terrible two. She still has her positive qualities, but holy magoly.
All she wants when I'm around is her daddy, to pick her up, to help her with her Crocs, to get her cereal, blah blah, and like another little girl we know, only wants to do everything "all by self!!!!" which means that I get to stand outside the car while she attempts to buckle herself into her carseat, or I get to stand holding heavy (reusable) grocery bags on the back stairs while she attempts to open the screen door, God forbid I touch the handle! Who do I think I am? Satan?
Lots of flinging of bananas, smearing of milk, asking for food and then not eating it, refusing to get dressed, insisting on wearing flip flops that never stay on her feet, while I stand there grinding my teeth and talking like a Sleestack in order to keep my cool.
My cool, heh heh. Yeah, right. And then the other night my mom was over, bless her almost seventy-five year old heart, and she was nagging the kids, and doing her worry jig, "don't run around with beads on your neck, Stella, you'll get strangled!" and "Stella? Where is she?" panic mounting in her voice as if the UPS man just stole her out of the house, and then "Hamish! don't put that plastic thing in your mouth, you'll choke!"
And by then both my eyes were twitching, and the words erupted from my mouth like bad fish, "Oh Mom, let him choke!" at which point my mom spit out her seltzer all over me, and I got down on the floor with a wad of paper towels, grateful for laughter, because I'd just about forgotten it existed.
3 comments:
Glad to hear that things are going well for you and that even though it is crazy, that it is normal.
Spitting out seltzer and having a good laugh over Hamish choking sounds wonderful, never thought I'd write that and mean it but, you know, the cathartic laughter with your mom sounds really lovely, bless her heart with all that grandmotherly nagging. What is it with these crazy independent girls at such a young age?! Whenever I drive the least bit fast Oona screams delightedly saying we're in a race car. And the other day driving down a hill she saw a motorcycle whizz by us and she was so joyous watching it - the teenage years with these girl are going to be HELL. Should we sign them up for the convent now? the raspberry looks yummy. You might look crazy marveling over all the space of the suburbs but I'm sure you look crazy in an attractive, sexy Angelina Jolie in the nuthouse way.
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