Five Things that I Don’t Want to Pass On To My Beans.*
1. I steal pens. J and I have an unholy desire to find the right pen. We don’t agree on what the perfect pen is, mind you, but we agree that it is completely normal to drive to three different stores to find the right pen, if such a pen exists. We also agree that it is okay to “borrow” a pen, if the situation allows, from people, if it is the right pen, including but not limited to our waitress from last weekend. He’s a ball-pointer but I’m above those. My sister brings an extra of her favorites when she visits, because she knows that if she doesn’t, she’ll be leaving Michigan without hers. Just this morning, I arrived to work, went into my office and found that my favorite red pen went missing. I panicked and immediately assumed it was D, as he was clearly coveting it the other day when he borrowed it to scratch out some numbers. Lucky for him, I found it underneath a file.
I am addicted to chocolate. Never mind. Thanks to Grandpa M, this trait, that can be traced back to my grandfather, who made my father sneak chocolate into his hospital room, is alive and well in my girls. In fact, yesterday, when I arrived at my parents’ house to pick up the girls, I found their fingernails filled with Oreo crumbs and the scent of Frango Chocolate Mints on their breath. We just can’t break the cycle.
3. I’m blind. Is this genetic? I’m not sure, but I am. Not legally or anything, but I challenge anyone to be a passenger in my car at night to believe otherwise. My parents wear glasses, my sisters wear glasses, J wears glasses. It’s inevitable. But I don’t think anyone is nearly as bad as me. I scare myself at night. Everything is all starbursts and blurriness and quite disorienting. I get from point A to point B by starring intently at the vehicle in front of me or, in the alternative, driving precariously close to the white lines. I’ve confessed to J on several occasions that I do not trust myself driving the Beans around after nightfall. Probably not a good thing huh?
4. I cry when I’m angry. My sister has this affliction too and it can become quite embarrassing. It’s a sign of weakness and I just can’t control it. I’m not sad or succumbing or insecure in my argument, but I’m so filled with emotion when I’m angry that my eyes rebel and fill with tears at the most inappropriate time. How can I be taken seriously, if I’m crying at the drop of a hat?
5. I can’t cook. You know when someone asks you what talent you’d like to have if you could have any talent, or what superpower you’d want to have if you were a superhero? I don’t want to be a concert pianist, nor do I want to be able to read your mind. I’d just like to be able to make a great filet with aus jus and a side of whipped potatoes and rice pilaf. I’d like to look into my refrigerator, pluck out just the right ingredients and in thirty minutes or less fill my house with mouth watering scents. Hell, I’d love to feed my husband and kids something more than (a) macaroni and cheese; (b) spaghetti; (c) hamburgers; (d) chicken stir fry; or (e) taco bake. Last Friday, I made my first lasagna. It’s a step in the right direction, but still fell a bit flat.
*I could come up with list much longer and stranger than this, but I don’t want to scare you, dear reader, just yet. Maybe another entry, another day.
Labels: Momma Bean