Do I stutter?
Why must I say things multiple times before people understand what I say? I've always felt I had a good grasp of the English language...until I got married and had kids. I swear, the three people living in my house are trying their best to make me feel like I'm losing my flipping mind.
Getting the kids ready for school in the morning, this is me:
"Drew, come on. Time for school. Get your shoes."
(Drew wanders over to the couch.)
"Drew, I said 'Get your shoes.' "
(Drew looks over at me with a blank look.)
"Shoes," I say. "GET YOUR SHOES."
(Drew sits on the couch.)
"GET! YOUR! SHOES!!!"
Drew goes to get his shoes and shoots me a look over his shoulder like, "Okay, okay! Keep your pants on!"
"Jason, didn't I ask you to wash your hands?"
No response.
"Jason?"
"Yeah?"
"Aren't you supposed to be washing your hands?"
"Oh. Yeah."
He continues to watch Curious George.
"Jason. Hands. Wash them. NOW."
Twenty-five minutes later, shoes are on, hands are washed, and we're out the door...well, almost.
"Come on, guys."
They veeeerrrrryyy slllooooowwwwwlllllly step across the threshold onto the front stoop and pause side by side for some unknown reason.
"Come on, guys. Let's go!"
Still pausing.
(Gee, what do we do now? Bend one knee and step down with the other foot onto the first step? Is that even physically possible? And what then? Should we do it again and again until we reach the bottom of the stairs? Won't we be tired? And what should we do once we get there? Which direction is the car? Is it that large, gray thing to the left with the four wheels and the booster seats inside, or is it the green thing with the leaves to the right that resembles a bush? Hmm. Best to wait for further directions from The Stutterer so as not to make a grave error in this multiple choice dilemma.)
"GO. TO. THE. CAR."
I see slow steps. I see more bewilderment with this strange world called Outside and this taxing exercise called Stepping Down the Stairs and this difficulty with Finding the Car.
I see SMOKE coming out of my EARS.
"GO TO THE CAR RIGHT NOW WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE FOR GOD'S SAKE YOU GUYS ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY IF THERE WERE COOKIES STUCK TO THE CAR YOU WOULD'VE BEEN THERE TEN MINUTES AGO!!!!"
Let's not even get into how slow they are when it's raining. The harder it rains, apparently the more difficult it is to move one's legs. Must be, you know, the rheumatism acting up from the dip in the barometric pressure.
And then there's Paul.
For 11 years, I've been telling him that I cannot remember everything that everyone in the household has to do every day of the week. All I ask is that if he's coming home late, or going somewhere after work, or whatever else mightkeep him from getting home in time to save me from this hell that is our household at dinnertime prevent him from getting home from work at the usual time, to please let me know that day because -- let me repeat this for the umpteenth time -- I CANNOT REMEMBER EVERYTHING THAT EVERYONE HAS TO DO EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK. You'd think that seeing the 236 notes I have taped all over the kitchen cabinets at any given time with reminders for me about doctor's appointments, field trips, bills to pay, calls to make, etc., would keep this simple request fresh in his mind over the past ELEVEN YEARS. But no. Inevitably, Paul will come home two hours late one night and I'll be ripping my hair out and having a nervous breakdown because the kids are driving me insane frantic because I had no idea where he was. And he will look at me like I have two heads and say, slowly (because that's how one must talk to Karen in...order...to...make...Karen...understand), "Karen, I told you three weeks ago that I had a dentist appointment tonight at 6 o'clock."
Ahh. Silly me.
Ahh. Silly me.
Sorry, force of habit.
Sorry, force of ha- *bangs head on wall*
Getting the kids ready for school in the morning, this is me:
"Drew, come on. Time for school. Get your shoes."
(Drew wanders over to the couch.)
"Drew, I said 'Get your shoes.' "
(Drew looks over at me with a blank look.)
"Shoes," I say. "GET YOUR SHOES."
(Drew sits on the couch.)
"GET! YOUR! SHOES!!!"
Drew goes to get his shoes and shoots me a look over his shoulder like, "Okay, okay! Keep your pants on!"
"Jason, didn't I ask you to wash your hands?"
No response.
"Jason?"
"Yeah?"
"Aren't you supposed to be washing your hands?"
"Oh. Yeah."
He continues to watch Curious George.
"Jason. Hands. Wash them. NOW."
Twenty-five minutes later, shoes are on, hands are washed, and we're out the door...well, almost.
"Come on, guys."
They veeeerrrrryyy slllooooowwwwwlllllly step across the threshold onto the front stoop and pause side by side for some unknown reason.
"Come on, guys. Let's go!"
Still pausing.
(Gee, what do we do now? Bend one knee and step down with the other foot onto the first step? Is that even physically possible? And what then? Should we do it again and again until we reach the bottom of the stairs? Won't we be tired? And what should we do once we get there? Which direction is the car? Is it that large, gray thing to the left with the four wheels and the booster seats inside, or is it the green thing with the leaves to the right that resembles a bush? Hmm. Best to wait for further directions from The Stutterer so as not to make a grave error in this multiple choice dilemma.)
"GO. TO. THE. CAR."
I see slow steps. I see more bewilderment with this strange world called Outside and this taxing exercise called Stepping Down the Stairs and this difficulty with Finding the Car.
I see SMOKE coming out of my EARS.
"GO TO THE CAR RIGHT NOW WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE FOR GOD'S SAKE YOU GUYS ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY IF THERE WERE COOKIES STUCK TO THE CAR YOU WOULD'VE BEEN THERE TEN MINUTES AGO!!!!"
Let's not even get into how slow they are when it's raining. The harder it rains, apparently the more difficult it is to move one's legs. Must be, you know, the rheumatism acting up from the dip in the barometric pressure.
And then there's Paul.
For 11 years, I've been telling him that I cannot remember everything that everyone in the household has to do every day of the week. All I ask is that if he's coming home late, or going somewhere after work, or whatever else might
Ahh. Silly me.
Ahh. Silly me.
Sorry, force of habit.
Sorry, force of ha- *bangs head on wall*
posted by Karen Wednesday, October 04, 2006
7 Comments:
I just found your blog, and I'm ROTFLM( ! )O
Just to let you know, it doesn't get any better as kids get older. I have two teens. And, if I can be a real Gretchen Sunshine, dealing with elderly parents is a lot like dealing with toddlers.
Thank you so much for the laugh.
LOL thank you I really needed that.
I. TOTALLY. GET. IT.
I hear you loud and clear!
Big fat ditto from me.
That is just sooo true. I tell everyone who asks anything of me, to remind me later. I am more than willing to do things, but I will NOT remember if told too long in advance. I mark things on the calendar but I have been known to not look at the calendar on time too. So, if I am doing something for you (like babysitting) or if you have something happening (like coming home late) remind on the day in question. I am forgetful. I admit it.
That was hilarious. And sadly accurate.
The calendar thing is big in our house too. We each have our own (my day planner and his handheld whatchamadoodle) and I have a big monthly one in the kitchen to put ALL evening/kid-related/weekend events on. And all I ask is that he put his own on there, so that just because he emailed me something at work and I wrote it down THERE, I don't then have to sit down every few days and transfer stuff over. ('Cause I don't have enough to do in the evenings, as I know is the case with you!) This should NOT be so hard, but apparently it is. And telling me once is ridiculous - I used to have a great memory and now it's ... hmm, where did it go? I forget. :D
Also, yeah, about getting the kids out of the house ... seriously. This is so much harder in winter too because not only do we have to get DRESSED but then we have to array ourselves in COATS and all that. Sigh.
Post a Comment
<< Home