Tag Archives: The Mr.

My least favorite question EVER.

What question does Keri loathe above all others?

“When are you going to have another one?”

Holy crap, do people LOVE to ask that to parents of single kiddos.

This past weekend, it was asked at the grocery store, by the friendly checker Jr was giggling with as she scanned our Memorial Day picnic supplies.

Never mind that I could have a football team worth of kiddos back at home, or even trolling the isles on their own, as it seems that it completely acceptable in the “burbs.

Why… OH why, are you asking me that?

Why isn’t one enough?

In my heart, one has always been enough – one was THE one. One was the last piece of my whole wide wonderful world. I knew it as soon as I was pregnant with him – this was the member of our family we were waiting for.

Since joking is what Keri does, I have a tendency to go the tee-hee route in an attempt to derail the conversation : “Oh he’s the little emperor, all our eggs are in that basket,” or “Oh goodness, I am lucky if we all have on matching shoes when we leave the house each morning – we are busy enough with one!”   (I didn’t say good jokes – but among the MANY feelings that make me go straight for attempts at humor, feeling backed into a corner or defensive is right at the top.) Sometimes it is too irritating to even try to be polite (which clearly the person is NOT concerned with,) and I just snap “maybe you should have another baby then!”

Beyond just the question, be it from a well-meaning friend or family member or (way more often than I could imagine,) a random stranger we come in contact with at some point during the day, what blows me away is the list of reasons why my answer is unacceptable that always follows my response.

I have been repeatedly informed of exactly how awful, and selfish, and clueless I am in my decision to have a single child. I am frequently “reminded” that when I realize how very wrong I am it will be too late (because I am not just selfish and clueless, I am old as well, TYVM,) and I will be filled with regret.

Poor Jr will be equal parts entitled, and self-centered, and lonely, and resentful of us all the days of his life; right up to the day he has to deal with the logistics of our coming illnesses and death all by himself – because no siblings were provided to be an assured support system.

It’s always special when a trip for some bananas and milk ends with a lecture about your eventual death from your favorite a checker at the local Piggly Wiggly. (Ok, we don’t have Piggly Wigglys here. But still, come on, Eileen! None-ya!)

By the way – it works, kind of. Not because of whatever the inquisitor-of-the-hour has to say, so much, but because I have considered all of these things too. (Not REALLY so dense, I promise, people.)

ANDPLUSALSO – I know that I feel our family is complete. I know that The Mr. says he agrees. Judging by Binky-the-wonder-dog’s jealous reluctance to completely accept Jr, I assume that he is in the “no room at the inn” camp of thinking.   I also know that this decision is, in reality, predominately on me to make.  My guess is that if I got all “Ok, time for another one,” about things that The Mr would probably be good to go with that plan too.   I imagine that Jr will go through a period of questioning why he is a single child as well.

Any conversations that take place around the feelings of my family are obviously very worthwhile. WITHIN OUR FAMILY.

I don’t want to share the awkward silence while swinging Jr next to another kiddo at the park because I refuse to justify our family planning decisions to never-even-met-you-before neighbor mom.

Maybe it is just a perception thing, but I do feel like the pressure to fill a mini-van to Von Trapp family proportions is much more intense in the suburbs than in the city.   Not once have I been at a gathering of families in the city (let alone a dang grocery store,) and been asked about when my husband and I were going to start getting busy (literally and figuratively – I mean think about what you are REALLY asking me,) on another baby.

I know the houses are bigger – but that doesn’t mean we need to stick a kid in every room just because it exists! (BTW, we drove Awesome Alyssa the Realtor CRAZEH trying to find a house small enough that still met our needs, because we knew the size of our family.)

SIMMER DOWN, SUBURBS!!   I think my kid, and my whole family, will be ok just as we are.   I see no reason why Jr won’t continue to grow as the generous, sweet-natured, loving kiddo he has shown himself to be. Additionally, I see no reason why I will wake up one morning and think that everything he is to us is somehow less than enough.

I am a “never say never” kind of gal – it is true.

But I damn sure know that any updates to family planning decisions that get made aren’t going to be made as I am waiting for my debit card to go through because a smiling granny tells me “my grandson is SO happy to have his little sister, you’ve just GOT to give him another one to play with!”

What am I going to do? Scream “OH MY GOD – I’VE BEEN A FOOL! GOTTA GO FIND MY HUSBAND AND START BABY MAKING – NOW!” before abandoning my purchases, chucking Jr in the cart and bypassing the penny horse ride thanking her for fixing my life as I go?

Yeah, No.

So how about we just stick with “sure is hot outside, isn’t it?” or “is that the new Bluebell flavor”? and leave the possible future residents of my uterus out of it, m’kay?

(Also, SERIOUSLY – I really am lucky if we all have on matching shoes… hell I feel proud some days that I remember to put on shoes at all. And pants. Really.)

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Cue the theme from “The Odd Couple”

Yesterday was a textbook example of what Mr. Rogers must have meant by “a beautiful day in the neighborhood.”

Sun shining, birds chirping, green things starting to poke their way up through the winter mulch as neighbors cleared away the layers in gardens and planters.

Beautiful.

After a morning of playing at the park with Jr (and making nice with the other moms and kiddos- because Keri really is capable of being a nice lady, I swear,) we headed back to the house to find The Mr just finishing a lovely washing of his new ride.  If the previous Mr Mobile was “the Jeep he treated like a Bentley,” that would make this latest ride “the brand spankin’ new Jeep he treats like an M-F’in’ G6.”  It is no secret that The Mr. and I have decidedly different ideas about what is important in car-keeping.

BUT I DIGRESS!

Since the MUV was in need of some de-dirt-ifying as well Jr and The Mr headed into the back yard while I got started washing my whip.  Except Jr was feeling very “mom-centric” yesterday and before I could even get my sponge soapy, I had 2 helpers out in the front with me.  And by “helpers” I mean 1 who wanted to  sweep, but only in the middle of the street, and one who wanted to supervise and offer judge-y “tisk” noises at my technique.

Um. No thank you.

To keep The Mr. from pulling a muscle “tisk tisking” and throwing “is she kidding me with that scrubby technique” looks, and to contain the toddler, I handed over my bucket and hose to my husband and let him have at it.  After all, it just needed a quick little scrub and rinse of the outside.

See that last part?  Yeah…  I should have known.  20 minutes later all of the doors of the MUV were wide open in the driveway, and the entire contents (which is kind of substantial, I confess,) was on the ground while The Mr picked through the piles with a GARBAGE BAG poised in one hand.

OH HELL NO!

I rummaged through the “trash” to find art projects, work papers, and memos from Jr’s teachers, and started stuffing hoodies , toys, snack containers and everything else we use every day back into my car.

Seriously.

BACK AWAY FROM THE MOM UTILITY VEHICLE.   After telling him to return the Tupperware lid to the bin on the floorboard (while Jr indignantly asked over and over again “why does daddy have my steering wheel?”)  I managed to get things back where they belonged, and get my car parked in the garage and locked where he couldn’t Felix Unger the situation up any more.

However, this morning as we loaded in to head for day care, NOTHING was where it should be.

“MY BLANKET!!” Objected Jr, as I dug  for his beloved dinosaur lap cover, LIGHTYEARS away from where it should have been located for easy use.

When he sneezed and I reached for my supply of extra napkins in the door? Alas, those were victims of The Mr’s trash bag.

A coffee cup bobble resulted in an actual spill, as there was no old copy of Boulder Weekly on the passenger side floor board to absorb it.

Extra “bubby” (pacifier) in the cup holder for when “I don’t want to go to school” clinginess ensued?  No where to be found.

Sigh.

Jr and I worked hard laying in those supplies.

I begrudgingly confess that there was a layer of baby supplies that he removed that we don’t really need, and it did free up space.  But it is very begrudgingly.

Because we need our stuff, yo.

I mean, really.

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You know Keri is in Texas for Christmas when:

Whew – the holiday craziness has finally given way to post-celebratory malaise and I am coming up for air. (But as for getting the Christmas decorations down? That might require a late-to-the-game Christmas miracle.)

This was a “Texas Christmas” as I refer to our every-other-year pilgrimage to spend the holiday with The Mr’s fam in the Lone Star State.

I love these Christmases for all of the ways they are so very different from Christmas at home, and thinking about it weeks later still has me smiling.

I know I am in Texas for Christmas when:

Upon cracking my eyes open each morning, this is the first thing I see:
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– All I can think about is Kolaches, and Green Sauce, and (I hear angels) Chicken Fried Steak from the Old Montgomery Steak House. ::::wiping a bit of drool::::

– Holiday lawn decorations are as likely to include the Texas flag and bucking broncos as they might snowmen, Santa, and Nativity scenes. (And Santa is probably wearing a cowboy hat.)

– I laugh so hard with my Sister-in-law that I either suck wine up my nose or almost pee my pants.

– A normal sight is my Father-in-law sitting on the back patio offering season’s greetings (and maybe a little nip of something fabulous) to his neighbors as they play through on the golf course in the Houston “winter” weather.

– Shiner seems like a really good idea.  Like any time, day or night.

– I sit up shamelessly late reading romance-intrigue novels gifted from the fabulous author who lives down the street from my in-laws.

– Bigger hair also seems like a really good idea.

– Another normal sight out the back window is of neighbors navigating their boats out into the main part of the lake (again, Texas “winter.”)

– My rural-family roots come bubbling up to the surface and I abandon my sometimes-attempts to not say “y’all” and just let it flow. Along with “fixin’ to” do things, and blessing the hearts of those who tick me off.

– I come home thinking “we need to get down there more often,” and spend the next month trying to perfect a Green Sauce recipe, listening to bluegrass, and blessing everybodys’ hearts, y’all.

Love every single bit of it.

 

 

 

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Parallel thoughts.

A shameful confession: Outside the office is a section of street where parking is allowed, and, although there is AMPLE free lot parking in the comically large suburban office lot behind the building, the street offers quick access to the building’s door. This makes it a delight for me certain people who may be wearing unsensibly high heels and carrying way too much crap back-and-forth to the office.

HOWEVER, the other day this super-sweet spot was open SMACK in front of the building and I passed it by, telling myself it was too small for Frederico Escapé:
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It wasn’t too small. You could get a damn Econoline van in there.

After parking in a different, less awesomely-close spot, I realized this and it hit me :I am in danger of losing my parallel parking mojo.

FORSOOTH! Do not speak such vulgarity!  (The English lit degree pops out every once in a while, I can’t stop it.) 
I have long spent an inordinate amount of time ribbing The Mr. about his lack of parallel parking skills.  He has used many excuses for why he can’t take various killer spots throughout our years together:  his last Acura had “blind spots” that prevented it,  the Jeep is “too big” and “the backup camera alarm is too sensitive,” and my personal favorite he “doesn’t see as well at night,” (HELLO, you are Driving Miss Keri here, pal – PRECIOUS CARGO – update your prescription, yo!!)

The point is, Keri can parallel park.   I remember distinctly going with my mom and my dear lifelong girlfriend to go see a potential apartment in the city for soon-to-be-college-student-Keri a few weeks before high school graduation, and seeing a tiny spot on  the crowded street.  Too small, remarked my friend and I.  OH NO – not for my mom who learned to drive in the city!!  She wedged her little Sentra into a spot I didn’t think would fit a Vespa, and my friend and I gasped in awe.

I was hooked.  I had to do that too.

So I did.  NO NO – So I *DO*!!

There is no way in hell I am losing my ability to fit Frederico effortlessly into spaces that appear to be Yugo-sized.  I can’t tell you the joy I feel in executing a perfect park right in front of a patio full of people at happy hour, when every dummy out there is just DYING for me to take out the bike rack beside me or jack up my hubcap.  Forget it, suckers – not City Keri, not Reluctantly Suburban Keri, not even So-damn-old-they-repo’ed-my-licence-Keri.  Never.

The shame of abandoning a bomb-diggity parking spot is NOT one I will accept as normal. Mamma’s not going out like that.

RAGE RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT!  (English lit degree again.  I am totes sure that Thomas would be down with me borrowing it to talk about my mad parking skillz.  Yep.)

If you need me I’ll be setting up a makeshift parallel parking obstacle course with the trash bins in front of the house.

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Boys and toys. Just Sayin’.

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The neighbor came and loaned this thing to The Mr.
Now he is vacuuming our lawn.

The suburbs are wack, yo?

Just Sayin’.

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