A Lot of Rambling While I Can

I continue to struggle with my computer and no longer pretend to know what the mustard is wrong with it.

So I will blog quickly before it turns itself off.

Remember the Seinfeld episode (season eight) when Elaine had the bright idea to sell muffin tops, rather than whole muffins? Well, my daughter is three and she will only eat the tops of muffins. I wonder if this is a genetic abnormality or merely good sense?

I hate playing boards games. Anna Quindlen said, “Maybe I had three children in the first place so I wouldn’t ever have to play board games.” in this article in Newsweek. That makes me feel so much better, because I never have the urge to sit and play Monopoly or CandyLand or any other game with my kids. Good thing my husband does that sort of thing.

My daughter said to her friend the other day, “You are buggin’ me really much!” And that’s how I feel about my computer. It’s buggin’ me really much.

Our guest arrived last night at 10:30 p.m. and I realized how lovely my house looks in the glow of candlelight. You couldn’t see the dust or the unmopped floor. My husband sat at the kitchen table and reminisced over a photo album (a magnetic album, oh the horrors of acidic pages!) full of college pictures. My husband was quite impressed with his young, buff college self. He sported a full head of hair then and a trimmer waistline.

They’ve headed up north this morning to visit another of their college buddies. I hope it’ll be dark when they return so they house still looks presentable.

The three-year olds played outside this morning and I was so happy for the peace and quiet that I didn’t even stop my daughter from using the hose. She sprayed herself and her buddy while I soaked in the almost-solitude. (The 12-year olds were in their room procrastinating, but I ignored them, too.)

I have to mention that I had the most awkward moment last week. I took my daughter to visit my mother at her little apartment. I called ahead to make sure it was all right. Imagine my shock when I spied a gray-haired mountain of a man sitting in my mother’s recliner. I studiously avoided looking at him and my mother acted as if she were completely alone. Then we entered the house and still, she said nothing about this man.

We chatted for a bit and headed through the kitchen to the bedroom to look at something, all the while ignoring this man. I could feel his eyes on me and I kept waiting for my mother to say, “Oh, this is__________,” but she didn’t.

Finally, when my daughter ran to the patio door to see the kitty, I was unavoidably close to the man, so, I looked him in the eye and stuck out my hand. He introduced himself and made incessant small-talk with me the rest of the visit.

I am not in the mood for another man in my mother’s life. See, here’s the history in a nutshell:

My mother was married to my father.

Then she married a freeloader who stole all her stuff. That lasted 5 years.

Then she married an illiterate alcoholic who hit her with a coffee mug, among other things. That lasted 18 months.

Then she married a beer-drinking, undershirt-wearing, couch-potato alcoholic who threatened to kill her and himself with a shotgun. She escaped a box at a time after a few years.

Then she lived with some guy for six or seven years, pretending for the first few years that she was merely renting a room. That man wore sweatpants to family gatherings, which was revolting.

So, you’ll have to pardon me if I don’t greet the next man in a long line of losers with the bare minimum requirement of enthusiasm. When is it time to give up on love? I say, when you’ve struck out five or six times in a row. And when you have kids, even grown kids.

At the very least, get a police check on the guy and make him take a psychological profile, too. And don’t bring him to family events. I can’t take it anymore.