When I first started this blog I wrote a post about the meaning of the title. And while I feel as though most of the time my posts accurately reflect it, sometimes they tend to stray. But today, in literal translation of the meaning, These Little Moments have made up my life recently:
- I went out to lunch with my boss on Thursday. During our conversation I mentioned that I had been exhausted lately and didn't know why. With a raised eyebrow, my soon-to-be father for the second time boss asked, "are you pregnant?" WHAT? NO! I'm adamant about taking the required measures (at the same time, everyday, since I was 16) to prevent that from happening. No!
Later that afternoon I was feeling so nauseous that I took the next day off. The rational part of me knew that I had come down with the bug that was circulating through the office. The irrational part of me freaked out for a good two minutes. Am I pregnant? I can't be pregnant. Could I be pregnant? Damn you, boss!
No worries. It was just the bug. Of course.
- We went to dinner at his mother's house yesterday. I am always anticipating the worst but it wasn't that bad. She always invites other people and counting us there were 11. Of course her table isn't meant to sit 11 so I got to straddle the leg of the table and eat on an angle. She was nice and even gave me my favorite Easter candy (solid chocolate mini-Cadbury eggs with a hard candy coating...drool....) But I knew there had to be something.
Turns out it was one of the guest's birthday. I've had dinner with this woman at least 20 times now, but didn't know it was her birthday. If I had, I would have brought a small gift or flowers and a least a card from me and Michael. But his mother hadn't mentioned it on the phone so we had no idea.
After dessert, the guest was presented with gifts. On the card from his mother read "blah, blah, blah, Happy Birthday! Love, The Mother, the foster children, Michael and the dog." My name was not included. My name was conveniently left off, but THE DOG was thoughtfully included.
The other adult guest had also brought a gift so it appeared as though I was the only one who didn't bring one.
ARGHHH!!!!
- Yesterday I was doing my usual weekend house cleaning and had finished just about all the chores I wanted to do. I was about to walk out of the kitchen when I noticed a few dishes in the sink that could be washed. I reached inside the blender with the sponge and "OW! Damn it!!" I dropped the sponge and cursed as I realized I had stabbed my finger with the blender blade. I wrapped my finger in a paper towel and sat on the couch with my arm above my head. That's what you're supposed to do, elevate. Right? I sat there for a few minutes looking ridiculous and feeling sorry for myself because, OW, and then decided to yell for Michael to come downstairs. He did, asked if I was OK and asked if he could do anything.
Well, no, actually. I just wanted acknowledgement of my boo boo.
"Do you want a kiss?" he asked.
Yes! He makes things better.
My finger still really hurts though.
Feel sorry for me, I think that will help.
Showing posts with label His Mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label His Mother. Show all posts
Monday, March 05, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
Can't Win 'Em All
Are soy chai lattes caffeinated? Because if they are I think I'm going through withdrawal. After drinking way too many lattes this weekend I opted not to have any today. And now I have a serious headache. Connection?
I'm also starving and am looking forward to eating my lunch that's in the fridge. Homemade lasagna and salad.
"Oh, you had time to make a lasagna this weekend?"
No, I did not. However Michael's mother had time to make him a lasagna, a big salad, a pot roast AND a carrot cake yesterday. In between church and a 3 p.m. dinner. Which I decided at the last minute not to attend. Because I had "plans". Which included CVS and the couch.
When he walked in the door that evening with heaping bags of food I felt the pangs of yet another jab at me.
I can't compete with a four-course meal made with love, control and a dash of guilt.
And she knows it.
Mother: 1
Me: 0
I'm also starving and am looking forward to eating my lunch that's in the fridge. Homemade lasagna and salad.
"Oh, you had time to make a lasagna this weekend?"
No, I did not. However Michael's mother had time to make him a lasagna, a big salad, a pot roast AND a carrot cake yesterday. In between church and a 3 p.m. dinner. Which I decided at the last minute not to attend. Because I had "plans". Which included CVS and the couch.
When he walked in the door that evening with heaping bags of food I felt the pangs of yet another jab at me.
I can't compete with a four-course meal made with love, control and a dash of guilt.
And she knows it.
Mother: 1
Me: 0
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Randomness
* I'm still fuming over the relationship with Michael's mom. I don't know why it's getting to me so much. I'm almost at the point where I want to sit down with her or write her a letter...anything to get my feelings across. Because right now I feel like she's taking advantage of the fact I haven't said anything to her.
The last few dinners with her? Awful. And at her birthday I really feel she took advantage of having an audience to be even more standoff-ish to me. Like she's saying, "Look, I told you she's not good enough."
And I've really had it up to here with the conservative, close minded statements. Yes, I'm liberal. Deal with it. Newsflash: liberal does not equal devil. It's not like I'm chained to a tree, burning my bra, making out with a woman all while aborting my unborn baby just because I can.
Sorry. That was a bit much. But you get my point.
And if I was really so awful, why would her intelligent, ADULT son be with me???
Thoughts, anyone?
*My first story is being published through work. I'm really excited about it because I worked really hard on it and it means that, oh yeah, I have a real job and I actually do something. The only downside is for whatever reason I won't be credited for it. At least not this time. No, it's not the New York Times, but I'm still disappointed. It's nice to see your name under your work.
*My mother is currently in the air flying to Hawaii for a week. I am not. You can see how happy I am about this.
*After tonight there will be no more political commercials. I cannot wait. If I have to see one more "the many hats of Chaffee" commercial I will scream.
*16 days till Thanksgiving! Yum!
The last few dinners with her? Awful. And at her birthday I really feel she took advantage of having an audience to be even more standoff-ish to me. Like she's saying, "Look, I told you she's not good enough."
And I've really had it up to here with the conservative, close minded statements. Yes, I'm liberal. Deal with it. Newsflash: liberal does not equal devil. It's not like I'm chained to a tree, burning my bra, making out with a woman all while aborting my unborn baby just because I can.
Sorry. That was a bit much. But you get my point.
And if I was really so awful, why would her intelligent, ADULT son be with me???
Thoughts, anyone?
*My first story is being published through work. I'm really excited about it because I worked really hard on it and it means that, oh yeah, I have a real job and I actually do something. The only downside is for whatever reason I won't be credited for it. At least not this time. No, it's not the New York Times, but I'm still disappointed. It's nice to see your name under your work.
*My mother is currently in the air flying to Hawaii for a week. I am not. You can see how happy I am about this.
*After tonight there will be no more political commercials. I cannot wait. If I have to see one more "the many hats of Chaffee" commercial I will scream.
*16 days till Thanksgiving! Yum!
Friday, November 03, 2006
Just. Breathe.
Last night left me completely emotionally exhausted. Do you know how hard it is to keep your mouth shut when you disagree so vehemently with the conversation going on around you but you know that saying something will just make it worse?
Back to that in a minute.
Dinner went basically exactly as I anticipated. Michael's mom thanked him very sincerely for the card both of us wrote in.
She shared a look (you know the kind) with her friend across the table when Michael's grandmother made a reference to our first Christmas tree.
She snapped at me for my choice of outerwear:
Me: Brrr, it got cold out!
Her: Well, Molly. Maybe if you were wearing a proper jacket, you wouldn't be so cold. I mean, really. It's not that cold out.
Me: I came directly from work. This jacket was just fine this afternoon.
Her: Well, it's not really worth complaining about, is it?
Right. Silly me. What was I thinking--rushing home from work to attend your birthday because 6 o'clock (rather than 6:30) is really better for you--and not bringing a suitable jacket for the drop in temperature that was bound to happen in the two hours we were in the restaurant??
Oh, the conversation that left me wanting to just die?
The nicest way to put it is that it was very, very, very close minded and bigoted. And I had already used my bathroom break escape to avoid an earlier conversation so I couldn't leave the table again without looking like I had a serious bladder problem.
I love Michael. I really, really, really, really do.
And now I completely understand why he doesn't like to go to his mother's for dinner.
Back to that in a minute.
Dinner went basically exactly as I anticipated. Michael's mom thanked him very sincerely for the card both of us wrote in.
She shared a look (you know the kind) with her friend across the table when Michael's grandmother made a reference to our first Christmas tree.
She snapped at me for my choice of outerwear:
Me: Brrr, it got cold out!
Her: Well, Molly. Maybe if you were wearing a proper jacket, you wouldn't be so cold. I mean, really. It's not that cold out.
Me: I came directly from work. This jacket was just fine this afternoon.
Her: Well, it's not really worth complaining about, is it?
Right. Silly me. What was I thinking--rushing home from work to attend your birthday because 6 o'clock (rather than 6:30) is really better for you--and not bringing a suitable jacket for the drop in temperature that was bound to happen in the two hours we were in the restaurant??
Oh, the conversation that left me wanting to just die?
The nicest way to put it is that it was very, very, very close minded and bigoted. And I had already used my bathroom break escape to avoid an earlier conversation so I couldn't leave the table again without looking like I had a serious bladder problem.
I love Michael. I really, really, really, really do.
And now I completely understand why he doesn't like to go to his mother's for dinner.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Matriarchal Mess
Today is one of those days. You know the kind I mean. It's rainy, it's cold. Your bed was so warm and getting out of it was soooo hard.
It's that kind of day.
Coupled by the fact that I feel crampy and bloated and just want to eat chocolate all day. Which I will. Go ahead, judge me.
And, to top it off, tonight we are going out for Michael's mom's birthday.
This isn't all bad. The food will be good. His grandmother will be there and she loves me.
However, his mom? Doesn't love me so much. Sure, she's kind. She'll give me a hug and thank me for coming. But that's where it will end. The rest of the evening she will barely talk to me because her Son is there and that is the most important thing.
And no one is good enough for her Son. No. One.
Except maybe the daughter of a minister. Which I am definitely not.
Why does this bother me so much? Michael and I are happy together. I shouldn't worry about conquering the impossible task of getting his mom to love me. Isn't it true for all moms? There's no woman good enough for their boy?
Both his grandmothers love me. They even ask I call them Grandma. His dad liked me. His siblings like me. WHY DOES THIS BOTHER ME?
Oh, well. I guess it's just something I'm going to have to live with. I'm definitely having a glass of wine tonight.
She'll hate that.
It's that kind of day.
Coupled by the fact that I feel crampy and bloated and just want to eat chocolate all day. Which I will. Go ahead, judge me.
And, to top it off, tonight we are going out for Michael's mom's birthday.
This isn't all bad. The food will be good. His grandmother will be there and she loves me.
However, his mom? Doesn't love me so much. Sure, she's kind. She'll give me a hug and thank me for coming. But that's where it will end. The rest of the evening she will barely talk to me because her Son is there and that is the most important thing.
And no one is good enough for her Son. No. One.
Except maybe the daughter of a minister. Which I am definitely not.
Why does this bother me so much? Michael and I are happy together. I shouldn't worry about conquering the impossible task of getting his mom to love me. Isn't it true for all moms? There's no woman good enough for their boy?
Both his grandmothers love me. They even ask I call them Grandma. His dad liked me. His siblings like me. WHY DOES THIS BOTHER ME?
Oh, well. I guess it's just something I'm going to have to live with. I'm definitely having a glass of wine tonight.
She'll hate that.
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