Today, while sitting in the gym bleachers for my daughter's Christmas dance recital, my husband and I had this whispered conversation over my son's head.
Me: I am turning into my father. I hate people.
Him: Just remember that you said that and not me.
Me: Or maybe it's just Southern people.
Him: Honey, it's all people.
Me: Or maybe it's just parents.
Him: You're a parent.
Me: Yes. I am quite aware of that.
I think we're good parents.
But after this weekend, my faith in the future of this world is severely shaken.
***Warning. Snotty parenting opinions ahead.***
My weekend started out with music class graduation. My daughter was sick, so she and Daddy stayed home while my son and I braved the melee.
Why do Southern mother's dress their little boys in pastel blue, embroidered jump suits? You'd think a culture so afraid of gay people that they erect huge billboards denouncing them would dress their sons a little more butch.
Our music teacher has a very soft place in her heart for my son. And I must say ***proud mom moment*** he is absolutely in his element at music class.
But what amazes me most is his ability to block out the siblings choking each other in the corner, the kid banging his head against the door until he falls over, and the sugared-up brats running in circles enough that he can be the only child to actually follow along with the teacher.
Ooh. I also think he is going to be a male model. When it was his turn for his graduation picture, he ran right in front of the camera and struck a cheese pose. We're going to be in big trouble when this kid hits high school.
That Saturday night, we had my husband's squadron Christmas party. It was held in a casino at the race track. It's all class for us, people.
Actually, the room was quite nice.
My husband was in charge of planning the party and was the MC for the night. I know it stressed him out to have to do all that extra work and to try and keep a lot of higher ranking people happy. But it stressed me out even more.
Yes. He did ask me to do a lot of last-minute stuff for him. But he was also very appreciative. While I was greeting guests with him, he kept telling me that I'd make an awesome commander's wife someday.
Well, hell Baby. I know that. Now let's make sure you get to be a commander, huh? Next time I tell you to make sure the food is ready, go make sure the food is ready!
His commander and his commander's wife were both very happy with the party, and most of the DVs had very good things to say. So it's all good.
***Warning. Personal sappy moment ahead!***
Truly though, you did great, Honey. And I'd be proud to stand by your side when you command your own squadron. Or group. Or, hell, wing for that matter. I love you and I'm proud of you.
***Whew. Okay. Moving on.***
And then, today continued our weekend of parental fun with my daughter's dance recital. I can't even explain to you the chaos that results from a gymnasium full of ignored children. It's just too traumatic for words.
But does anyone remember my diatribe against people who have too many kids?
There was this one woman there, with her six (yes I said six) spastic children. Five boys, and one little girl. And you know what? She was pregnant.
Which caused my husband and I to have this mean-spirited exchange:
***Warning. You'll think less of me when you read this!***
Me: She's like a walking stereotype.
Him: For Catholic motherhood?
Me: No. For, "We can't afford birth control here in the trailer park."
Okay. You all hate me now. Which is okay. Now that we have three (yes I said three) giant, inflatable Christmas figures in our front yard, we're one step away from the trailer park ourselves.
Housekeeping note: (and if you're still reading after all that crap, you deserve some sort of prize)
Check me out! I got all ambitious and planned to e-mail responses to all of my comments from the last week. But it was just a lot easier to go back and post comments in response to yours.
By the way, I probably don't say it enough, but thanks for reading and thanks for commenting. You guys have really enriched my blog with all of your humor, insights, kind words, and sharing.