Saturday, May 17, 2014

Weekend plans, Mother's Day (The Redo), and Family Slogans.


It's the weekend!!!

 We've got some sunshine, a little pool action, and a big fantastic first time music recital (Lily & London) on our agenda. 

Oh yes, and my Mother's Day.

Because last Sunday was a TOTAL EPIC FAIL. Poor tyler was sick sick sick. On Saturday he attempted painting the laundry room in the midst of illness. This turned out to be a really bad idea, and by Saturday night he was in the throes of some real congested misery. At some point, I caught him hobbling out of bed, attempting to put shoes on to go to the grocery store. Apparently he was still planning on a Mother's Day breakfast spread for Sunday morning. Very sweet. That guy. I intervened and insisted on a Mother's Day raincheck. It's all good, I said. Then I kissed him and offered him homemade chicken noodle soup and rubbed his feet. Cleaned the house and made plans for a glorious Sunday.

Actually, that's not exactly how it all went down. Let's just say he still went to bed, and was not considered at fault at all for being sick. But my PMS was also simultaneously rearing her big biotchy head and I made sure to make dramatic gestures towards all the cosmic injustices that were unfolding in rapid succession in my life. I'm pretty sure the words "the UNIVERSE is AGAINST ME" were cried out at some point. I can't be sure, the weekend was a bit of a depressing blur. I'm not entirely certain I said that. All I know is Tyler keeps repeating that phrase in the the form of questions this past week, as if he heard something like it before from some disturbed, self-centered, pms-ing, crazy pants person. 

Oh No! Rae! Are you feeling like The Universe is against you right now?

Uh ohhhh. Ellie spilled her cup of milk. That seems like another sign that The Universe is against you. Doesn't it?

How's it going?... The Universe against you today?

Mind you, at the time of the Mother's day unraveling, there was solid evidence mounting that suggested The Universe was, in fact, feeling quite ambivalent towards me. I don't think I was entirely crazy. So many suspicious details I won't get into, but they all pointed to a creepy supernatural force wagging its big fat flip-the-bird finger right in my face. Suffice it to say, by the time Tyler's illness peaked on Saturday night and I confronted the reality that YES, I would indeed still need to act like a MOTHER on my very own MOTHER'S DAY, the one day I deserve a little freedom from all things MOTHERING, the evening ended with a rather theatrical display of martyrdom. This was only enhanced by the feelings of guilt one already naturally endures on Mother's Day, when the reality of your mess of a self must confront the Hallmark Versions of the better mother you ought to be. I spent half of Mother's Day sulking over my emotional instability and lack of temper control. My kids deserve better than ME. But I only am ME!!!! I can't find anyone but ME to do this!!! And this job is totally rigged for failure!!!!! Consequently: POOR POOOR MEEEEEEEEE!!! WAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

 And that's the truth of what really went down.

Hence, REDO this Sunday! yay!
{shhhhh, keep this on the DL. I don't want the Universe hearing}

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And now, a brief story:


Do you like this sign? We sure do. And by we, I mean all seven of my brothers and sisters. I love this sign because this is the sign a Mom really deserves to get on Mother's Day.

Years ago, when we were small young'ns, back on the old Farm, we spent our summer days playing in the orchard and swimming in our pool. Mind you, our "pool" was actually an open concrete box-like structure, intended as some sort of bizarre reservoir for.... come to think of it, I have no idea what it was for. We watered a tree line with it. But surely there were better ways to water a few trees, so yeah? It was just there. This big cement edifice positioned on the corner of our property.

Every summer, it was filled to the brim with a large volume of icy cold water, which would sit and heat to a nice tepid, moldy room temperature from the sun over the course of a week or two. The perfect time to get in and swim was signaled when green algae properly formed along all the cement wall interiors and floors - creating a slick cushioning beneath your feet - and the various forms of bacterium sprouted to the size of sustainable tadpoles, springing from every dark corner of the deep water. My Dad would throw in our big metal canoe and we would paddle around, sink the ship, roll it over, climb on top, attempt to balance while standing, and pretend that we were fighting for our lives among the mighty sea waters. Mind you, we probably were fighting for our lives. Only the actual threats manifested more in the form of an attack from leeches rather than from Jaws.

It was the kewlest.

The only thing that made the summer adventures in the pool more exciting was when the cousins and Uncle Ryan came over. Uncle Ryan really is an odd way of describing him. He is only three years older than me, the youngest caboose sibling in my Dad's large family. As such, he was simply one of the many children running all over The Farm. Ryan was almost always the unequivocal leader of the imaginary world we inhabited. He was the ultimate diva, the artist, the creative genius working the scenes and concocting the most elaborate story lines and plots filled with wonder and suspense. A day spent in the pool splashing around with him was usually complete with fully choreographed dance variety shows, shrieking shark attacks, and cinematic displays alternating between terror and delight. He would even occasionally style our hair and makeup to fit whatever character or scene was currently under construction. Is it ironic to admit I was still a little surprised when he came out as gay man years later in college? An instant memory flashed through my mind, when we were kids and he had constructed a photo shoot in the desert in front of our property. I remember he examined the finished {polaroid} photos of us posed randomly among the legions of surrounding sage brush and said to me, "Oh my goooooooosh. LOOK AT YOUR HAIR. Look at the way I captured the sunlight shining through the tips. GORGEOUS."

I mean, HELLOooOoOOO.

All I have to say, looking back, is oh my: should every kid be so lucky. Growing up with my future gay uncle as a pal was ridiculously, hilariously, FUN.

So, anyways, one of these summer days we were engaged in our usual shenanigans, running in and out of the pool and all throughout the orchard. Until, a big fight broke out among the child clans (as was bound to happen, an hourly occurrence really). There was the usual shouting and threatening and tattling. My Mom was summoned, and she did her best to navigate and reassemble the maddeningly overwhelming number of children she was surrounded by. At one point during the this mediation process, Ryan stood in his characteristically nine year-old diva stance and shouted at my Mom

"ALEXIS.
FACE THE FACTS. 
YOUR KIDS ARE BRATS!"

Stop. Just stop.

I mean, what a little biznich, right?!

So funny.

Only at the time, it wasn't. Not at all. In fact, like any normal human being systematically broken down by children, demands, exhaustion, and now judgment from Mr. nine year-old Carson Kressley Junior sassypants, she started crying. In front of everyone. Which was not her typical reaction.

So naturally, my Dad swooped in and shut. it. down.

Ryan was banished to the pump house (the pump house? another feature of The Farm, a story for another day), where he had to sit for the rest of the time until my Grandma came to get him.

The End.

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And soooo, in honor of that infamous quote, frequently recited, a memory emblazoned into family history, we officially presented my Mom with it printed and framed for Mother's Day this year.

Because she's finally faced the facts. It's true.

Have a great weekend. And Happy Mother's Day TO MEEEEEEE!!! BOO HAAA HAAAA!!!!











4 comments:

The Mrs. said...

The only way I can barely survive Mother's Day is if I don't listen to any talks during sacrament meeting. Ugh! I also demand things. I don't want gifts, just dinner. And dessert. And TIME. Which is kinda ironic because the time that I want, consists of me pretending I'm not a mom while I lay in bed and read until someone comes to get me for the meal, and then sends me back to bed. It's just a weird day. I often wonder who invented it because I don't really know any women who LOVE that holiday.

Your stories are grand. Love you my beautiful friend!
xoxo

Alex said...

I may have peed my pants from laughing so hard. ;) Hope you had a good (belated) Mother's Day.

Katy Nicole. said...

Could be the GREATEST post EVER!!!

Ashley said...

This was wonderful! I have been thinking about "the farm" a lot lately especially because I see it all the time during baseball season. It makes me sad but oh the memories :)