For Mother's Day all I wanted, like most of my friends, was a cup of coffee and a newspaper without kids bugging me about whether they were going to watch Curious George or Oswald or who had the Optimus Prime toy first.
I got downstairs first because the four stooges were still in the office wrapping my gift and screaming at each other. Four soon became three when Max came downstairs, laid down on the floor and went back to sleep.
Like I said, all I asked for was an hour with coffee and the paper. No coffee. Usually it brews on a timer, if Mark sets it. No paper on the porch. Seriously. I yelled up the stairs for Mark to call circulation to get one delivered. "How?!?" he screamed down the stairs. "Go to the website, I yelled back." So relaxing.
Finally they came down the stairs, Atticus blubbering that he wanted to carry the gift and Charlie calling him a stupid idiot. As Mark addressed this, I can tell in his tone the morning will not go well.
When Mark asked me weeks before what I wanted for Mother's Day by way of a gift, I said a Garden Weasel. Not too difficult, I thought. I was wrong, just like I was about the coffee mug I asked for for my birthday. He said a Garden Weasel wasn't a very good gift. I don't get it with men. They'd rather get you what they perceive, or what advertising projects, as an appropriate Mother's Day gift. Never mind what you want, or ask for. My father gets my stepmother the same perfume every year for her birthday. It is the perfume she wears, but after 25 years, how is that even a gift? That's practially like giving her toothpaste.
Back to the morning... they had gotten me some really delicious Origins body scrub and cream (grapefruit scented, it smells so good I want to eat it), and a beautiful windchime. After that things pretty much went downhill. The kids were particularly torqued up from a cookout and two birthday parties on Saturday. Mark let the inmates get to him. Atticus asked for a banana. Mark refused (why?). Atticus spent the next 20 minutes blubbering about a banana and then Max woke up and wanted a banana too. Charlie, in the meantime, was being the most adorable waiter, with the "Would you like a grapefruit, ma'm?" and "Coming right up." He even took at little rose and stuck it in my grapefruit. I was doing what I like to do when I read the paper, which is to share the particularly interesting things I read out loud to no one in particular. Evidently Mark couldn't stand the additional auditory stimuli because he snapped "Just be quiet" to me. Then there was screaming and fighting about getting dressed. Mark thinks "Atticus is five, he should get himself dressed," so there was a lot of screaming and escalating tempers. What I know is that Atticus is going through the "I don't want to grow up, I want to stay a baby" phase and to not fight it and just get him dressed.
Later in the day, Mark suggested we go to Home Depot. Ok, it may sound like a weird place to go on Mother's Day, but I love Home Depot. I could spend days in Home Depot and never come out. I started out by getting the supplies for a lawn project I've been wanting to do while Mark got a cover for the new grill. Then the kids sat on the lawn tractors, Mark and I looked at gardening implements, from which we selected a narrow-pronged pitchfork ("This is what you want, not a Garden Weasel.") We then spent thirty minutes flipping through outdoor furniture magazines while lounging in the floor samples, as the kids played in the "hiding places."
Finally we needed to head out for our Linner (like brunch, but between lunch and dinner) reservation. As we approached the check-out, with Atticus and Charlie brawling like Irish immigrants, I heard a familiar whining sound, and so did Mark. "Tornado siren?" I mouthed to Mark. He flipped his head toward the door indicating I should go look. I walked outside and there was indeed a tornado warning and the sky looked truly evil. I looked around. Some people were looking with mild curiosity to the sky, but most people went about their business as the sky got darker and the siren wailed.
Back in the store I nodded to Mark and he said "Come on boys" as he held Atticus and Charlie's hands and I picked up Max. "Where are we going?" Charlie asked. "To the bathroom" Mark replied. In the back of the store, at the restrooms, there was some confusion as to whether I would come in the men's with them or go in the women's alone. We decided Mark would take the boys in and I would try to get some information on my Blackberry. Well, there was indeed a tornado warning for our area. Standing in the rear of the store I observed the people around me. You couldn't hear the siren inside the store, so I wanted to scream "Don't you people know there is a tornado warning!?!" I looked around at fifty-foot high shelves of lumber and glass and bathtubs and ceramic tile. This is the same rotating storm system that killed at least 22 people in Missouri, Oklahoma and Georgia.
I don't know about in the Midwest, but in Central Ohio it amazes me how lackadaisical people are about a tornado warning. I've been in two tornados and witnessed one tornado in the distance, and I don't mess around. The latest experience was a horrible day last year. We had all gone to the pool on a Saturday in late summer. It was a beautiful sunny day, but it was getting late and we decided at the next rest period we would go home. I was packing up with Maxie and Mark was still in the pool with the other two when the siren went off. The siren was about 100 yards from where we were standing. The black clouds emerged from behind the trees in seconds. Kids were running everywhere, grabbing towels, getting on their bikes, running home. The teens manning the desk were clueless in their little wooden hut. The wind started to blow. It was horrifying. Note: It is impossible to buckle a child into a carseat with water wings on.
"What are we going to do?" I asked Mark.
"Go home," he replied.
In hindsight we realize that wasn't the best plan. Every year since first grade during Tornado Awareness Week, we have been reminded that you never ever stay in your car during a tornado. Never mind actually getting in your car. Since childhood I had this "what if" plan that if I were ever out and about in a tornado, I would knock on the nearest door and ask for shelter. Well, I forgot all about that. First we headed parallel to the storm. I felt ok because we were moving. If I didn't look toward the storm, and to the sunny sky to the east, I could keep it together, but not for long. I had a full-fledged panic attack and started bawling. Charlie, who up until now had said nothing (for the first time in his life) stated simply "I hope this isn't the end of our lives."
We made it home just ahead of the storm. In the basement, the kids sat on the pool table, a little shaken up, while I folded laundry to stay calm, relieved we were safe. In our brick house with 24-inch solid concrete basement walls, the only indication that there was a storm outside was a thin stream of water that trickled from the only spot in our basement that leaks and only does so in heavy rain. Mark watched the local weather and we learned a small tornado had touched down near at the intersection we were stopped at when I freaked out. For months Charlie brought home pictures of tornados he had drawn during quiet time at school. I think that must be how he worked through it.
Back at Home Depot, having continually refreshing my Blackberry, finally the note came up that the warning had ended. The kids knew what was going on and no one freaked out. Charlie had explained to his brothers what the bathroom was safe. He didn't even talk about it all day, or play "tornado" with his toys like I thought he would.
All's well that ends well. We checked out (ironically, the manager made an announcement about a tornado warning, now that it was over) and barely made our Linner reservation. After a double mudslide at Linner all was right with the world.
As we were getting ready for bed that night Mark said "I'm sorry for Mother's Day I didn't make you feel as appreciated as you are. It's just you set the expectation so high..."
"Wait a minute," I replied. "I asked for an hour reading the paper and a Garden Weasel. Who is it really who sets the expectation so high? I'm pretty easy to please."
"Easy to please?" he laughed. "You had a good point, don't push it."
I got downstairs first because the four stooges were still in the office wrapping my gift and screaming at each other. Four soon became three when Max came downstairs, laid down on the floor and went back to sleep.
Like I said, all I asked for was an hour with coffee and the paper. No coffee. Usually it brews on a timer, if Mark sets it. No paper on the porch. Seriously. I yelled up the stairs for Mark to call circulation to get one delivered. "How?!?" he screamed down the stairs. "Go to the website, I yelled back." So relaxing.
Finally they came down the stairs, Atticus blubbering that he wanted to carry the gift and Charlie calling him a stupid idiot. As Mark addressed this, I can tell in his tone the morning will not go well.
When Mark asked me weeks before what I wanted for Mother's Day by way of a gift, I said a Garden Weasel. Not too difficult, I thought. I was wrong, just like I was about the coffee mug I asked for for my birthday. He said a Garden Weasel wasn't a very good gift. I don't get it with men. They'd rather get you what they perceive, or what advertising projects, as an appropriate Mother's Day gift. Never mind what you want, or ask for. My father gets my stepmother the same perfume every year for her birthday. It is the perfume she wears, but after 25 years, how is that even a gift? That's practially like giving her toothpaste.
Back to the morning... they had gotten me some really delicious Origins body scrub and cream (grapefruit scented, it smells so good I want to eat it), and a beautiful windchime. After that things pretty much went downhill. The kids were particularly torqued up from a cookout and two birthday parties on Saturday. Mark let the inmates get to him. Atticus asked for a banana. Mark refused (why?). Atticus spent the next 20 minutes blubbering about a banana and then Max woke up and wanted a banana too. Charlie, in the meantime, was being the most adorable waiter, with the "Would you like a grapefruit, ma'm?" and "Coming right up." He even took at little rose and stuck it in my grapefruit. I was doing what I like to do when I read the paper, which is to share the particularly interesting things I read out loud to no one in particular. Evidently Mark couldn't stand the additional auditory stimuli because he snapped "Just be quiet" to me. Then there was screaming and fighting about getting dressed. Mark thinks "Atticus is five, he should get himself dressed," so there was a lot of screaming and escalating tempers. What I know is that Atticus is going through the "I don't want to grow up, I want to stay a baby" phase and to not fight it and just get him dressed.
Later in the day, Mark suggested we go to Home Depot. Ok, it may sound like a weird place to go on Mother's Day, but I love Home Depot. I could spend days in Home Depot and never come out. I started out by getting the supplies for a lawn project I've been wanting to do while Mark got a cover for the new grill. Then the kids sat on the lawn tractors, Mark and I looked at gardening implements, from which we selected a narrow-pronged pitchfork ("This is what you want, not a Garden Weasel.") We then spent thirty minutes flipping through outdoor furniture magazines while lounging in the floor samples, as the kids played in the "hiding places."
Finally we needed to head out for our Linner (like brunch, but between lunch and dinner) reservation. As we approached the check-out, with Atticus and Charlie brawling like Irish immigrants, I heard a familiar whining sound, and so did Mark. "Tornado siren?" I mouthed to Mark. He flipped his head toward the door indicating I should go look. I walked outside and there was indeed a tornado warning and the sky looked truly evil. I looked around. Some people were looking with mild curiosity to the sky, but most people went about their business as the sky got darker and the siren wailed.
Back in the store I nodded to Mark and he said "Come on boys" as he held Atticus and Charlie's hands and I picked up Max. "Where are we going?" Charlie asked. "To the bathroom" Mark replied. In the back of the store, at the restrooms, there was some confusion as to whether I would come in the men's with them or go in the women's alone. We decided Mark would take the boys in and I would try to get some information on my Blackberry. Well, there was indeed a tornado warning for our area. Standing in the rear of the store I observed the people around me. You couldn't hear the siren inside the store, so I wanted to scream "Don't you people know there is a tornado warning!?!" I looked around at fifty-foot high shelves of lumber and glass and bathtubs and ceramic tile. This is the same rotating storm system that killed at least 22 people in Missouri, Oklahoma and Georgia.
I don't know about in the Midwest, but in Central Ohio it amazes me how lackadaisical people are about a tornado warning. I've been in two tornados and witnessed one tornado in the distance, and I don't mess around. The latest experience was a horrible day last year. We had all gone to the pool on a Saturday in late summer. It was a beautiful sunny day, but it was getting late and we decided at the next rest period we would go home. I was packing up with Maxie and Mark was still in the pool with the other two when the siren went off. The siren was about 100 yards from where we were standing. The black clouds emerged from behind the trees in seconds. Kids were running everywhere, grabbing towels, getting on their bikes, running home. The teens manning the desk were clueless in their little wooden hut. The wind started to blow. It was horrifying. Note: It is impossible to buckle a child into a carseat with water wings on.
"What are we going to do?" I asked Mark.
"Go home," he replied.
In hindsight we realize that wasn't the best plan. Every year since first grade during Tornado Awareness Week, we have been reminded that you never ever stay in your car during a tornado. Never mind actually getting in your car. Since childhood I had this "what if" plan that if I were ever out and about in a tornado, I would knock on the nearest door and ask for shelter. Well, I forgot all about that. First we headed parallel to the storm. I felt ok because we were moving. If I didn't look toward the storm, and to the sunny sky to the east, I could keep it together, but not for long. I had a full-fledged panic attack and started bawling. Charlie, who up until now had said nothing (for the first time in his life) stated simply "I hope this isn't the end of our lives."
We made it home just ahead of the storm. In the basement, the kids sat on the pool table, a little shaken up, while I folded laundry to stay calm, relieved we were safe. In our brick house with 24-inch solid concrete basement walls, the only indication that there was a storm outside was a thin stream of water that trickled from the only spot in our basement that leaks and only does so in heavy rain. Mark watched the local weather and we learned a small tornado had touched down near at the intersection we were stopped at when I freaked out. For months Charlie brought home pictures of tornados he had drawn during quiet time at school. I think that must be how he worked through it.
Back at Home Depot, having continually refreshing my Blackberry, finally the note came up that the warning had ended. The kids knew what was going on and no one freaked out. Charlie had explained to his brothers what the bathroom was safe. He didn't even talk about it all day, or play "tornado" with his toys like I thought he would.
All's well that ends well. We checked out (ironically, the manager made an announcement about a tornado warning, now that it was over) and barely made our Linner reservation. After a double mudslide at Linner all was right with the world.
As we were getting ready for bed that night Mark said "I'm sorry for Mother's Day I didn't make you feel as appreciated as you are. It's just you set the expectation so high..."
"Wait a minute," I replied. "I asked for an hour reading the paper and a Garden Weasel. Who is it really who sets the expectation so high? I'm pretty easy to please."
"Easy to please?" he laughed. "You had a good point, don't push it."
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