So Day 4 (a post I have yet to write in full on the "other blog") featured one of those wonderful moments as a parent when you look at your children and realize, "I have totally screwed this thing up".
We spent a glorious day at the beach with the Everloves. Leo Carrillo State Beach just happens to be the place where just over 15 years ago, Pie proposed and I said "don't mind if I do". (The picture of Tommy sitting in the rocks in the previous post is from Leo.) We wanted the kids to visit this beach not only for gooey sentiment, which we are totally all about, but also because it is such a fun place to hang out, completely different from Zuma. So our kids spend a few hours climbing over rocks, collecting important seaweed samples and broken shells of all kinds. They seem happy as clams. After we head back to the car with an ocean's worth of sand in our water shoes and swimming attire, we all pile in for a little drive up the coast (we saw dolphins!) and we aren't even out of the parking lot yet when each and every one of my children begins to complain about how much they hated that beach, how hateful it was, collecting sea specimens and what-not, how they wished we had never taken them there in the first place. Pie and I were shocked and appalled! Sure, a couple of times while climbing the rocks our children had mentioned the beach from the day before, but NOTHING prepared us for this. They actually started crying. Jon said it was the Stupidest Beach Ever. I lost my cool. I said, only half joking, in that adorable sarcastic way I have:
You are horrible, horrible children! How can you dare to complain about such a wonderful day at the beach?
(to which Josie replied in kind)
Well YOU are a horrible, Horrible MOTHER, taking us to that beach!!
Touche. I had to turn away so that she wouldn't see me silently laugh. So rude of her, certainly, but how could I expect a respectful answer to my own insulting question? And to top it off, a moment later when Pie and I excitedly spied the dolphins leaping through the waves, not one, NOT ONE of our children looked at the right spot at the right instant and so they missed them. At which point Jon yelled "My whole day is ruined, and I didn't even get to see the dolphins!"
Just a magical, magical moment to share as a family. This is what it's all about, folks. Memories.
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9 comments:
When the kids start complaining...as yours did after the beach...that's when I start in on a diatribe listing all of the nice and self-sacrificing things that we, as their parents, have done for them. And, I continue on to point out how extremely ungrateful they are as priveleged children because (as in your example) most children don't get to collect seaweed samples on their summer vacation. Most kids get a bag of chips and tv reruns. And I keep on harping until they are either crying with remorse or consistently shooting me a look that says, "Go to hell(pardon my language)...you don't have any idea of what you are talking about." Then I fume for a long time and tell the kids they better steer clear of me. Then, even after I've cooled off, I still act like I'm a raging lunatic so that everyone will leave me alone. Try it. Crazy gets all kinds of fringe benefits.
Try teaching your favorite Edna St. Vincent Millay poem, one that STILL makes you tear up from time to time after 35 years of knowing it, to 27 jaded 19 year olds. It's a knife through the heart.
Favorite line from this blog: "Don't mind if I do..."
Having lived in Hawaii for 4 years, I consider myself an expert on what I call "post-beach-bad-behavior-itis". I think that the only thing you can do with a bunch of kids who have spent an afternoon frolicking on the beach is put them straight to bed! :)
And ditto my mom: that was my favorite line, too!
So glad we actually got a spare few moments to chat today! Now if only we had a thousand more spare moments to catch up on all the rest...
Holy freakin' cow...I'm watching the House Hunters with your husband RIGHT NOW (it's on commercial). That lady Farrah says his name ALOT. Look at this Pie. Nice windows Pie. Crummy tile Pie. She likeys his name...or pie...I'm not sure which. Tell Pie he did an exemplary job. How many houses do they really look at anyway? Has to be more than three. AND did the tall guy go to BYU? Because I saw his diploma in the background...and it looked BYU-ish.
Oh man! Kids!
(And House Hunters? How did this not come up in conversation? Is there any way for us to see it?)
Sara! Yes! You can see it. I personally have seen it 47 times. And each new time it comes on I am invited by my guy to watch it ...again...I have had my fill, I think. And I don't even like the show to begin with. But I do enjoy mocking Pie about his mush mouth (his braces were brand new!) because that is just the kind of sweet spouse I am. He loves it.
I can't get to your blog. This is a problem for me. Did I miss some pertinent email? Am I just lame? Please advise.
You know, this is a situation which just might call for something which Timothy has long campaigned for in order to deal with our rowdy children in church . . . the Quiet Brick.
I find myself warming to the idea more and more.
Hmm....Is the Quiet Brick anything like the Obedience Brick? What about the I'm Gonna Rock You To Sleep And Use A Real Rock, rock? I'm interested....
Julie - I love checking out your blog. It always cracks me up, especially this post about the beach. So imagine my surprise when I go to leave a comment, only to discover that my use of Pie's name is mocked - here in a public forum.
I guess my overriding concern about how I would look and sound on national television overrode my ability to be aware of how often I was (inappropriately?) using my realtor's name.
I will never watch that show again in the same light. (Well, I actually haven't watched it since the first time around, but if I ever were to watch it again, I now have a new thing to be embarrassed about.)
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