And Yet, She Annoys Me

I try to be a faithful and dutiful daughter. I would gnaw off my arm for any person I love. That includes parents, children and friends.

What is it with mothers and daughters?

How can I spend an entire day anticipating time with my parents and then within 30 seconds, I want to strangle her with my bare hands? (Just maim her.) It takes less than five seconds for her to make a critical comment. In the next second, I begin making faces and rolling my eyes.

We spent the evening together Saturday night. I had the water mister out so the dog would behave. My mother spritzed the dog because she had the nerve to look at her.

My dad plays referee. He says things like, "Well, here we go. Fasten your seat belts, this should be fun."

Thankfully, my pseudo sister was here too. She's a great diversion, a good card player and she makes me laugh.

My mother only birthed one child. She repeatedly called me by my sister's name.

The Sandbox

I guess I was born attracted to sand.  My mother grew up in Florida.  I have lots of relatives in Florida and the south. My grandparents (Bobbie and Pa) had a sandbox in their back yard, built especially for me.  I shared it with my cousins but always considered it mine. This photo is my hunky dad and me on the beach.  I believe it's circa 1966.

Last week I had lunch with a very talented writer. I used to work with him in my corporate life. His grasp of opportunities and technology inspired me. It also made me want to throw my head in the sand.

The Naked Guy

Here's another story about babysitting in the neighborhood. You may want to know where this wild and wacky neighborhood is but I will never tell.

I was very big on the prospect of earning money. At 12-15, babysitting was my best option. Truthfully, it was pretty lucrative for those days.

A couple lived a few houses down from my parents. They had a toddler. They both worked full time and the wife went to school at night. My job was to feed and play with the toddler, then bathe him and have him ready for bed when the husband came home. Easy enough.

Before I go any further, remember I was about 12 or 13 and totally naive.

One night, I am bathing the baby. I hear the husband come in so I yelled, "Hello, we're almost finished in the tub." When I walked out, he was completely nude. In a very nonchalant way, he said, "We don't wear clothes in our house."

*** Brain clicking *** Brain freaking *** Don't know what to do. By the way, I had never seen a naked man. But, I tried to be cool and pretend this happened to me all the time. Oh sure, lots of my friend's parents didn't wear clothes.

So, I put the baby to bed and returned home. My parents were lying in their bedroom, watching television. I tried to act normal. "Did you know that the Rxxxxxx don't wear clothes when they're at home?"

My father doesn't leap. He jumped out of that bed and was out the door before I could finish my sentence.

That family moved.

If I get really brave, I may try this on the oldies.

The Tool Kit

I'm a girly girl. Digging in the dirt or trying to fix something has never appealed to me. (I'll just call someone.) My parents used to assign yard work -- I'm sure they were punishing me for something --and I would cry, stomp, etc. Then I usually found someone else to do it for me. Some things never change.

My dad still does this today. I've never lived in an apartment, condo, or house that he hasn't repaired or remodeled in some way. I follow him around like a plant supervisor, saying, "Could we do this? What about this?" He tolerates me.

The husband has these skills but he's given them up for other pursuits. (Can anyone say golf?)

I've started collecting my own tools. It's my stash. My dad even bought me a cordless drill.

I still want other people to do the work but they can use my tools.