I don’t love posting pictures. It’s just an ache. I believe a good story is worth a thousand pictures. And a good argument is worth a million.
I recently came back from a trip to California to go visit my family. And by “visit” I mean be forgotten while my parents fawn over Ellie. And by “parents”, I mean the loveable loons I lived with before realizing that people actually used dishwashers to wash dishes, not just to hold the dishes that didn’t fit in the regular cupboards.
I could post pictures. However, they would all be the same inane variation of adult smiling and holding Ellie. Or Ellie at the beach. Or Ellie chasing one of the Trejo cats or Jacobsen dogs. Or Ellie smearing food on her face. But aren’t we all a little tired of Ellie?
Instead, I thought I would recreate my favorite conversation from my two weeks in California to give you a taste of the kind of thing that a picture just can’t.
During our breakfast preparations:
Ellie sits in the background happily dipping something in syrup and nursing a black eye.
“MOM! I said no beans!” I yelled.
“Oh, I heard “yes” on the beans. Where is your dad? Eduardo. Eduardo! EDUARDO!!! BREAKFAST!!!” You do not want to make this woman wait after a meal has been served.
“MOM! Ugh! You’re deaf. And if he’s not answering it’s because he can’t hear you. Duh.”
“If no one can be nice then don’t say anything at all. EDUARDO! EDUARDO!!”
“MOM!! SHUT UP!”
“You shut up. There you are! I was calling and calling and calling! What part of breakfast do you not understand? You’re making us all wait. We’re ready to eat.”
My dad is stumbling out of the hall, “I was in the bathroom.”
My mom rolls her eyes, “Surprise. Natalia, do you want salsa?”
“Yes, but I can do it myself, Mom, it’s ok. I’m not Dad.” I reply briskly.
Dad gets up to leave as he has been offended.
Mom is in what I like to call, General mode, “Sit down and EAT! What did I tell you about being nice?”
“Where is my lemonade?” my dad sulks.
“In the fridge. Get it yourself. Please.” replies the General.
“I tried, but it’s all the way at the back.”
“So?” asks the General, knowing full well what his answer is going to be. Even Ellie knows.
“I can’t reach it. It’s like, WAY in the back.”
“Ok. Sit down and I’ll reach it for you, little prince.” The General has quickly dissolved back into my mom. Somehow she can see my dad’s calculated uselessness as endearing - I think it’s because she knows he really would starve without her.
“All you two do is pick on me. I don’t have a fork.” Dad sulks hopefully. He knows that if he looks pitiful enough someone will get up and get him a fork. He’s so hunched over his eggs he looks like Eeyore. I get up, get one and hand it to him and he cheerfully starts eating.
Finally we all sit down and officially start breakfast.
My mom starts in again with her Anger Book doctrine. The same book I received as my Mother’s Day gift. “I know we all said things we regret, but I really feel that as a family we must pull together and learn to love and forgive one another. My anger book says…”
“BOOH!!” My dad and I yell. We are both SO tired of hearing about the Anger Book this, the Anger Book that. I’m just waiting for the Anger Book to have an opinion on how much I eat. And then it’s getting burned.
“MY ANGER BOOK says,” my mom continues, “that sometimes we say things that hurt just because we don’t know any better.
“I’m pretty sure I know better,” I reply.
“Me too.” My dad chimes in.
“No you don’t. You’re both Neanderthals.” And with that my mom continues to indoctrinate us on the Anger Book.
I think the best/worst part about my little family is that we’re all straight-shooters. Very little gets held back, and while feelings can get hurt, at least we all know where we stand. We’re total warfare kind of people. Burn the place before asking questions then assess the damage and ask forgiveness later. It’s not a perfect model and it requires all participants to be entirely on board but it works for us. And if it makes you feel any better, as evidenced above, my mom is trying to make us change.
Here’s the thing. I LOVE my parents. I complain about them all the time (often to my in-laws) and my parents complain about me (often to my in-laws) but that’s just the way we work. We know that at the end of the day you get a good night kiss and an assurance that everything is going to be ok. That you are appreciated, and while you looked a little fat in that shirt and your hair was just not working today, you are loved.
You are loved.
