Gah, I want my car back!
Liz keeps making xxcuses 2 get her car serviced so she can spend even MORE time with Anthony (she sez this is necessary cuz, w/Francie in daycare during the workday, it's the only time she gets 2 have "adult" conversation w/him). And when Liz gets her car serviced, MOM MAKES ME LEND LIZ MY CAR. THAT I PAID FOR. W/MY OWN MONEY! What's even worse is that when I want 2 use MOM's car 2 drive sumwhere, Mom insists on riding shotgun. Even tho I got my G2 back in December and no longer require an adult driver in the car w/me. Bcuz Mom thinx she knows so much more than my driver's ed and the province of Ontario abt what makes a good driver!
So, we'd gotten in2 Mom's car, and rite away, Mom was all, "...Let's do up our seat belts..." I don't know Y she felt the need 2 start AND end her sentence w/an ellipse. But NEway, then she was like, "Don't 4get the parking brake." Mom is so old-school she always uses the parking brake, even w/the car in the driveway on a totally level surface. As I was already looking over my left shoulder and backing out slowly, Mom helpfully added, "Pull out slowly. Now...look over yr left shoulder." A moment later, I felt as if there was an aerial camera over us, as I was turning and Mom sed, "Turn the wheel, don't go in2 the middle of the road... OK, OK, OK!!!" Then as I was getting in2 the rite lane and checking 4 traffic both ways, Mom was all, "And... get in2 the rite lane... Checking 4 traffice both ways. R U checking?" Then Mom was all, "Stop sign up a head! Start braking, it mite B icy. Brake now... Brake, brake, brake... STOP!!!" I stopped and she was like, "All clear? Turn rite." As I turned: " Turn, turn, turn... now, go a little faster..." As I got up 2 speed: "Keep with the flow, keep with the flow... Speed limit's 80 kilometers [Mom remembered 2 use metric!], keep w/the flow..." She prattled on w/"Use yr indicator, don't tailgate, keep a few car-lengths b-hind the driver in front." Then she added, "Courtesy is KEY, April! Always remember that on the road--courtesy is key! It's terribly hard 2 concentr8 if U're being annoyed by another driver." Amen 2 that. I was like, "Speaking of which, when can I get my car back?" And Mom sed, "When yr sister is ready! Elizabeth needs all the support we can give her rite now, so don't U begrudge her borrowing yr car now and then. And keep yr eyes on the road!"
What a nitemare.
Apes
So, we'd gotten in2 Mom's car, and rite away, Mom was all, "...Let's do up our seat belts..." I don't know Y she felt the need 2 start AND end her sentence w/an ellipse. But NEway, then she was like, "Don't 4get the parking brake." Mom is so old-school she always uses the parking brake, even w/the car in the driveway on a totally level surface. As I was already looking over my left shoulder and backing out slowly, Mom helpfully added, "Pull out slowly. Now...look over yr left shoulder." A moment later, I felt as if there was an aerial camera over us, as I was turning and Mom sed, "Turn the wheel, don't go in2 the middle of the road... OK, OK, OK!!!" Then as I was getting in2 the rite lane and checking 4 traffic both ways, Mom was all, "And... get in2 the rite lane... Checking 4 traffice both ways. R U checking?" Then Mom was all, "Stop sign up a head! Start braking, it mite B icy. Brake now... Brake, brake, brake... STOP!!!" I stopped and she was like, "All clear? Turn rite." As I turned: " Turn, turn, turn... now, go a little faster..." As I got up 2 speed: "Keep with the flow, keep with the flow... Speed limit's 80 kilometers [Mom remembered 2 use metric!], keep w/the flow..." She prattled on w/"Use yr indicator, don't tailgate, keep a few car-lengths b-hind the driver in front." Then she added, "Courtesy is KEY, April! Always remember that on the road--courtesy is key! It's terribly hard 2 concentr8 if U're being annoyed by another driver." Amen 2 that. I was like, "Speaking of which, when can I get my car back?" And Mom sed, "When yr sister is ready! Elizabeth needs all the support we can give her rite now, so don't U begrudge her borrowing yr car now and then. And keep yr eyes on the road!"
What a nitemare.
Apes
Labels: Mom, stoopidity, Sundays
posted by April Patterson @ 8:19 AM
13 Comments:
At 10:10 AM,
Anonymous said…
april, uh u know wen i suggested we cud take ur mom’s car & if she insisted she hadda come w/us it wudn’t b so bad. i take it back. 4get i evah suggested it. i don’t know wut i wuz thinkin’.
by the way, duncan's silhouette sed he wunted us 2 come ovah 2 his place & watch the superbowl w/him & eva. ru innerested, or did u wanna do sumthin' else?
At 10:22 AM,
Anonymous said…
April,
Formerly little sis. It warms my heart to read of your story about driving with mom. I remember back when I got my licence and the first time I drove with mom. It was very similar to your experience, except mom wasn’t as patient with me as she appears to have been with you.
I think it had something to do with the time Gordon and I backed the car down the driveway and wrecked it. Parents can be a little unforgiving when it comes to things like that. With Gordon, his father gave him a few bruises. With mom, she never failed to mention it, every time I got behind the wheel, until I after left for university (not counting an occasional mention during phone conversations).
My recommendation to you is that if you ever manage to wreck your car, be sure not to tell mom and dad. I have done that ever since, and my life is much happier. I have even driven mom and dad to and from the airport now, without mom talking about it for more than a few minutes, which I think is a great improvement.
Love,
Michael Patterson
At 10:22 AM,
April Patterson said…
let's give the superbowl thing a try, and c how it goes. u never know w/eva n' duncan's silhouette.
apes
At 12:59 PM,
DreadedCandiru2 said…
What's worse, of course, is that the advice she gave you is all wrong. If she had to retake her driving exam now, not only would she fail miserably, the instructor would laughingly cut it up in front of her. The problem is that she'd find some way to blame you for it but, sadly, you should be used to that by now.
At 1:17 PM,
April Patterson said…
every day, i m 1 day closer 2 university. that's what i keep telling myself!
apes
At 3:28 PM,
Anonymous said…
april, silhouette duncan wunts me 2 bring sum snax 2 the superbowl thing. wut do silhouettes eat anyway? like mebbe dark chocolate or sumthin' like that? i dunno.
At 3:50 PM,
April Patterson said…
loox like duncan likes the the chocolates, jeremy. i've never c'n ne1 scarf chockies faster than that, and i live w/elly patterson!
apes
At 5:39 PM,
Anonymous said…
april, he can rilly eat all right. i'm gonna go out 4 sum more. by the way, while i'm gone, let him know if he sez 2u 1 more tyme, "2 rilly appreci8 ur bedroom set, u hafta do it w/a silhouette"; i'm gonna find a rilly strong lite & hurt sum1.
At 6:03 PM,
April Patterson said…
omg, jeremy, pls hurry back. duncan's silhouette just sed, "once u've gone 'shade,' u've got it made!" in a really icky voice.
apes
At 8:03 PM,
Anonymous said…
april, well now i know wut a "black eye" on a silhouette looks like. aftah eva punched out duncan's silhouette, he started cryin'. don't mess around on eva, thass 4 sure.
now she's tryin' 2 make him feel better. we saw the commercial where the woman rubbed cashews on her body for a perfume that attracts men & thass seems 2 have worked pretty well 4 eva usin' chocolates. i think they're gonna miss tom petty & the heartbreakers 4 the 1/2-time show, if they don't come outa that back bedroom pretty soon.
by the way, is there sum reasn y u were rubbin' butter tarts on ur wrists & behind each ear?
At 8:14 PM,
April Patterson said…
uh, nope, no reason!
apes
At 11:02 PM,
Anonymous said…
april, wow! that wuz a gr8 game! i can kinda cy the americans like their football so much!
by the way, ru sure ur makeup will cover thoze marks on ur neck w/o ur mom noticin'? i dunno wut came ovah me but i started 2 crave butter tarts & i kinda lost control. shud i ask y it wuz u started shoutin', "i have no raisins! i have no raisin 2 stop u! go giants go! take the win!" my guess iz i prolly shudn't ask.
neway, it didn't seem 2 bothah duncan's silhouette & eva in the back bedroom. they missed a gr8 game. they didn't evn say nethin' wen we told them we were leavin' 2 go home.
At 2:04 AM,
Anonymous said…
April,
Formerly little sis. One of the more difficult times of my day is the 2 hours between the time I pick up my daughter from her school and the time that my wife, the lovely Deanna, comes home from work to take over the kids. My son's sitter leaves after I get back with my daughter and so for 2 hours it's just me and the children. When my book Stone Season had just been published, I used to keep the children entertained by reading to them excerpts from my book. But lately, even that promise of literary greatness has not been enough to keep them occupied.
As you know, mom's primary way of keeping us occupied during that period of time coming home from school was food, but Deanna doesn't believe in feeding the children after school snacks. As she puts it, “There’s no way my kids are going to be as fat as your mother and your…” hum…well, some other people Deanna knows. My wife was pretty adamant about it, and when she is adamant about it, she withholds things to encourage me to be adamant too.
So, as it occurred, one day my daughter and son came into the kitchen as I was beginning the process of preparing for supper and was feeling especially matronly, like I almost looked like Elizabeth. I was trying out a new recipe, but the lettering was not quite that clear. It either said, "Parmesan and Sweet Potato" or it said, "Right Arm and Sweat Pit" I wasn't sure, so to make sure everything was covered, I took a checked towel and rubbed it up into my right arm pit, to make sure it absorbed some sweat from up there. As I was doing this, my daughter said, "Dad? Daddy! -- When will supper be ready?" I replied in my usual manner in which Deanna had instructed me, "You two just had lunch!" My lovely wife had said, "No afternoon snacks" and I had to stick with her rules. My daughter countered with "I know -- But we're HUNGRY!" I countered with my usual manner in which Deanna had instructed me, "You're not hungry...you're bored." As I said this, I looked at the recipe book in my left hand, as I squeezed the arm pit sweat into the casserole dish, to make sure I got the right proportion.
Deanna had often told me the best way to deal with bored children, who were complaining they were hungry, was to put them in charge of the carrots. We have had carrots with every single meal since we have been married, and so the likelihood of the children snacking on them is remote.
You may recollect a story my wife told back about 3 years ago, when she had my daughter help her in the kitchen and put her on a chair with the back of the chair facing away from the cabinet, causing an unsafe condition where the carrots and my daughter fell. Well, we have learned from that situation, and I put the back of the chair toward the cabinet. Now the chair is solid as a rock. It’s practically immoveable.
I put her on the chair and said, "So, Meredith, you can peel the carrots and Robin can feed the rabbit with the peelings." Then I gave her a peeler, a cutting board, and a few carrots and told her to go to it. Now that I think back on that event, I probably should have made some pun about how carrots have an appeel to rabbits.
I know there are some parents who think the child should be taught what to do before saying, "Go to it.", but we Pattersons are made of sterner stuff. None of this, “Move the peeler across the carrot away from your body so you don’t cut your fingers” business. After a few cuts on her fingers, I was sure my daughter would figure it out. As it turned out, I was not quite right.
As was about to put my special casserole dish into the oven, my daughter started crying, "I hate this! I can't DO it! It's too HARD! There she was moving the peeler right down toward her fingers, her nose gone to a button, and tears were streaming in an arc above her head.
My son, who is usually attracted to blood, said, "Can I try?" Then he grabbed the peeler with his right hand, and leapt onto the chair with my daughter who tried to bludgeon him with a carrot, while he tried to pull out her hair, as they fought over the peeler. They both started sending out arcs of tears, and my initial thought was, “Wow! It really pays off to have the back of the chair next to the cabinet, because the chair was not budging the slightest bit, even with the two of them on the chair at the same time, pounding their fists into each other and pulling out great clumps of hair. It was fairly amazing. I am sorry you were not here to see it.”
I hate to admit a little selfishness, since things have been so dull in our family since last September, I found I was enjoying my children’s battle a little too much. After all, it was the first excitement we have had around here in months. But eventually, my good parent nature kicked in and I thought, “What is the solution to this problem?” And right away, I knew the problem was a clear case of supply and demand. I had two children who wanted a peeler and there was only one peeler. I tried to remember if we had more than one peeler, but it didn’t come to me, even after several minutes. I think it was because the kids were screaming and shrieking and punching and kicking so much, it was difficult to concentrate.
So, I admit it, April. I had to resort to calling Deanna at work to ask her, “Honey? Do we have another peeler?” Naturally, Deanna was upset when I called. I forgot that she would be able to hear the background noise. She said, “Michael!! Stop the children from fighting and then I will tell you where we keep the extra peelers.” She didn’t seem to understand that the extra peeler was needed to stop the fight; so I explained that to her. Then she said, “Michael Patterson. Is there a Lynn written in cursive near your crotch?” I told her there was, and she said if I removed that I would be able think more clearly. She was right, of course, and I was able to settle things down a lot better. After all, there is not much that can disturb a man’s thinking more than having a Lynn near his crotch.
Love,
Michael Patterson
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