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Sunday, November 5, 2017

The Young & the Restless

Punch was at her Mimi’s from yesterday morning til today at 5. Dan and I loved the rest and the chance to reconnect. We went out to dinner at the Cloverleaf Tavern in Caldwell. We took naps and read. He mowed the lawn. We caught up on four loads of laundry./We had a breather from the get-to-soccer-game drill, the stress of lasso-ing Punch from neighborhood play, finding the shin guards in our confused home, then the ponytail holder, filling the water bottle with “fridge water,” since Punch likes it over tap water. And then watching closely from the sidelines because good sportsmanship comes naturally to many but not to all, including the short person in our midst./And somewhere between Dan’s craft beer at the Cloverleaf and my coffee with Baileys, we addressed some hard stuff in a few short sentences. I am grateful for that time and space./Once back home with us, Punch had mixed emotions. She adores her young Mimi, her late father’s mother. But the ride to Mimi’s is 2.5 hours—to reach a wide-open part of South Jersey. So she tends to return emotional and tired. Tonite followed form. /Ours is a dysfunctional nuclear family. [Actor Andy Garcia said “Every family is dysfunctional.”]  I worked hard to make a nice Sunday dinner—a big pot of chili with roasted cherry tomatoes in it, with a kick of heat from chili peppers Dan grew. I kept the browned ground turkey separate, so Punch and I could add it to our bowls. I made cornbread and brown rice. I cleaned out the fridge while the chili simmered on the stove./Alas, Figgy was going to her friend’s and Dan was ovverhungry and Punch was bouncing around and being fresh and no one was filling the water glasses, though they did get the rest of the table set with paper napkins and spoons after I asked twice. In the midst of all this, I learned some troubling information and could have easily become consumed, even crippled, with worry. But I kept calm and ate my chili. One step at a time, one spoonful at a time. Good night.

4 comments:

  1. I can picture your evening, so glad you've done what mothers should do, create a special moment around family dinner, and everybody else has their own world they are living in so the moment doesn't come off the way you pictured it...

    Xoxo Nan

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    1. Thank you, Nan--i love what you said, what mothers should do...sending love,
      Alice

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  2. I have a problem of planning something and picturing how it's going to be, and then when the other folks don't perform as expected they are judged against that picture in my head... so perhaps the disappointment is greater than warranted. Because I anticipated and rehearsed in my head how nice it was going to be, then that pleasant little Norman Rockwell moment doesn't happen, but my family never knew they are being judged against a Saturday Evening Post cover in my mind.

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    1. Right, I hear you. Astute observation. I find the more I accept their foibles, the easier it is on me, and probably on them. I have had to lower my expectations. Dan grew up in a much different place than my childhood home. I can still copy grace notes I learned. My mother had me help set the table w paper napkins starting in kindergarten. It’s never too late to pass that on. But still, it hurts when dinner turns into a disappointment. Can’t run from dysfunction in your own kitchen. Thanks, Nsn, for the note.

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