Some Kind of Mother

My new nickname is "Some," as in "Some kind of mother."

I took a 107 minute nap today. 107 minutes is the exact length of Enchanted, the movie. Yes, I am that kind of some kind of mother, at least some of the time.

I started to feel like I was melting after lunch today. I thought I needed some protein so I threw down a handful of hard salami to no avail. I was asleep on the couch within 5 minutes.

I am also some kind of mother who remembered and then forgot and then remembered and ultimately forgot to buy my in-laws a present for taking care of our kid this weekend.

I remembered that we forgot to buy them a gift as we pulled into our neighborhood to drop off our gear so that we would have room in the car for the child. We were already an hour late to pick up our 4 year old from two retired grandparents who have never really spent a lot of time with any children.

I called and sweetly told them that we would be there directly. I didn't tell them that we were making a pit stop at the mall to find them some black licorice as a present because we forgot to get them one because we were having such a great time thinking only of ourselves.

Turns out, there is no candy store at the mall. What? It can't be. We are already an hour and a half late. Desperation had set in. After a friendly, easy going weekend, we had fully injected ourselves back into the rat race.

Macy's, that's it. Macy's has a candy counter. We ran the entire length of the mall to find that Macy's does have candy, but not black licorice. We punted, and bought a few different things, including a bag of Swedish fish with a Macy's label and a price tag that read $8.00. The fact that we paid that much for a half pound of Swedish fish is truly more embarrassing than forgetting to by them a present. Anyway, since, appearances do matter, I simply pulled the labels off the cellophane bag which made it look like we had given them some Swedish fish that we had plucked from the mostly finished bratwurst and saurkraut in the dumpster behind the Das Wurst Hus.

Is it worse to not bring a gift or to give one that looked like some Swedish fish rejects?

We grab the black licorice substitutes, and sprinted to the car. About 4 steps away from the car, I feel all of my energy run out of the imaginary plug in the bottom of my left heel. I was starving.

I said to my husband, "Hon, I just ran out of gas 4 steps back. I have to eat something now."

Says he, "I ran out on the up escalator. Let's go to Wendy's."

As I shared yesterday, my husband and I spent an idyllic weekend in a lovely small town where fresh-faced, friendly people greeted us warmly and invited us to enjoy ourselves in their beautiful town. In Lanesboro, MN, the townsfolk stop to give directions and yield the right of way to other drivers, pedestrians, and bicycle riders, and then tell them all to enjoy their stay.

In Edina, MN, one neighborhood over from ours, old men in large Cadillacs tailgate behind starving parents who are driving the speed limit despite the fact that they are late to pick up their preschooler from Grandma's. Since we could not satisfy his need for speed as we were making a right hand turn into the Wendy's Drive-thru lane, said Cadillac driver attempted to run us off the road.

My husband laid on the horn for at least 25 seconds. I am not kidding. "I haven't heard a horn like that since I was in Manhattan," I howled.

"You haven't been in the car with my dad," says he, "Dad would lay on the horn until everyone in the car said his name.

"At least I didn't flip him off. He flipped me off."

"That old guy flipped you off? You are spiritually evolved."

And since I am Some, I graciously thanked my in-laws and handed them the fish. She looked confused so I said something like, oh I pulled the label off; it wasn't quite right.

We collected the child and headed home. Transaction complete.

After my nap, I am unpacking the kid's suitcase, and I find new pants, swimsuit, t-shirts. I report the extra clothes to my husband, and he says, "Oh, yeah. Kiddo and Grandma went to Target and the Kid told Grandma that Kid has no pants that fit."

Technically, this is true. Kid's pants from last fall are too small, but it is summer. No one wears pants in the summer in Minnesota. Most of us try to be as naked as possible from March until October when we adopt the all-upholstered look for 9 months.

This makes sense to me, but clearly I am Some.