Breakfast In Bed... 8/30/2002
When I came home with the 'morning goodies', I could smell coffee. Molly had made me a pot of coffee to have when I got home! Well, she had never done coffee before, but she so wanted to please me that she gave it her best shot. She added the water and the coffee grounds and turned it on.
The only problem was, she only filled the reservoir half way up, and added two extra scoops of coffee as well. If I put in a plastic spoon it would have melted. One sip and my hair stood on end and I began growing more chin hairs. However, so I wouldn't hurt her feelings, I drank it and told her how wonderful it was. I also showed her how I make it, just so she would know next time. I didn't let on that it was too strong, but told her that filling it all the way was 'better for the coffee pot'.
One thing I have never been able to do is drink coffee at night. My friend in Vegas would come home from work and put a pot on every night. I finally had to stop having it with her, because as she was snoring in her bedroom I would be on the couch, trying to find something on the Nevada stations WITHOUT having cable.
I ended up unable to sleep at all. Afraid to take two Trazodone's on a weekday (I am allowed 3) in fear of sleeping too deeply, I laid in bed until the sun began to shine. I finally fell to sleep around 4 am.
I awoke at 10:30 AM with the breakfast tray next to me, and 3 shiny, proud faces standing in front of me. Molly and the boys had made me a big breakfast. Another thing about me is that I can't eat breakfast and never have been able to. But, I was so warmed by their thought of doing this on their own that I made a good attempt at it. Molly had made coffee, the boys had made waffles and toast, and Molly carried it up to me with the boys in tow.
They were just so proud to do this for me that I felt tears welling in my eyes. I held back, because a tear from me brings so much pain for them. They hate to see me cry and get very upset when I do, even when they are good tears. I hugged them all and then had to praise them every 10 minutes because they were just so happy they had pleased me.
They all gave me the day off. Molly is taking care of the babies, and the boys are cleaning. I am not kidding! The boys, who I have to fight with every night to do just general clean up of toys are cleaning glass, the table and the living room furniture. Molly is going to vacuum the floor and mop it (with the electric mop) after the cherubs go to bed.
I don't know what I did to deserve this today, but they thought this all up on their own. I have to shed a small tear privately in pride, because I have to say how thankful I am that I have such wonderful, caring children.
I remember trying to please my Mother when I was a child. It was not easy. She was not one of the huggy-kissy type of Mom's, nor was she good at praise. I made some fruit ambrosia that I had learned in to make in Home Ec. and it involved colored sugar crystals on top of the fruit. My Grandmother and Mother were diabetics, so I remember them looking at it and saying how pretty it was, but they couldn't eat it. It would make them sick.
I remember how hurt I was when they said it to me. I was so proud to be doing a 'breakfast' in the morning for them, and I had imagined them eating it with the sounds of "mmmm's" coming from their mouths as they devoured my gourmet meal. When they pushed it aside, I was so very hurt. I realize that they really couldn't eat it with the sugar, but when you are young you don't understand those things.
I had also envisioned my mother hugging and kissing me in thanks for my efforts. Of course that did not happen. That never happened with my Mother. The only time I felt praise was when we were in front of my cousins, all of which ended up going to Dartmouth and Harvard many years later, and I had received straight A's on my report card as well. I always felt competition instead of praise. I remember bringing home a “B-“ one year and the embarrassment I felt in having such a 'low grade'.
I won't even talk about the beatings with the metal spatula. I still make sure mine is not metal, and that it is kept in a utensil holder and NOT a utensil drawer. The sound of that drawer opening still gives me shivers.
This is why I praise my kids whenever they have brought grades up, or try hard to please me. If I helped out cleaning at home, I was shown what I had done wrong. What I do with my kids is thank them, and then finish where they left off when they are in bed. They never know what they did wrong. I don't correct them when it is something petty. I just let them know how proud I am that they would do these things to help me out.
It is strange how your own childhood is a constant reminder to you when you are a parent. I can't remember yesterday sometimes, but I can go back 40 years and remember things that I felt as a young child. Maybe it is something that aliens have implanted with some of us, so that we don't repeat mistakes that our parents made with us. I say SOME OF US, because the chain is not always broken and some children do the same things that their parents did, when they have their own children.
I would like to change the logo for OD CARES to SOME OF OD CARES, WHILE OTHERS ARE JUDGMENTAL ASSHOLES. Do you think they could add that to the logo?
Well, housework awaits. I will give the kids a hand. I just decided to help out a little, since I just found about 30 flies in my bathroom, and had flashbacks to Amityville Horror. I am not sure if they came in because of the door always being open and shut, or if they are here to remind me of just how gross this house is! YUCK!
