Yesterday afternoon my Mom called and told me my Aunt M had passed away. It was unexpected, and as much as I tried to be strong I couldn’t hold things together.
My six year old son saw I was upset, came over to me and asked, “Why are you crying?”
I said, “Aunt M died today. Everything will be okay, but I’m crying because I’m going to miss her. I loved her very much and I was close to her.”
Then he climbed up on my lap, put his nose about an inch from mine and asked, “Were you close like this?”
I have mentioned before that our family is highly competitive. My husband is the worst of the bunch. Coming from a family of eleven, his sibling rivalries are taken to a much higher level. When I heard there was a movie coming out called There Will Be Blood, I thought it was a documentary filmed during a family game of Boggle.
Our nine year old daughter, who used to let her friends win just to be nice, is now changing her tune. As she has gotten older and has begun to play sports, I’ve noted a real ruthless streak in her. Now, with a Wii in the house her new attitude is win first, friends second.
Yesterday she was playing tennis with her Dad when she missed a ball and, as is customary, he began to rub it in her face. He saw the end was near and before going in for the kill he asked, “Do you smell that?”
And I realized my daughter has learned the first rule of competition is knowing how to talk smack when she replied, “I smell something. But, it’s not your victory.”
After a lot of occupational therapy to get over some serious sensory issues, my six year old son is no longer afraid to touch anyone. He’s also not real shy about it. When his sister started playing soccer and softball a few years ago, I would take him to practices where he would approach any Mom who paid him any mind and would begin rubbing her legs or arms. Not to mention, he would inevitably try to rub her chest as well.
Thanks to some good fortune, last week our family got a Wii. What does a Wii have to do with chest rubbing? Well, I’ll get to that.
Aside from the fact that we warned the kids not to hurt themselves while playing their new video games…okay, that was after I pulled a shoulder muscle while bowling…we also told them never to touch buttons if they don’t know what they mean. Because, so help me, if someone wipes out my Guitar Hero standings and I have to start over, it’s not going to be pretty.
So, back to the chest rubbing…
Tonight, when I was folding laundry, my son saw one of my bras and asked, “Mom, is this for boobies?”
I replied, “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Then, I realized we stressed being careful with the Wii a little too hard when he said, “And, I never, ever, ever touch private parts like boobies…and I never, ever press reset on the Wii either.”
My husband is one of eleven children. He isn’t the first, second or third in line. Nor is he fourth, fifth or sixth. He is way down the line at number nine.
There are so many great things about being married to someone from a large family. First of all, you’re never bored. There is always something to do and someone to do it with. There are loads of special occasions, card games and get-togethers.
But, there are downsides to these events too. Understandably, seating is at a premium. One time when there were 45 people in my in-laws’ six bedroom house for an extended weekend, even floor space was valuable. You were lucky if you found a place to sleep where you wouldn’t get stepped on. I was not so lucky.
And, what would you guess is the most precious commodity of all?
That would be food.
If you have the misfortune of being in the bathroom when “soup’s on” is called…well, it’s possible you’ll just go hungry. If you’re not one of the first twenty people in line, then it’s a given you’ll find the mashed potatoes gone. And, if there’s chocolate pie for dessert, you need to claim your piece hours before mealtime.
Growing up in this family has taught my husband not to waste food. You just don’t do it.
When leftovers have been in the refrigerator a little too long, he will still eat them…even when they’re starting to look bad. And, he will consume bratwurst and baked beans for weeks after our July 4th party each year. I sometimes think his stomach is made of steel.
I have noticed that he is rubbing off on me. I now make the kids eat their crusts, and I have even started eating yogurt that’s a couple of days past expiration, or the eggs when they are a few weeks old.
But, there’s one thing he’ll eat that I just won’t.
I have to draw the line at gray bacon.
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