There’s an old saying that goes you don’t really know someone until you live with them. You don’t know their annoying little habits, or just how disgusting they are when left to their own devices in their own foul lair. It’s not until someone gets really comfortable around you- eats, sleeps, bathes (or doesn’t), leaves dishes in the sink, incessantly bites and spits their nails all over the carpet or leaves them on the sink… or COLLECTS them- these are all things you might never know throughout the course of a friendship or even a relationship. Even if you stay for a week- even if they seem like they aren’t on their best behavior- would you go walking around the house with your bits hanging out, bend over, fart, grab the air and then sniff it- if you had company in the house? Even if it were something you were OBSESSED with doing and did it all the time while alone? Even if someone were staying with you for a week or two?
I would think probably not… unless you were really trying to lose that person as an active participant in your life.
|You thought this too. Don’t lie.|
So that age old saying, even though I usually loathe age old sayings- always appeared to be the diamond in the rough. It was polishing a turd and it NOT being a turd anymore- it was truer than true and proved itself to be just that a ridiculous amount of times in my life (yes, former roommates- I am talking about you)- but here’s the thing:
You don’t really know someone until you are stuck inside 4 walls with them for days on end thanks to a hurricane with a sandy vagina who just won’t GTFO.
We were lucky enough (and grateful to be lucky enough), at least in my neighborhood, not to experience the conditions and damage that it seemed everyone else getting slammed by that bitch Sandy was (and still is). The forecasters kept insisting that it WAS coming, Oh yes, it was! And it was going to be ugly! Eventually.. she’ll hit. Prepare for flooding and damage!
The forecasters here are known for being… well… wrong- not that it’s always their fault; the weather here is absolutely nonsensical- and so when it comes to a big ass storm twice the size of the one that pounded us last year- I prefer to err on the side of caution.
That mean stocking up and hunkering down until this biatch rolled on out. This started on Saturday afternoon- and apparently not only was Sandy ginormous, but slow too- so the brunt of the storm wasn’t even going to hit us until Sunday. Maybe Monday. Who the hell knew- but the city followed in form and shut the whole place down on Monday… which meant no school. Which meant no work for Thomas. Which meant after not being able to go anywhere for over 24 hours, I was now to spend another 24 hours not going anywhere with the same 3 people; two of which are too young to understand the benefits of plopping asses on the couch and vegging out on kick-ass movies and junk food. Kids today, man!
I spent nearly every waking moment with Holden from birth through 5 years until he decided to grace the tile hallways of public school with his presence- and I’m on year 3 with Parker.
When you spend THAT much time with another human being, you start to develop psychic powers.
Don’t laugh, moms know it’s true. You know what they’re going to do before they do it. You know exactly what a squint of their eye means, or the crack of a smile on a certain side of their face. You can decipher the tone in their voice and know when they are totally full of shit. I even know exactly when they need to go poop and that they’re lying when they say they don’t need to go pee before a meal- and I KNOW they’re going to say they don’t every single time.
Shit, Parker doesn’t even speak English half the time and I’ve spent so much time with him that I understand his nonsense.
Still- when it comes down to it, if the kids or I are having a horrible terrible day, I know I can take them outside and let them blow off some steam while my brain relaxes, or I know the weekend is upon us where we can get the hell out of the house and go do something (ANYTHING). There will always be a teensy tiny glimmer of hope via jailbreak. There was no glimmer during Sandy-Vagina. No glimmer at all. And when you are trapped between 4 walls with 3 people for nearly 3 full days… THAT is when you see the real them. The them they can’t hide from you. The bored, unrelenting, obnoxious, stir-crazy them.
These things they do, maybe you noticed before, but they did not have the opportunity to annoy you because you got a break from them- even if just a slight break, any break will do. Maybe you thought it was just an occasional thing they do, but it isn’t- and being stuck with someone like that where you are ALL bored and irritable but there is nothing you can do because you cannot get away is enough to drive anyone insane.
Holden hums. He HUMS y’all. And not just a happy little tune, but as a soundtrack to absolutely everything he does. Every.single.thing. It’s never just one sound level… sometimes it gets loud- REALLY loud. And there are explosions. It’s like the soundtrack to his life… if his life were a Michael Bay movie. This is cute for 5, maybe 10 minutes. For 3 days straight? Someone’s getting sold on Craigslist.
Parker tongue clicks. If he’s concentrating on something- click click click. He walks by you in a room? click click click. Eating? Chew, chew, swallow, click click. Chew chew swallow click. It’s like having a woodpecker trapped in your chimney.. or after 3 days- your brain. Woodpecker to the brain is no good at all.
Thomas. Look, I know I married the dude, but after 3 days having him home when he usually goes to work, I wanted to spork him within an inch of his life. The mumbling snotty comebacks, the nail biting, the constant playing of cellphone games, the not hearing me when I’m speaking directly to him.
I’ll just sell him and the kids as a package deal; they are awfully cute.
And then there’s me. I don’t know what I do that is annoying, as I am immune to myself- but I am quite positive I am worse than all of them combined. The kids did come from my crotch- after incubating in my uterus for 9 months. Their level of annoying is directly related to my insides. Or something.
This is my family- and though I may not have liked them very much for those horrid days- I guess I’ll always love them. Humming, clicking, mumbling and all. And they had BETTER love my psychotic ass or I’ll make good on this Craigslist promises. Mama needs a new pair of shoes. Or a lobotomy. I’m not picky.
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