Lacking a nano-tape-recorder into which one could dictate blog entries during the commute to work — the most fruitful time for the imagination to fuse with the dream-consciousness and compose creative and fanciful, yet deep, stories (and which, on further consideration, is just as well, since 99% of said dictation would amount to brief bursts such as, “oh, ride right up on my bumper, you think that’s going to make me go any faster, you fucker,” and “slow lane, slow lane you moron that’s where you drive when you want to go slow that’s why they call it the slow lane, fuck!” and “shit where’d I put the other goddamn ACDCCD?”) — I am doomed, instead, to just forget them. Amazing the brilliance without which the world can still survive. Or, maybe, mildly interesting how the world zooms past insignificant people sitting on the side of the road trying to remember something they thought was funny, splashing them with muddy water.
So anyway, my mother-in-law. She and the father-in-law are watching the girls while Alpha frolics in Tokyo this week. The grandparents are indispensable. My life would grind to a halt, and fast, without them.
But still, but still.
I love them, they’re great. They just need to learn to relax a little. Do a little yoga, a few breathing exercises. Shake out all that bad chi. Ask me first if they want to cancel orthodontist appointments. Stop fucking telling me how to raise my kids.
No, seriously, they rock. I don’t have any problems with them. They’re sweet and mean well. They’re just not getting any younger. It’s only a week. We’ll survive.
They celebrate name-days here in Austria. The saint’s day of the saint who shares your name is your name-day. Sometimes you get a card, usually just a “happy name-day”. Rarely a gift, except maybe little kids. Or maybe it’s just me.
My MIL lit a candle for the nameday of a deceased relative. A large Christmasy candle. Then forgot about it. She lit it in the morning in her house, and remembered it in the evening at our house.
The kids and I were all like, “relax, Oma.”
“Go lie down. Take a load off. Opa is checking on it.”
“It’s only five miles away, you’d see smoke if there were a big fire.”
She continued, however, to serve us food. She couldn’t relax until she knew whether her house had burned to the ground, or not. Sheesh.
Four more days.
I used to pine for a tape recorder in the car, too, until I got the idea to phone in my ideas to my own office voice mail. Unfortunately, that was the last good idea I ever had and I never again had an inspiration for a good blog entry. But if I ever do, I’ll be ready this time.
I just want to say that I’m glad somebody else, somewhere in the world, carries on the same monologue while driving. My major worry now is that I am corrupting my granddaughter irrevocably. I really have to watch my mouth these days since she is beginning to repeat words…from memory. I can see her telling one of her parents to “fuck off” one day. Ooops!! Heh, heh…
sounds like a good idea. MILblog: a weblog devoted to cataloguing the exploits of mothers-in-law everywhere.