Much Ado

I like to tease my mother about her over-the-top level of anticipation about things in her future. This is a woman who will plot and plan a vacation for over a year – and by plot and plan, I mean she will get at least 150 books from the library, visit all associated internet sites (even if they are about bass fishing and canoeing, neither of which she does), get any and all mailings from the local tourist bureaus, and get at least one book on tape by an author from the region she’s visiting.

In addition to all her research, which is fairly benign really, she’ll talk incessantly about what’s coming up. Before her trip to Maine last year, I must have heard, “I can’t wait to get a lobster roll” at least 1,500 times. Actually it more went something like this, “I can’t wait to get a lobster roll. Did I tell you that we’re going to the place that supposedly serves the best lobster rolls in Maine? (Yes) It’s amazing because I didn’t think I would really like lobster rolls, but I do. Of course by the end of vacation, I’ll be a little tired of lobster rolls, but now I’m really looking forward to them. I do love lobster rolls. Of course you wouldn’t like them since you don’t like seafood. That’s too bad, because they are really good. You wouldn’t believe how much lobster is in those rolls…” And on it went.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that over-thinking, over-talking, and over-anticipating things is a facet of my genetic makeup – I come by it honestly.

In my case, though, I over-blogged. I will own that I was little freaked out about going to the fundraiser to be screened by Agency XYZ’s board members about the possibility of joining their board. So I blogged about it. Turns out, in the HUNDREDS of people at the fundraiser, I only met two board members, and those, only briefly. Nobody cared that I wore my snazziest black suit or made sure my hair was combed. Nobody gave me points for missing bath time – oh yeah, that was just a pleasant bonus to me – to be out on the town hobnobbing with the elite.

One of the ways I dealt with my intense levels of intimidation as I walked into the reception was to pick out fashion faux pas and general bad taste. Hey, it’s human nature to feel just a little better about yourself when someone else has on sheer off-white panty hose with a navy dress. I also saw someone wearing clear plastic high-heeled shoes – they did NOT make her legs look longer- and someone else had on oversize glasses with rhinestones at the corners. Also, I saw a wicked case of bed head. I’m ashamed to admit that all of these things made me feel like I wasn’t the only freak in the crowd.

Anyway, as it turns out, Agency XYZ seems to be doing pretty cool work, and I’ll be pleased and excited should they ask me to be on their board. I’m not holding my breath, though. Will keep you posted.

Another case of over-thinking and over-anticipating happened tonight right after bath time – much as I tried, I couldn’t get out of it two nights in a row. Zane was looking at his toes, and he says, “Zane’s toes orange”. Then he looks at SRH’s toes and says, “Papa’s toes yellow.”

Oh my gosh, I think. He’s starting to notice that we have different skin colors in our family. I thought that race/color consciousness didn’t start until kids were at least three. Well, what did I expect? The kid’s a genius. Okay, I’m just going to totally affirm that we all have different skin colors in this family, and that’s a really cool thing about us. We don’t have to be all alike to love each other. Pretty soon, I can explain that mama and Zaney are brown people. We are Black/White Biracial, and Papa is a white person. Okay, let’s see what colors he thinks my toes are.

Me: Zaney, what colors are mama’s toes?

Zane: (Silence)

Me: Zaney, what colors are mama’s toes?

Zane: (Silence)

Then, Zaney’s toes orange. Papa’s toes orange. Mama’s toes orange.

Me: Okay….maybe that whole conversation I just had in my head will have to wait a while.

On a final note, here’s a recent pic of my beautiful boy.