Suspenders mom battles Boring mom
amp; Mindy suspenders were the height of fashion to the
8-year-old set in 1978. I had a pair myself. Now, as an adult, I
cannot stand Robin Williams as an animated blue Genie from
form or otherwise. He’s too manic for me. I am one of those
people who doesn’t really like surprises.
Suspenders mom battles Boring mom
Mork & Mindy suspenders were the height of fashion to the 8-year-old set in 1978. I had a pair myself. Now, as an adult, I cannot stand Robin Williams as an animated blue Genie from Disney’s “Aladdin” form or otherwise. He’s too manic for me. I am one of those people who doesn’t really like surprises.
The Husband gives me a hard time about it when he gets the bright idea to go to San Francisco on a Wednesday night because he knows how much I love bagels and lox from David’s Delicatessen on Geary Street. I have to refuse, no matter how thick they spread the cream cheese because it’s a school night. Not so much for The Kids, (they are resilient, so I’ve read) but for me. I have work in the morning, which would be 12 hours from the time he makes his suggestion.
In the span of those 12 hours, I have to make supper, think about what to wear tomorrow because after I hit the snooze bar four times, I will have to jump right out of bed, grabbing the first thing I see whether it matches or not, help correct homework, shove an unwilling Boy into the shower, chastise The Girl for her “attitude,” fluff the pillows on the sofa. Several times, (I imagine I have some mild form of OCD) when The Husband gets up for yet another Mountain Dew, and then finally flop on the other couch – the one with the always-fluffed pillows – and do nothing for the remainder of the evening until the end of the 11 o ‘clock news signals bedtime. That’s a busy evening.
I have no time for runs into The City for my favorite Jewish comfort food. I am a grown-up with grown-up responsibilities. The 8-year old, wearing the Mork and Mindy suspenders wants to go.
I am in a constant struggle with the girl in the rainbow colored braces. After work, she wants to go out for drinks with the girls. She doesn’t want to brush her hair. She wants to go to Monterey for dinner and poke at the glass tank containing the lobsters. She doesn’t want to tell The Kids not to squeeze mashed potatoes through their teeth because she wants to, too.
Sometimes, she gets out, though. She makes me do crazy things and then laughs at me when I realize I have done something that Grown-Up Me wouldn’t. At first, it’s okay. I think I am being whimsical and cute. Until The Girl and The Husband laugh at the way I run, after an impromptu race down the block. Damn those suspenders.
The Husband tells me that the military might have been a good career choice for me. Not because I am so fantastically physically fit. My mug shot at the top of this column doesn’t tell the whole story, thankfully. But because of my aforementioned OCD and regimented ways. He says the spontaneity has gone from our marriage. I have to schedule fun.
He jokes, “Mandatory fun will commence at oh-nine-hundred-hours,” when we have scheduled something fun to do, weeks beforehand.
The Kids tolerate Suspenders Mom and Boring Mom fairly well. They know how to roll with it. The Girl keeps me in check when Suspenders Mom thinks her dance moves are super cool and The Boy reminds Boring Mom that smiling after eating Oreos is funny.
Grown-Up Me wouldn’t wear suspenders, rainbow colored or not, so it’s a good thing that I am reminded that deep down inside, sometimes it’s still 1978.