I’ve been waiting on myself to begin. I knew it was time to get back to this and I knew it was time for a shift. I shut down the old blog, bought a new name, and created a new site. A new chapter. But how to begin, Becca, how to start. The pressure. Y’all are like,...
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There is glue all over my kitchen countertop. A layer of clear, gritty film that my lavender-scented Mrs. Meyers will not remove. It is dried and it is STUCK. I am literally going to have to sand the granite.
“Jax, what’s all over the counter?”
“Dude, how did you get Gorilla Glue?”
“Gramma Susie gave it to me. We built my cardboard house with it.”
I don’t like to call my kid a liar, but it seemed pretty unlikely that Gramma Susie, my mom, gave my kid Gorilla Glue. Gramma Susie, the most organized person I know with the cleanest house. Some might call her OCD, we just call her “delightfully thorough.” My mom puts a tablecloth down OUTSIDE for playdough. On Christmas morning, we throw the wrapping paper out as we go. You do not leave your iPhone on my mom’s kitchen counter, let alone 3 cups of Gorilla Glue.
Imagine my surpise when my mom told me, “Yep, I gave him the Gorilla Glue.”
“Sweet Mary with a child, WHY??”
“Because he asked for it.”
OHHHHH, well that settles it. The 6-year old asked for it. And apparently, if you are a grandmother, that is reason enough to hand the busiest child in the world the stickiest glue on the planet. My mother is officially a stranger to me.
Let’s discuss. What is it that happens to a woman when they become a grandmother? Is it a chemical shift? Does my mother need an MRI? Is she losing her marbles? Nope, I don’t think so. Because I know what this is. It’s puinishment! I am being punished for all the times she asked me to clean my room and I rolled my eyes, all the times I left my school crap on the table on purpose, and all the crumbs on the couch from my teen years.
My mom sat at my counter with my dragon child and Gorilla Glue for one reason – because she got to leave and go home. She didn’t have to clean it up, I do! OMG the light bulb above my head could light up Manhattan. I am certain that when my mom answered with “because he asked for it,” she sported an evil grin and started doodling “paybacks are a bitch” on her scratch pad … that she pulled from its perfectly organized, pristinely clean spot in her desk.
Well played, mom, well played.
I think the person who needs the MRI is the one who just lost her emergency babysitter.