“They look even to me. It’s time to go, Bridget.”
No, they are not! How can you not see the difference?! This sock is sooooo slanty! And totally lower than the other one! Agh! And it’s loooooossssseeeeeer. I haaaate socks. Now it’s too high. Almost. Almost. Maybe. Ok. That’s better.
I’d finally stand up after forever on the floor only to be assaulted by gravity, one sock daring to move a millimeter out of place. Whaaaaaaa!
God bless my mother.
A few decades later and a piece of kid karma comes served on a silver platter in the form of shoelaces. Michael’s shoelaces must be tied super tight, and equally tight. And then a little bit tighter. If his blood circulation isn’t threatened, we have to start over. As much as I should empathize as a former footwear perfectionist, I admit it puts me right on the crazy train.
God bless his mother, right?
Kid karma must be really fun for grandparents. I imagine teenage karma is even more satisfying, but kid karma is a nice appetizer.
My parents aren’t really tally people, don’t keep a scorecard of what is owed. They don’t hold anything over our heads. That said, I’m willing to bet that when my mom was “marble-hunting” after I swallowed one, she looked forward to the day when I’d have to do some toilet sorting for my own kids. So when I heard the boys giggling and Michael yells, “Ewww, Jimmy has a booger!”, I should have felt another bit of karma coming my way. Jimmy turns to me and I see a blob coming out of his nostril. As I grab something to wipe it, they explode with laughter because it’s actually a well-placed Corn Pop. I go to wipe it-because I know where this can lead-when I hear the dreaded, “SNIFF!” Sigh. Welcome to the Random Crap Up The Nose Club!
It was amazing really. The Corn Pop was big, and a two year old’s nose is so small, yet it disappeared like nothin’. I didn’t worry. I mean, it was from his bowl which meant it probably had a bit of milk on it. It would break down easily, right? I figured it would make its way out little by little. Being a modern mom, I shared the funny news with my facebook friends and kiddie class moms. People quickly showed their RCUTNC membership cards, warning of expansion and smell and possible surgery. Other friends gave removal tips. A dozen tales later and I couldn’t help but think of the grandparents laughing at their kids dealing with nose treasures.
This time was small fries in the world of kid karma. More entertaining than stressful, it was comical trying to teach Jimmy to blow his nose. It just made him sniff it up further. I tried the Woody Woodpecker pepper method to make him sneeze, but it only managed to crack Michael and I up while Jimmy got annoyed. A few hours later my husband comes home and simply asks him to blow his nose and he did it. Just like that. One try. I’m hoping that means my husband has some decent kid karma. That’s important. Here’s why…
You guys, I put my parents through something awful. So awful that it made my marble swallowing and required marble hunting look like a party; like a Pinterest party with tissue paper poofs and mason jar centerpieces.
It all started with eyeglass envy. I don’t remember what grade I was in, maybe second? My school full of Catholic uniforms was suddenly sprinkled with incrediblyfantasictotallyradicalsoveryamazing pastel eyeglasses. Pink ones. Purple ones. Holy shit! Pink faded into purple on the same pair of glasses! Are you kidding me?! All of that marvelous for one lucky girl! Oh, how I wanted to be that girl. That girl also gets an eyeglass case, and if I dared to dream, my case would be just as beautiful as my glasses. Everywhere I went- the park, grocery store, church-I was doing field research, preparing for the day when I would get to choose my very own pastel glasses.
If only I didn’t have perfect vision. I quickly realized that I couldn’t wait for sitting too close to tv to take its toll. I had to take matters into my own hands. A simple, “I’m seeing double” would do the trick, no? No. I passed the eye test. I didn’t even get to try on a single frame from the Wall of Happiness and Joy. I needed to take it up a notch so I sat on the attic stairs that went into the kitchen and I practiced the “blind hands” so I could feel my way to my mom since my eyes were failing. I told her I was seeing triple and then, because I didn’t know the right “le”word, I told her I was “seeing fives.” Gulp. I was all in now.
As absurd as it sounds, my mission progressed. I was a goodie goodie good kid so lying wasn’t in character for me. And apparently, I was a solid little actress. Sticking to my story, I answered over and over again, “It’s very blurry. Yes, sometimes I see fives.” There were concerned looks, some suspicious, and some hushed phone calls. Another appointment was made.
I was in complete denial of my liar, liar, pants on fireness. I thought if I came out and asked for glasses, everyone would think I was silly and selfish. But needing something? Somehow that seemed like a much better approach. I thought I’d get the fabulous glasses to fix my super bad eyes and we’d all live happily ever after. Genius! Except that when parents hear that their typically good daughter’s vision is rapidly changing and she is seeing double and then FIVES?! they don’t think she needs glasses. They think she needs a brain scan.
Yup, I unwittingly faked a brain tumor in an effort to get pink glasses that I didn’t need.
Let that sink in for a minute.
I’ve got some serious shit coming my way, don’t you think?
p.s. Let’s hear it for the doctor who called my bluff. And for my parents for not abandoning me in his office.
Spill it. What do you have coming your way?