While the rest of the city was getting itself flooded and twisted into knots over cancelled trains and delayed flights and such like, yours truly and a couple of friends chilled over a lovely home cooked lunch, while the brat and friend chased each other round in circles. It was truly a sign of being a ‘mom’ that I was now doing the mom things I always associated with my mom. Primarily, running sternly behind the brat with wagging finger terrified of him demolishing anything in above mentioned friend’s pristine and immaculately maintained home. This is a home with not a single crayon mark on any of its walls, and her child is in junior’s class. My home is a veritable art gallery in contrast, and was terrified lest the brat thought that these walls were just begging to be decorated. I know I have a right graffiti artist growing up in my home.
Isnt it amazing how children make themselves totally comfortable in some homes and get totally antsy in others? The brat settles right in like he lived here all his life, even down to going to the loo on his ownsome lonesome, pulling down his pants and using the facilities. Without asking for mamma. In some homes, he has been known to start an incessant whine from the moment he steps in, “Wannagohome” which of course, makes the visit a non starter from the start. Unfortunately, I don’t do much entertaining at home, despite being the kind of person who loves having people over, for multifarious reasons, not the least being the constant tornado the house is in, so I really don’t know how other kids perceive our home. The few who do visit get right down to the task of breaking the few remaining toys that are not broken. And then, there is the fact that I am a poor hostess. It has been clinically proven that when guests arrive I put up my feet and expect them to help out with the cooking and cleaning, especially if they plan to stay for over an hour. Also, I live with the maxim of do unto others, therefore, since I hate being egged on for a second serving because of a) excess adipose tissue and b) really not liking what I’m being goaded into taking a second serving of, I am the sort who leaves guests to eat their fill and raise themselves from the table without doing the perfunctory “please have some more,” unless of course, I am terrified of the prospect of being stuck with bucketloads of excess food, which is guaranteed to be the case if I have cooked for the occasion. Me being one of those cooks who has no sense of proportion and no sense of salt. Enough of my wondrous and legendary hostess skills. One day that went down in the annals of family history was the day I actually got guests to help me with the dishes given that the maid was on the bunk. Hmmm. Wonder why no one has visited me since?
Getting back to today, have realized that a simple day spent in the company of friends that interest me and the brat is worth more than all the mall playzones put together back to back with unlimited credit and a zillion free rides. Therefore am going to try to be a good hostess and invite more friends over. I promise a decent lunch (not cooked by me) and great entertainment from the brat. I will even throw in a free demo of my hippy shake shake that has the brat rolling on the floor. Any takers?