Why I am a Bad Friend May 20, 2012

I am a bad friend.  Here’s why:

1.  When I say I will attend your _____________, I probably won’t.  Time is more valuable to me than money, and while I don’t have much money, I have even less time.  If you want me to attend your event, plan to serve a meal and invite my whole family – then we will likely come.  Unless, of course, it’s one of those at-home shopping parties where you try to pressure me into buying things because I’m obligated as your friend.  That is very uncomfortable.  I’d rather just give you some cash and avoid the inevitable flipping through the catalog pages to find something I can almost afford.

2. I won’t (not can’t) remember your birthday, anniversary, your kids’ birthdays, or any other important day.  I can barely remember my own kids’ birthdays.  I don’t expect you to do anything for mine, and I’m not going to do anything for yours.  What did you expect?  This is about why I am a bad friend, remember?  Did you think I was going to promise to bake you a cake from scratch every year on your special day?  Sorry to disappoint.

Happy Birthday (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

3. I don’t talk on the phone.  If you have something to tell me, keep it short and sweet, otherwise you’ve lost me.  And even during that short conversation, I’m going to be cooking, cleaning, painting my toe nails, or something else productive because I don’t have time to sit and chat all night.

4. If you make me feel guilty about anything, I’m not going to talk to you any more.  Well, I’ll talk to you when I see you, but I won’t go out of my way.  I don’t like being manipulated.  Oh, and I also don’t like gossip.  Or husband bashing.  That kind of limits the conversation for many people.

5. If your kid is mean, I’m not going to hang out with you.

6. My family comes first.  That includes not only my little family, but also my parents and my sisters.  And the rest of my family.  Even the ones I don’t like.  Just kidding, but not really.  Ha-ha!

7. I probably won’t call you back.  And if I do, I will try to do so at a time when I think you are least likely to answer your phone.

8. I only get along with people who have very low expectations for a friend.  I work full-time, I am a mom and a wife, I have a household to run, I have bills to pay, I have animals and a yard to take care of, I have meals to cook, I have laundry to do, and I’m constantly behind on everything.  Please don’t expect much from me.  Just take me as I am.

So, if you can put up with all of this, I am the perfect friend for you.  Please, don’t all call at once.

Not that it matters, because I’m not likely to answer the phone anyway.

Max’s Third Birthday February 26, 2012

For weeks we have been pumping Max up about turning three. We have talked about what a big boy he will be as a three-year-old. We talked about cake, a party, and presents. The usual things that drive kids crazy with anticipation.
Not Max. He actually said, “I don’t want no stinkin’ cake, I don’t want no stinkin’ party, and I don’t want no stinkin’ presents!”
Since he was so adamant in his proclamations, we decided to forgo the traditional birthday party and just take him to dinner and to the store to pick out a toy. Since I’m working full-time now, I was really relieved because planning a party is a lot of work. So now Max would be happy and I would be happy. Great!
The morning of his birthday came, and I woke him up and sang to him. We really made a big deal out of it. Then I got him ready and took him to my mom’s house so I could go to work. There was not mention of a cake, party, or presents because he didn’t want any of that “stinkin'” stuff.
When I walked out the door, he called me back for one more hug and kiss. How sweet. Then, as nonchalantly as ever, he looked at me and said, “Don’t forget to go pick up my Cars cake.” I swear he even shrugged a little bit as he said it, as if we had been planning this for weeks and he had hand-picked his cake from the bakery catalog and knew exactly what it looked like.
UGH!!
My mind immediately started racing (that little booger got me again!). I stopped by the bakery on the way to work and begged them to have a cake ready by that afternoon. I went to work (and, incidentally got audited – no stress there!), called the family to meet us at Chick-fi-A for a birthday party that evening, spent my lunch break ordering balloons and buying presents, finished my day at work, went back to pick up the balloons and cake, then met everyone at the restaurant. Whew! What a day!
The party went well. Max had a great time. He loved opening his presents and he loved the balloons. Then, when it was time to blow out the number three candle, I put him in front of his cake so we could sing to him.
Happy Birthday to you
I lit the candle. He blew it out.
Happy Birthday to you
I lit it again. He blew it out.
Happy Birthday to Maxwell.
I lit it again and told him to wait for the end of the song.
Happy
He blew it out.
Birthday to you.
When we finished, he told us, “Sing me that song again, and I will blow out my candle again.”
One more time everyone!
When the candle was reduced to a mere puddle of wax on the cake, I scraped it off and started serving. I told Max, “Here’s your cake, little buddy.” I couldn’t wait to watch him savor the cake that had been the source of so much effort and stress and $20 on my part.
He looked at me. He looked at the cake. He looked back at me and made a matter-of-fact Mom-you-know-I-don’t-eat-cake kind of face, waved his hands like he was brushing me off, shook his head (at my ignorance, I presume), and said, “Oh, no. That cake is too gross for me.” Then he walked away.
I stared after him, speechless. I nearly dropped the knife I was holding.
He got me again!!