Monday, August 6, 2012

nobody tells me anything

The date: Today.
The time: 11:30 AM
The scene: the Kitchen. 

Lights rise on our scene: There's myself, reading (I think) or maybe making another batch of chicken salad. Okay, sidenote about the chicken salad: I've found a formula that works, and it's good.
  Real good. 
So gosh darnnit I'm going to keep making that chicken salad until we've all reached chicken salad saturation point. Whoever said that variety is the spice of life was probably not referring to my chicken salad. My chicken salad is the best. No need to change what's already perfect, amiright? (The secret ingredient in my salad is hubris. [c.f., the Illiad])

Anywhoodle, I was puttering about the kitchen, probably reading the weekend's Wall Street Journal, or eating, or watching paint dry, or other edifying activities of that nature. 


The phone rang.

I thought: oh, it's probably my mom. I was at home with my little sister and brother. My older sister was trying to buy a car (I think) and my mom was at the hospital with my other lil sis who was undergoing some sort of surgery (as far as I knew), and my teenage brother was somewhere that wasn't home. I'm never quite sure where exactly that boy is, even when he's sitting next to me at the kitchen table. 

One of my friend's favorite mantras is "Be a presence, not a disturbance." (The dear boy usually says this when a large group of us is about to descend upon a small, unsuspecting restaurant [we often get told we're rather loud and obnoxious. I, however, prefer the words "vocal" and "exuberant"]. But my brother has somehow transcended being a presence and exists in sort of a wraith-like world that preoccupies most of his being. So even when he's present, he's not actually present. 
Apparently my brother walked by me today, trying to get my attention, so that I would eventually notice his braces were gone and comment on the attractiveness of his teeth (I assume this was his intention. I mean, that's what I would do). He even went so far as to say: "Hello, Renée," in a wild attempt to get me to notice him. (Desperate times, desperate measures, folks...) I, in fact, have no memory of my brother saying anything to me, nor indeed of the two of us being in the same physical space (see the "presence" rant above), but my mother swears that this happened. And in this household, what Mom says, goes. Truth is not a majority vote here, y'all. To the point: I didn't even know that my brother had returned home, except a bit later, I went out on a run, and I saw a car ahead of me, and I thought: that looks like our car. And that driver looks like my broth--oh yep, it's my brother. Huh

So clearly, I've been super-in-touch with my siblings' whereabouts today.

Anyhow. The phone rang. I picked it up, expecting to hear my mom, updating me on my sister's current state. On the other end of the line, I hear my 11-year-old sister's voice. (Let me give you a quick character profile of this gal: sassy free spirit.)
Hello, Renée! Sassy Free Spirit says, chipper as can be.
My mind says: ...
My mouth says: Hello? Is this Sassy Free Spirit?
Sassy Free Spirit giggles: Uhhh YEAH.
Me: What? Where are you?

Sassy Free Spirit was next door at her friend's house. And was calling to see if I minded if she stayed for lunch.

No, I don't mind. Just remember to say thank you.

I hung up and took a moment to reflect on my life and my lack of general knowledge about anything going on in my family. Today has not been a red-letter day in terms of keeping tabs on the kiddos, that's for sure. Herding cats, they say? Au contraire, picture herding hummingbirds, and that might give you a more accurate mental image.
Oh well.

Que sera sera, my friends.

I'm going to make more chicken salad.

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