I am potty training Hallie and CJ. (About this, more next week.) When my friend, Jan Weaver of Aberdeen S.D., sent this, I knew it had to be shared. Jan wrote this for a meeting of Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS).] |
|
I made the mistake of mentioning hospitality to my overly pregnant daughter a few days ago. Well, actually, I suggested that she consider the Virgin Mother's donkey ride and subsequent manger stay before complaining too loudly about her condition. And, well, I may have mentioned that she was experiencing an up close and personal chance to gain tremendous insight into what we call in the Catholic church, a holy mystery. She was not impressed. She had been up, once again, for the entire night with Braxton Hicks contractions. You all know what I mean when I say Braxton Hicks contractions, but in my day, it was called false labor. So what I want to know is, when did false labor get an official title? And who are the dubiously esteemed Mr. Braxton and Mr. Hicks who want to be associated with something so annoying, so sleep depriving, so unproductive...so well, false? Since when do we give these things names? Do we have a name for the golfer's practice swing? THe punter's practice punt? The batter warming up? There is a whole field of opportunity out there to get our own names immortalized. Do any of you remember John Luke Picard, Captain of the Enterprise in Star Trek? Hardly a scene went by that he didn't reflexively jerk his jacket back down into position, earning it the name, "The Picard Maneuver." So, ladies, why not a name for the discreet diaper check in public, or the 1 a.m. pacificer search? In the kitchen, we could fortify our mundane tasks with fancy titles (beginning with "kitchen executive") and give a whole new meaning to the art. How about a name for the futile waiting period while we are waiting for someone else to notice - and empty - the bulging garbage. How about a phrase that immediately alerts the household to the fact that the dishwasher is approaching critical mass? Even that tiny droplet of water that dances around the pancake griddle could be dancing to an official tune. Think about the possibilities!! And there are so many more. . . the familiar and somewhat frantic "flubba flubba flubba" from behind the bathroom door as an innocent victim searches for the end of the toilet paper - - how much more deserving of a significant title than false labor! The more I think about it, the more I can see a whole book on the subject, with expanding curriculum that leads to a sociology 300 course in college, at least. The mutiple choice test would be a scorcher - try this one on for size: Does "Suzie Suburbia" mean (a) a woman checking her lipstick in the mirror (b) the official rural "wave" (c) a van with 7 children and a dog, or (d) a female commuter eating breakfast, talking on the cellphone and doing her hair. Well, of course, we know that no labels exist for any of these, when in reality, they all deserve one of their own. While I'm at it, I will go one step farther and officially claim the title of the "John RICHARD!!! technique" to describe a man trying to determine where that crumpled undershirt off of the floor should go. This Christmas season, I urge you all to practice the art of hospitality. Gauge your guests as they arrive; spinster Aunt Agnes revels in the hustle and bustle of children at Christmas, while your brother and his wife, who have chosen to remain childless, might rather have your children celebrating on the other side of the state. Balancing all of this is an art. So when your mother-in-law raises her eyebrow and gives your father-in-law the classic "this isn't how WE always did it" - don't despair. Name it after her - and describe it to me for my book. Merry Christmas, dear ladies. Jan |