Remember when those personality tests were popular? The ones where you were and IEPS or PLES or PURPLE PEOPLE EATER? You were either introverted or extr0verted or some wicked combination of both? Businesses used them to build teams or some shi’? Remember them? Anyway, I jumped on that bandwagon and learned that I’m an introverted extrovert which basically meant that after being with people all day – whether I actively interacted with them or not – I needed time alone to decompress and recharge. That did not shock me because that has been my habit all my life. If I don’t get my super special alone time I become highly uncomfortable in my own skin and a little unbearable. Or so I’m told.
Any parent (mostly, in my experiences, mothers) will tell you that they are surrounded all day. The children do not have to be physically present to be draining their mother’s psychic energy because we are always worrying about them and they are always needing or going to be needing something.
It isn’t just the kids – husbands have that effect. I don’t mean that in the “he’s another child” derogatory way. But when he’s awake I have trouble letting down my “psychic shield” so that I can get total me time. That’s why I stay up well into tomorrow – after everyone’s out for the count. Unfortunately, I stay up way too late and sometimes… sometimes it makes me cranky and unreasonable. Or so I’m told.
Yesterday, after spending the majority of the day surrounded by Jack’s immediate and extended family in the annual reunion that we only go to because Grandma’s old and it makes her happy, we returned home and eventually my kids started complaining about how I never feed them. So I pulled out the stops and boiled some spaghetti. I even made spaghetti sauce (and by “made” I mean “opened a jar. With style.”). And, because I like mushrooms and figured those of us who didn’t (i.e. everyone but me) could pick them out, I added mushrooms. Holy shit. By my family’s reaction you would have thought I’d pooped in the sauce.
“You did it to be spiteful,” Jack accused.
“Mushrooms? Seriously?! YOU KNOW WE HATE MUSHROOMS!!! I HATE MY LIFE!!!!” Amy railed.
“I’m not eating this,” Olivia declared with finality. Over and over and over again.)
My sweet Amelia was the only one to decline graciously. “No sauce, please,” and “It’s not like you can’t see them,” she told the others. “Just go around them like this.” She proceeded to show them how. She’s totally my favorite.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jack/Amy/Olivia cried. “The sauce has been tainted with the fungus!”
Pretty much a normal conversation, right? But I was highly offended and I went AUFF! “I LIKE MUSHROOMS. I HAVE ADDED MUSHROOMS TO SAUCE EXACTLY TWICE IN 16 YEARS. I HAVEN’T ORDERED MY FAVORITE PIZZA SINCE I’VE BEEN MARRIED BECAUSE NONE OF YOU LIKE MUSHROOMS AND WOULD LET ME. I HAVEN’T ADDED THEM TO ANY SALAD I’VE MADE – EVEN THOUGH I LOVE THEM. EITHER EAT THE DAMN SAUCE OR DON’T, BUT DON’T THINK YOU’RE THE ONES BEING MISTREATED BECAUSE I. HAVE. BEEN. DENIED ONE OF THE FEW PLEASURES I FIND IN THIS CRAPFEST CALLED “LIFE” BECAUSE YOU DON’T LIKE IT. Then I may or may not have taken their full plates from them and tossed them in the sink. I also might have stomped up the stairs and locked my bedroom door all the while yelling, “DON’T EVEN TRY TO APOLOGIZE LATER BECAUSE IT WILL NOT. BE. ACCEPTED.” Then I might have gone to bed at 7:00 p.m. only to awaken this morning at 8:30 with a slightly better attitude.
Certainly the dark circles under my eyes have faded.
But, truth be told, I’m still annoyed with their reaction, and to be spiteful I will add mushrooms until they learn how to stfu and pick them out like Amelia and the rest of polite society does.
LONG LIVE THE SHROOM!!!