Initially I think the R.A. was under the impression that the special occasion had to do with him. He spent the first part of the night standing in a laundry basket, brandishing the "Stick of Infamy" and yowling animatedly. He was engaged in some serious speech-making a la Mussolini which is why I think he thought it was all about him. The R.A. was clad in his usual backward/footless footie pajamas which only added to his fearsomeness. Did I mention that the laundry basket was balancing quite precariously on the stairs? The more invigorated the R.A. became, the more the basket rocked. Every time my husband and I removed him from the basket and then moved the basket from the stairs, the R.A. became very agitated and promptly retrieved the basket, setting it back on the stairs, all the while caterwauling reprimands at us. I finally tucked the basket out of his sight. Greatly infuriated, the R.A. leaped back on the stairs. He yowled furiously and as I turned away he bopped me on the head with the "Stick of Infamy." When I turned to confront him he actually looked sheepish so instead of being upset with him I was pleased that he made the connection that what he did was wrong. I'm sure he had no clue as to why it was wrong but let's not get caught up in the details. Get your victories where and how you can. Kitchen God knows we have so few of them.
As it was my daughter's birthday, she got to select where we ordered dinner from. *Amazingly* enough, she chose one of my mother's favorite take-out places. As my husband doesn't know where the place is located, it fell on me to pick up dinner. Depressed at the prospect of going out by myself I
While I was out the R.A. ascended to the second floor, no doubt still miffed at having his laundry basket confiscated. After a while my daughter headed upstairs as well only to discover that the R.A. had found her birthday presents and unwrapped each and every one. According to my husband he was alerted to the dire situation by our daughter's blood curdling screams.
This time the R.A. was unrepentant. He was a little disgusted by his sister's behavior which no doubt he felt was overly dramatic. I'm sure the R.A. was thinking, You know what? You've spent the last 5 years getting me interested in unwrapping things. So now I do so (with great gusto and finesse I might add) and you're p.o.'d. What gives? When confronted by wrapped gifts either I go back to ignoring them or I unwrap them. You can't have it both ways.
Fortunately/unfortunately, the R.A.'s sister is somewhat used to the R.A.'s antics. I think she also looked at it with the "half full" perspective and was happy to have presents, some of which were what she asked for. By the time I arrived home things had calmed down and she calmly relayed what had transpired, concluding with, "When I realized what he had done I stopped looking at the presents so that I wouldn't know what they were. I only saw one or maybe two. No, three. I saw three. But I wasn't trying to look but it was really hard to yell at him and not look at the presents." Then she shrugged as if to say, What are you gonna do?
My husband was also upset because he was very proud of his wrapping job. He is the official gift wrapper of the family and not only takes pride in his work but that he does so in an efficient manner. The only thing he said to me, with a sad shake of his head was, "It took me over 20 minutes to wrap those gifts."
During dinner the R.A. remained up in his parents' room. By now he had probably determined that the festivities were in fact not for him so why bother mixing with the unwashed masses. We managed to get him downstairs for the singing of "Happy Birthday." When my husband entered the room with the lit birthday cake, the R.A. did freeze with that "deer in headlights" look but once he realized we were not tormenting him with the flaming cake but rather his sister, he visibly relaxed. Then the R.A. very carefully watched his sister's reaction to the burning cake. He seemed somewhat surprised that not only was she not afraid of the birthday cake but that she appeared delighted by it. The R.A. kept looking at her with an expression that said, Really? You're not freaked out by this? Not even a little bit? Not even by the singing? Because I think that's what really really freaks me out.
After the cake was cut the R.A. said "Cake" which my husband took to mean he wanted a piece. My mother and I thought the R.A. was simply labeling it. The piece we cut for him remained untouched and he only made to shove it onto the floor once which shows his tolerance level for birthday cake is increasing. At this rate he will be able to endure sitting next to a lit birthday cake in time for his 21st birthday. Party on, dudes!
*I suspect the restaurant choice was made after Nana spent a vigorous weekend lobbying for her favorite. When my daughter announced her restaurant selection her tone did sound like that of a person who had been brainwashed.
I know how subtle Nana can be
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