Today I found myself in the movie Moonstruck.
The boys went to their second karate lesson today. They loved it again. Thank goodness! When I arrived on Tuesday, they had me fill out a paper with the kids’ names, ages, etc, and a question asking something like, “What do you hope to get out of this class?” I couldn’t write down, “That my kids won’t be wet noodles,” but that’s the real reason we want them in some sort of sport.
The boys’ job is to wipe down the sink in the bathroom. Sometimes, there’s a bit of toothpaste stuck on the side of the sink. They try to wipe it off, but they won’t put any muscle in it. They sort of bat at it with the cloth, and with baffled expressions report back to me, “It won’t come off.” C’mon boys, this isn’t Macbeth and the toothpaste isn’t a damned spot of murderous guilt. I’m thinking you can handle it. I tell them, “Put some elbow grease in it! Feel your muscles working!” and they stare at me, with their heads tilted, like confused dogs. “Feel our muscles working? What’s she talking about?”
The idea terrifies them now, but one day, they’re going to want to impress a girl, and girls aren’t attracted to guys who can’t even get a dab of toothpaste off the side of the sink. So, yes–I didn’t put it on the paper, but I’m really hoping they learn how to stop being wet noodles. I watched them a bit through the window as they flopped around during the class, but that made me chuckle too much and I didn’t want to be the weirdo mother who laughs at her own kids.
So I talked with some of the other people in the waiting room. One woman told a story of taking her son to the library to get him some books on tape that teach how to speak French. She wanted to learn sign language and was irritated that the library didn’t have books on tape that teach sign language.
Yeah. If you didn’t catch that, think about it for a second. She said she looked through the shelf twice before it hit her.
And then, there was a blanket of sadness in the room when someone else announced that “Susan” was diagnosed with Lymophma. I don’t even know her, but was shaking my head with concern along with everyone else. But! Another woman piped up and said, “I had that. But after chemo it’s under control.”
Becky showed up to let everyone know that her kid was sick and wouldn’t be coming to class today. She didn’t want to just call. So, she came by in person. This prompted a discussion about nasal sprays and neti-pots. (Yuck.) The phone rang and someone offered to answer it for the instructor, and she wasn’t kidding. And the karate instructor person’s little son (maybe 4 years old) played in the waiting area and talked with everyone and they all patted him on his curly head.
No wonder they don’t post the times on the door. It’s like a little family and you’re not allowed in unless you really mean it. I felt like we should all start speaking with Italian accents and maybe the butcher would stop by and argue with someone about whether or not his son should marry her daughter.
Maybe I should bring some muffins to share next time.
So, here’s my picture of the fireworks. It’s fine, but I really wish there had been something to help with perspective.
I tried lightening it up a bit so you can see the boring old mountain, but that didn’t really work. It washes out the sky too much. I guess there are ways to lighten just part of the picture, but that would require effort. Blah.
So, for fun, I made these purple-ish to make up for the boring setting: