The Count Down is On
Thursday. Four more days. Thursday.
I can make it till then.
I feel like such an ungrateful bitch when I complain about the in-laws because they are really quite lovely when it’s all said and done, but it is so exhausting having people here in our little apartment. The introvert in me wants to pack my bags and head for the hills. I told Mike if I wasn’t home when he got home from another day of sight seeing, to call Kentucky. He’s now convinced that Kisha and I have some sort of pact, but no. I was just hoping I would be welcomed when I showed up with my boy and bleeding non-Swedish ears.
Obviously, I couldn’t really run away from home, so here I am. I mean, yeah. I’m a grown-up. I COULD technically run away from home, but can you imagine? Wouldn’t they have a story to tell? “The crazy American left the state! We could not find her!”
I think a huge part of the problem is the language barrier. It’s not so much that they can’t speak English, I think it is that they use words slightly wrong so that the subtle connotations drive me out of my mind. Her biggest phrase is “You must. . . . ” I think maybe she means “It would be a good idea. . . . ” Or “Maybe you should. . . . ” But she says “You must. . . ” and the little rebel in me says YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME and I get a bad attitude and blah blah blah.
I remember one year we were at Mike’s dad’s house and he handed me a recipe for sunflower buns and told me “You must bake these.” I was confused, but I thought I better obey since he was so adamant (he doesn’t have very much English at all, so that’s about the extent of what he said to me during the whole trip.) I went into the kitchen and started baking them, even though I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Turns out he meant “When you get home, you really should try out this recipe because it’s good.” He had no idea why I was taking over his kitchen. Embarrassing, much?
The big southern fried dinner was a success. I wasn’t sure how anyone would respond to the fried okra, but they really liked it. I didn’t make nearly enough because I am not a great hostess, but I suppose I can make some more later this week. They didn’t like the black eyed peas at all, claiming they taste just like their homeland’s brown beans. I don’t understand how this is possible. I’ve had brown beans and they were the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten, with the exception of just about any meal my mother ever cooked. They were full of sugar and tomato paste. Yuck yuck yuck. I guess there must be different preparations because there is no way the two compare in my book.
Last night we went to Mike’s co-worker’s place for dinner. I ended up doing a berry cobbler, which everyone claimed to love. I didn’t even try it because I was too focused on the most fabulous brownies ever. I ran out of vanilla half-way through my baking, so tasked Mike with the all important job of removing the cobbler from the oven. When I got home 20 minutes after the cobbler should have been removed, it was still in there boiling away. I had to close my eyes and count to 30. He was very contrite and I love him very much, but he’s lucky I didn’t jump on top of him and start strangling him. The lack of charred bits was the only thing that saved him. It was VERY well done, but not quite burnt.
Erik took a nap before the party so he made it until 10 pm. He crashed and burned hard, so we had a really awful ride home. He fell down and had a little gash in the palm of his hand that wouldn’t stop hurting. He was screaming about it for an hour. I thought we were all going to jump out of the car and make a spectacle of ourselves on the highway. With such a late night, I was convinced he would get up really late today. Instead, he got up an hour early and has been a cranky little whiner all day. Fun times! Tomorrow will be better, surely!
Mike it back to work tomorrow, so it is just me, the out-laws and Erik. I believe tomorrow is supposed to be a relaxing day then Tuesday is Amish country. Wednesday they’ll have to spend the whole day packing. They’ve bought new wardrobes, which makes sense since clothes are so much cheaper here. I have no idea how they’ll get it all home, but I guess they’ll figure something out.
Now…does anyone have a good book I can read?
August 18th, 2008 at 10:11 am
I’ve been married to my Iranian husband for 27 years. His parents came to visit us twice in Arizona (1986 and 1991). Each time they stayed for 4-5 months. The first time we lived in a one bedroom apartment in Phoenix. The second time we had bought our house and had a 3 month old baby–that was better. More room and a baby to distract and amuse us all. They spoke very little English but my Farsi was much improved by the end of the visits. We’ve gone to visit them 3 times over the years (1992, 1996 and 2007) and my BIL complained this last time that I wasn’t speaking Farsi as well as I had on the previous visits–huh? It was really hard at the time but now, years later, I look back and laugh at the stuff that drove me batty back then.
August 18th, 2008 at 8:18 pm
My in-laws’ English is great, but there are still little things like that. Things that sound like commands. I think it’s because they aren’t crazy for saying “please” and “thank you” like we do in English.
We’ve been with relatives for most of the last month and I’m about over it.
My in laws don’t like Southern cooking, or at least not like I do. They couldn’t figure out Cracker Barrel at all. Too bad for them!
August 19th, 2008 at 7:50 pm
I think no matter how much you like someone it can get bad when space is cramped.
As for a book, my next read is going to be Anathem by Neil Stephenson. 900+ pages!
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