I have had this dilemma recently with a new acquaintance. Although I think I have been pretty friendly and welcoming, even watching her kids and helping her out when need be, it seems she just doesn't like me. So, after a random encounter with her I asked Kurt about this.
"I just don't understand what it is about me she doesn't like," I said, feeling a bit too middle-school-aged for my own good. "Did I do or say something to upset her or does she just not like who I am? What is it?"
And it was then that Kurt informed me, in the most loving and caring of ways, that well, "you are just not, um, graceful" for lack of a better word. (Loving and caring like the warm fuzzy you feel when snuggled up to an alligator....ahhh.) When he saw the hurt in my eyes....ok, the theatrical pained look I gave him, knowing full well that you can't be graceful-like-a-chicken AND "graceful" (insert the flourishing wave of a well adorned and pedicured hand)....he explained that I could be abrasive and blunt, saying things that although may be true, others would simply keep to themselves. (Ok, maybe I didn't have to tell her it was rude for her to send her kid to school when he had been vomiting all day the day before...but seriously, who does that? And yes, I know it is also rude to tell someone that their actions are rude but at least my honesty, as I prefer to call it, doesn't end up spreading the plague....)
And then Kurt went on to tell me that I just don't fit the profile of aristocrat with whom some people like to surround themselves....blah, blah, blah, something about not caring about fashion, or trends, and lack of proper etiquette....blah, blah....
What? Is it because if I saw Larry the Cable Guy walking down the street I might think he was a relative?
So, anyway, I just wanted to clarify, in case you missed the memo (or at least the last two years of blogging), for the most part, I am not graceful in any other way than "like a chicken."
Now that we have that cleared up, I'll end with a few funny conversations I had recently.
So, the other day had been a hard one with our first born. He was just ornery and irritating and a bit um, abrasive (hmmm), and by the end of the day, I was very happy he had a Scout meeting to go to with his dad. When they got back, the house was quiet, (the girls and Liam were in bed), I was reading and Kurt sent Aidan upstairs to bathe.
"Hey hun, can you put Aidan down tonight?" Kurt asked sweetly.
"Oh! Which vet will do that?" I responded. (What was that about saying things other people wouldn't?)
"Liam, hold still so I can put your clothes on," I said. He immediately put his arm under his chin, wiggling his fingers which signs the word "dirty."
Oh come on, et tu Brute? Not even my two year old can cut me some slack!
"Hey Mom, look! They have those little dried things you like to eat so much!"
"What are you talking about, Madeline?" I asked from a few fruits down.
"You know, those little dried Leprechauns you really like to eat," she shouted, pointing to a display of dried apricots.
Hee hee....well, you know in the south, when we could catch those lucky little buggers, we preferred 'em fried (tasted like chicken that way) but up here in the north, you can only find them bagged and ready-to-eat and in the produce section no less. I wonder if I need to put on my "good" jeans for those...