Actually, I can’t lie to you. I haven’t been very industrious. The 77-degree breeze is torturing me. Torturing me! If I have to spend a week inside working on my thesis (entirely my fault, as I was meant to have been working on it all semester, but put it off until now), the weather could at least oblige by being nasty. It’s very hard for me, a practiced procrastinator, to resist the temptation to grab a beach towel and a novel and go lounge on the lawn. Very hard! Unnecessarily hard! But it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, and tomorrow I’ll probably be whining about the bad weather. In fact, I guess I’ll be whining about everything until my thesis is finished.
Which reminds me of something I wanted to ask you about/horrify you with. Remember Goosie? The one who tried to manipulate me into babysitting for her? She’s been doing something horrifying, and with every new occurrence I think, “I should blog about that,” and then I forget. But now I’ve remembered!
Her child was born at the beginning of last September, approximately seven months ago. Since then, we have received eight pictures of the little one, all completely unsolicited. We got a birth announcement, a newborn picture with the thank-you note for bringing them dinner, a Halloween card, a Christmas card, a Valentine’s Day card, and an Easter card. Also, by email, a picture of the baby with Santa Claus and a picture of the baby with the Easter bunny.
I ask you (and your answer had better be: “Heavens, yes, absolutely!”), is this not too many pictures? After all, we are not related to the child; we are not even really close friends with her parents. Wouldn’t one or two pictures a year be plenty?
On top of which (and here I am just ranting, so feel free to stop reading now) the baby’s mother does the most absolutely horrifyingly cutesy thing ever – she writes notes as if they were written by the child. The thank-you note for dinner, which I have since unfortunately discarded, said something along the lines of “Thank you so much for bringing dinner, Mommy and Daddy really appreciated it.” Gah! Are we supposed to believe that a four-day-old child can write? Or, alternatively, dictate? Who finds these things endearing? Anyone? It’s impossible to imagine someone opening that card and saying, “Oh look, honey, the baby wrote to us. How sweet.” Ridiculous.
I am not really upset by the situation, in large part because it is so ludicrous. Michael and I laugh every time we get an envelope from them, because we know there will be something laughable inside. In fact, I guess I should be grateful to Goosie for cheering me up, and for giving me something about which to say confidently, "When I am a mother, I will never do that."
Have any of you had similar experiences to mine? I’d love to hear about them! I need something to distract me from all this work. You know, the work I should be doing. The work I will start doing again in a moment, but only because I can't find a beach towel. I'm not about to brave lawn chairs that have sat out the entire winter.