The very first time I brought my now-husband home to meet the Atlanta side of the family, my dad picked the two of us up and took us to lunch to a place called Lettuce Souprise you. (Get it? It’s very clever, you see.) We sat down to eat and my dad pulled out that day’s paper and read itâ€”cover-to-coverâ€”while we ate lunch. It has now become another one of our funny in-law stories.
(My favorite one, of course, is from the first time I met my in-laws. My English father-in-law was telling a story about frequenting a pawn shop. Only what I’d heard was, obviously, that he’d been visiting a PORN shop, because his Leeds accent pronounces those two words exactly the same way. Pawn. Porn.)
But as I sit on my couch researching something on the laptop while I play Settlers of Catan on my iphone while I watch Revenge while I listen to a story about Emily likely needing braces, I have this sort of a-ha moment and realize that this trait must be inherited. This inability to just simply do one thing at one time. I can’t do it. I can’t ride the subway without reading a book and listening to music. I can’t cook without talking on the phone and dancing. I can’t sit in the backyard without eating cheese and crackers and writing a blog post and taking pictures. I can’t eat a bowl of cereal without reading every single word printed on the box.
And then I started to think about the weirder ones.
I brush my teeth while in the shower.
I read a book while blowing my hair dry.
I always try to explain to my children that quirky is good; it’s great, even. Quirky is so much better than vanilla. Let your freak flags fly, I say!
Only now I’m starting to wonder if this is more than a quirk. Maybe it’s a disease. Maybe I need a possible intervention.
But you’ll have to wait until I’m done watching the news while drinking my coffee while making pancakes while running Emily’s play lines while fixing Josh’s shoe.
Tell me I’m not alone. PLEASE.
(Also, please tell me if I will be seeing you at Blissdom Canada tonight and if you’ll be joining my Lifestyle Tribe. I’ll be the girl wearing the lady-of-the-nightesque eyeliner, the hair that needs to be cut and the smell of subway and coffee. I’m a vision, really. Since I will be coming straight from work, I’ll also also in need of borrowing someone’s hotel room to drop all of my work stuff and to maybe, possibly, tame my ferocious mane. Anyone?)