Parents Say the Darndest Things

The other day, I called my parents from Bed, Bath and Beyond to ask what color wood, walnut or black, was the furniture at the condo.

For the last few years, they have had one lonely little collage frame on a rather large, otherwise blank wall, so I thought I'd pick up a variety of frames to fill the empty space.  Sort of like a giant collage.

"Don't get too many," my dad warned me.  "I don't think I have that many really good pictures of Cait from this year."

Umm.  Hellooooo.  I am aware that Cait, your only grandchild, otherwise known as the cutest, most perfect, smartest, best child of all time on the face of the earth is the main focus these days, but aren't you forgetting something?  Something like, gee, I don't know, your three children?

I mean, I know we can't even begin to compare with Cait, but maybe you could include us in at least one picture?  Just a group picture perhaps, where we're all standing around looking at Cait.  Maybe you could photoshop her into the center of daVinci's Last Supper painting and do it as a mural on the whole wall.  The rest of us can be in the background somewhere, or hey, we could be the wait staff.

I have come to accept that gradually, over the last three years, our old photos have been replaced with ones of Cait.  Sometimes, I have even been grateful for the Caitmania that has gripped my parents.

 I really don't need to be confronted with photos of me from the 80's looking like a linebacker in drag.  And who wants to be reminded of those unfortunate years before braces, contacts and clearasil had worked their magic?  And did we really need to have the ghosts of Christmases past photos keep haunting us year after year?  Wheee! Look at us frolicking in the snow with our tacky winter sweaters and smiles that make us look like we're trying to pass kidney stones!!

It was beyond time to say good-bye to those photos, but I didn't know that also meant we were being cut out of the family tree as though we had dutch elm disease.

Ahh, but this is just the most recent affront to our vanity.  The last attack was about a month ago.

Tim had had his back surgery and Pat had undergone surgery on her shoulder.  My dad and I were talking about how small their scars were and how good they looked considering the amount of work that had been done, when he said, "Well, it's not as if we have to worry about either one of them winning a beauty contest anyway at their ages."

Slam!!!  An unprovoked attack where he picked off the two of them with one shot.  The best part is, he wasn't even trying!

"I mean, not that they're ugly or old, or anything," he began to backpedal.  "I meant because of the scars.  Not that they're bad, they're not.  You can hardly notice them."

Wow.  Maybe we should just shoot those two poor humpbacked wildabeasts and put them out of their misery.  Maybe we could borrow the elephant man's cover-up and they could take turns wearing it when they go out in public.  You know, so they don't send poor little children running screaming into the night.

Knowing that no force on the planet would be able to keep me from cheerily repeating his comment to said wildabeasts, he kept trying make it better, but it was too late.  It was out there.  In the universe.  And I was texting even as we were speaking.  Hehehe.

Not to be outdone in the faux paux department, my mother has had a moment or two of her own.  The one that sticks out the most was last year when we were throwing Pat a birthday party.

We decided to gather up a bunch of old photos of her and run a slide show during the cocktail hour.  Since my mom had years ago divided up our childhood pictures (to each his/her own), we asked Paqt to bring the photos over to the house for us to pick what we wanted to use.

As we sat at the table, sorting through the pictures, my mom held up one from many years earlier and reminisced, "This was when you were thin."

As Tim and I fell howling on the floor, Pat huffed with indignation.  "Thanks.  When I was thin.  Before I became Tillie the elephant.  Hang on, P.T. Barnum is calling to ask which of the three rings I'd like to perform in tonight."

My nother tried to mount a defense, but at that point, anything she said just made it worse. 

"No, you were young then."  she protested.

"As opposed to the old, fat whale I am now?"  Pat sputtered.

Tim and I, of course came to her defense.  NOT!  And like any good, older sister, I still remind Pat of this any chance I get.  Hehehe.

Can't wait for the holidays to see what they come up with this year.