Please, Allow Me to Entertain You

Do I really have to apologize for the poor treatment you feel you have received? What’s the problem? Not enough to read while you slack at work? No longer able to entertain yourselves, eh? God forbid any of you who actually know me resort to calling or e-mailing me. (And, Parker, those “I love your blog and feel guilty for not writing you, but then I don’t,” halfhearted attempts at repentance don’t count.)

I share this venom with you, because today I received an e-mail admonishing me thusly:

“You do need to update your blog. You can barely call that Starbucks one an entry. Us crickets have high expectations and I have to be honest with you, that's what friends do...you are not meeting them. I didn't read it for a week and I missed NOTHING.”

Yes, that is an actual e-mail from an actual cricket. And my only response can be, why did you take a week off in the first place? Shame on you.

Since last we spoke, my relieved crickets, I have been maintaining. (Because, as I reassured a stressed-out classmate last night, “Well, it’s not like you can crack under the pressure, because you don’t have time to crack, so you’ll wonder if you can keep going, and then of course you’ll just keep going because you don’t really have a choice.” Hmm. Looking at it now, it might not have been the help she was seeking.)

First, it’s a good thing I have been so underwhelmed at “work” these days. Otherwise, I’m not sure how I ever would have accomplished all the school work I’ve had. Professionally, things are, allegedly, going to attempt to drown me in about a week’s time, and now I fear that the quality of my school work will slip. Because, really, I don’t have time in any area of my life except for here. I’ve never met anyone who was relieved to come to work, but sometimes it feels that way. We’ll have to figure out a new juggling method.

Brother returned to the area last weekend (did you not hear the fanfare?), after an emergency landing in Nashville delayed his flight four hours and thoroughly freaked out our mom. He was devastated to learn, as we all eventually do, that you can go home, but it’s never going to be the same again. At 24, I’m finally starting to be okay with this, but at 17, he is in denial that it’s even true. Because classes and parties and football games go on even if he’s not there. Kids date and break up and make new friends no matter where he parks his car at night. He started to get over his disappointment by the time we saw him on Saturday.

We had just arrived at my parents’ house, much to the beagle’s surprise and joy, when my mom greeted The Boy and his offer to help with, “There’s a project for you downstairs.” So, I made dessert; he assembled an elliptical trainer. He mused, "Do you ask me to do things just so I'll be out of your hair and you won't have to socialize with me?" To which Mom replied only with laughter.

When Brother finally decided to bless us with his presence a couple hours later, we all marveled over his growth and weight gain and newly-spiked hair for a few minutes before the boys discovered Madden on PS2. And that was pretty much the end of it. At one point I heard yelling and various, “For the love of GOD” and “Are you KIDDING me?” statements coming from the family room, punctuated by raucous laughter. Brother creamed The Boy, and the male family members couldn't get enough of the spectacle. They left dinner early for a rematch. I had to drag them away for dessert, which they left early as well. At 10:40 I was exhausted, knowing that 6:00 would come early.

Me: Honey, I’m really glad you’re having such a good time, but it’s nearly 11:00. You know I have to get up at 6:00 tomorrow. Can you please wrap this up?
Him: Babe, GOSH, just give me twenty minutes, the game will be over.
Me: UGH.
Brother: Jeez, Christi, just let us play.

11:00
Me: Honey, pleeease? It’s 11:00. I’m so tired. You know I’m sick. Can we please go?
Him: Baby, REALLY, it’s best two out of three! If I leave now, we won’t know who won!
Me: (continuing to remind him what time it is, what time I will get home, and what time I need to wake up, which is about three hours before he does)
Him: FINE (throws controller)
Brother: GOSH, Christi, I can’t believe you. We only had half a game left. You’re so ridiculous.

Kisses, hugs, and goodbyes. Once in the car, I said, “Babe, I’m sorry you couldn’t finish your game, but can’t you try to see where I’m coming from?”

He replied, “No. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me finish the game. It was best two out of three. Why do you have to be so selfish?”

The next day, waiting for the boys to show up to lunch, Mom informed me that Brother pouted for a full 10 minutes after we left. I called Brother to ask what was taking them so long.

Me: Where are you guys?
Brother:What?
Me:You heard me.
Him: Uhh….Best Buy?
Me: We are all waiting for you at the restaurant. Everyone is here. What are you doing?
Him: Taking care of some unfinished business.

Getting in the car after lunch, The Boy lamented not being able to see Brother again for a couple of months. “I really miss that kid.”

But sometimes I think maybe it’s best for everyone involved that, for now, they live thousands of miles apart.

Those of you hoping for more misadventures from my return to higher education, D.C. edition, may be disappointed to know that I have navigated our fair nation’s capital without a hitch the last two weeks in a row. (I feel confident it would have been more, had I not been out of class the previous two weeks.) This week I got my first graded assignment back (one of two that feature prominent crickets). I was the first person in the room and, when the professor arrived, she complimented me on my story and asked if she could talk to the class about it. I (blushed) and said sure.

At the end of class, when she gave papers back, she began to talk about mine…and then she read it—in its entirety—to the whole class. She stopped to compliment my word and choice and quote usage and unique style—again, in front of everyone—and I did my best to control my facial expression. What is the appropriate one? I think I chose a mix of embarrassment and apology. But then, walking to my car in the cold rain (I remembered my umbrella and a jacket this time), I called The Boy to brag. Because if you can’t let your biggest fan support you, what is the point?