Yesterday I got the panic call from my beautiful daughter-in-law, “Mom, I’m sick. Can you pick up the baby from daycare?”
This is the time when my mouth and brain are totally coming up with different things. “Sure honey.” Alright! Super-grandma to the rescue!! Can I pick up the baby? Are you kidding me… I can’t wait to get my hands on that little ball of love! “Oh, mom, you’re the best. Thank you!” “Any time sweetheart.” Whatever dear, just hand over the baby and no one gets hurt.
So after a night of homework and giggles and snuggles, all the munchkins were off to bed and I crashed. The alarm went off and I dragged my tired happy backside out of bed and started waking up little people, teens have alarm clocks, so they are on their own. Made lunches, plus one for my grandson, and got kids off to school. On my way to work, I bundled up my little man and took him to preschool only to realize his lunch was still on the island at the house. Nuts, this preschool doesn’t do lunch on Friday’s and I don’t want my baby to starve. But all’s not lost, I thought. Honey works from home.
So I call honey, “Do you see his lunch on the island?”
“Yep, right here.”
“Can you take it to preschool?”
That’s where he started acting like my oldest child. “Are you kidding me? I have to work you know. I have things to do, and you think I should just pop up and run a lunch to preschool?”
Well, that conversation didn’t end well, I mumbled something about going to the grocery store to pick something up for him before I hung up. Strange, because we are typically a good team. But by now I wasn’t thinking about the team work we normally perform like a well oiled clock, I was just mad. I was in the car on the way to the shop yelling at poor innocent passers-by, any perceived slight, “Oh, you must be a man, huh?”, “Too busy for a few manners today, jerk!” and it went on and on all the way down the road as I worked myself up into a pretty heavy-duty kind of mad. That’s when the phone rang. It was honey. He didn’t apologize but he said he had an opening in his schedule and he’d be more than happy to take lunch to preschool.
So by time I got to the shop, one of the more perceptive ladies asked what was wrong, so I told her I was feeling guilty for being so angry with him over something so ridiculous. This brilliant woman told me that one of her clients is a counselor, and she told her that men’s brains work like waffles. They are compartmentalized into squares, and they have to do everything in that square before they can move to the next square. But things aren’t supposed to spill over from one square to the next or they get frustrated. But women brains work more like spaghetti. Things in our world are mixed up and intertwined, and we slide effortlessly from one thing to the next. That’s why men do not multitask as well as women. Damn. I don’t want her to be right, but she is.
Yep, it’s a special combination that very few can figure out how to do gracefully. So next time he says something stupid, I will just need to slow down and remember the most ridiculous picture I have in my head of a waffle covered in spaghetti. Cross your fingers.