Japanese is for nerds

What is it about Japanese that so attracts the dorks?

I’m talking about the language, not the people, though if my own experience is anything to go by, the Japanese may also attract dorks. (Ted is a thankful exception, though I suppose there may be the occasional person out there who finds him to be plenty dorky.)

Photo from The Suburban Crab archives

Photo from The Suburban Crab archives

Billup takes Japanese lessons once a week. At one time, both kids took Japanese, but after fighting with Boof once a week for the last five years about why he had to learn a language that he would apparently find no use for in his lifetime—never mind that it’s part of his heritage—I finally gave up.

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Desperately seeking my inner scary mom

Image from meme.tn

Image from meme.tn

A friend texted me the following in response to my last post:

Boof is funny, although when we were kids, if we went in my parents’ room without their written consent, my mom would have killed us. Like for real, kill.

I was tickled when I got the text, because it was exactly the same way for me when I was growing up. (I wasn’t alone!) My mom loosened up a bit as my brother and I got older—theirs was the only room that had a full-length mirror, so from time to time she magnanimously allowed us to step in to use it—but the general understanding was “You will stay out of our room unless otherwise invited in… but don’t expect to ever be invited in.”

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Seriously, stay out of my room

Billup used to spend a lot of time inviting herself into our bed. At three in the morning, she’d come padding into our room, pull back the corner of the covers and shove herself in next to me, all without slowing her pace. I’d end up wedged between Ted and Billup or, more often, tiredly decamping to Billup’s abandoned bed. Sure, her sheets were often oddly sandy, but at least there I had space to roll over without bumping into anybody.

Original photo from cheezburger.com

Original photo from cheezburger.com

She finally stopped a couple of years ago, but early mornings and bedtime remained fair game. Every morning, like clockwork, she’d come padding in at dawn and invade our warm blankets with her physical presence and unflagging desire for conversation. At night, I’d be reading in bed when the sound of her bare feet outside the bedroom would suddenly announce her presence. I’d barely have a chance to look up from my book before she’d slide herself into Ted’s empty side of the bed, ahhh-ing loudly. She’d cheerfully announce, “I’m going to sleep here, OK?”, her voice rising at the end as if asking a question—but we both understood it was only a rhetorical one.

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I’m sorry you feel the need for me to be sorry

It recently occurred to me that, while I spend a fair amount of time thinking about parenting and occasionally even bother to put these thoughts into practice, I put little time and effort into my marriage.

Photo from pacificweddings.com

Photo from pacificweddings.com

Unfortunately, this has occurred to Ted as well.

We got into a fight about this on Sunday morning, when I brought up how we should talk through some of the issues we’d had recently. What I meant by this was that I wanted to discuss how a few of the comments he made last week seemed to indicate an intense dislike of me, how that had hurt my feelings and how he should apologize for having been such a jerk.

Ted had other ideas. Continue Reading