This sort of thing – a stray bowl of half-eaten cereal left on the counter – is truly not unusual in The Mom’s house. What I find hilarious is that when she is (potentially though unlikely) to be in peril, she does not panic. It’s only when CNN gets a flashy graphic and there’s talk of explosions that she works herself into a lather.
Not that explosions are to be taken lightly, but rather that one could be forgiven for assuming that evidence of an intruder (now fortified by having eaten a bowl of cereal) in the house would be reason enough to get a bit high-pitched about things.
It’s the fact that The Mom is so blasé about peril that she might be in that I find amusing.
She frequently recounts tales of walks with various dogs that have ended not as well as they could’ve done. Once, she’d come back from a walk with Poochie, and told us about how the dog had found something so interesting and made a dash for it, that she’d been pulled down in the snow. Now, this, for a woman with osteoporosis, and a habit of wearing not the best of winter footwear, is alarming.
When she told us this tale, in a strange reversal of roles, the three of us began to panic and freak out.
“What? What were you doing out in this weather?”
“This is why you need a mobile phone!”
“I would’ve walked the dog!”
The Mom had expected, I imagine, for us to burst into peals of laughter, not issue her with stern remarks and concerned looks.
Anyhow, back to the cereal. I suppose she doesn’t think twice about there being an intruder in her house because basically it’s filled with intruders, on a regular basis. There’s always some dog, or person, or friend of a friend, passing through, or stopping by to see if there’s anything interesting going on. The only time The Mom gets a bit annoyed about this sort of thing is when it interrupts her afternoon nap, and since this is a trait we all share as a family, everyone we know realises that to enter the house between the hours of one and three, one best be quiet.
This really was the way we lived during the high school days. You never knew who you’d find when you got home. It was a moveable feast of sorts, and a brilliant way to grow up. I mean, when I moved over here and discovered I’d have to have flatmates again, it wasn’t that far off how The Mom’s house was when we were teenagers.
It’s this sort of thing that really demonstrates The Mom’s excellent attitude towards life: roll with it. See where the world takes you. Hey, this could be fun!
This is how she approaches life. She doesn’t let herself get bogged down by too many details. She just shrugs her shoulders and assumes that whoever it was who ate the bowl of cereal is now satiated, and off on some other adventure. She lives, I believe, in the hopes that whoever this person is will come back to not only clean up the bowl, but also tell the tale.