To top off a stressful week of flu-ridden children, car problems, and other small crises, my husband and I pronounced ourselves ready for a break.  Now that the kids were better, we hired my nephew to babysit and went to have dinner and a movie…alone.  Just he and I.  Do you know how rare that is?

It is so rare that we’re not sure how to act when it happens.  Without the furor of annoying rug rats behind us, the minivan seemed huge.  We kept starting conversations and then stopping in the middle and forgetting what we wanted to say.  That may seem odd, but it is exactly what happens when the kids are in the car with us.  There must be a running stream of annoyances that run in the background of our subconscious.

“So, where do you want to go for…?”

POP!

“Okay, who popped a balloon in the…?”

“Not me!”

“Do you know that is a privilege to ride in this…?

“Mommy, he won’t stop burping!”

“I will after I finish my song.”

“You will stop now if you ever want to see your PSP again!”

“…Anyway, the reviews for the movie are supposed to be…”
           
If you are a parent, I know you’ve been there, done that.  So it’s not surprising that most of us can’t speak in complete sentences.  We simply haven’t had much practice.

My husband was the first of us to accomplish that feat that night.  It was only a three-word sentence, “We need gas,” but I high-fived him for his efforts anyway. 

After he pumped our gas, we both went into the station to buy a newspaper and some gum. My husband prides himself on using people’s names when speaking with someone, even if he doesn’t know them.  Since “Have a nice day” comes out of his mouth so frequently, it really can’t be considered a full sentence.  Adding the person’s name, however, qualifies it.

When we left I asked him, “Did you just call her Weed?”

After high-fiving me for my first complete sentence, he answered, “Yep.”

“Strange name.  Spelling?”

“W-E-I-D.”

I didn’t know how to break it to him.  That person’s name tag must’ve said, “We ID.” It’s an easy enough mistake.  If the person wasn’t accommodating enough to place a space between “We” and “ID”, she deserved to be called “Weed”.  It’ll dawn on my husband eventually.  But I couldn’t find the words to tell him.

During dinner, we practiced our complete sentences.

“This is a great salad.”

“My spaghetti is good.”

“So, how was your day?”

“Oh my God! Her name wasn’t Weid!”

We got better and better until it felt almost normal again to say a noun and a verb in the same breath.

By the time we arrived at the movie theatre, I felt so confident that I started a conversation with an older gentleman sitting next to me.

“Those are nice socks.”  Okay, the subject could’ve been more relevant, but it was the only thing I could think of.  I mean… they were argyle.

He was gracious, however, having once been in our shoes.  (That was a metaphor; it had nothing to do with the sock thing.)

He said, “Thanks, I buy them because they’re easier to match up.”

“Yeah… I don’t have a huge problem with that.”  I pulled up my pant leg to show him my purple knee highs with pink and white daisies.

Okay, I bombed.  I stuffed popcorn into my mouth before I said or did something even more stupid and let my husband handle the next inquiry.

“Great seats, huh?” the man said, referring to the fact that we were sitting directly in front of the handicapped section with not a wheelchair in sight.
           
“My husband answered, “Yeah, unless three crippled basketball players with large hairdos come in.”

Crash and burn.  I handed him the popcorn.  Perhaps a complete sentence was not necessarily needed that time. 

Laura Snyder

You can reach Laura at lsnyder@lauraonlife.com Or visit her website www.lauraonlife.com for more columns and info about her books.