Like I Have Time For This?

CONVERSATION BEFORE I WENT OUT TO THE STORE:

RegularDad: Here ya go. It looks like something official.

Me, opening the envelope: Ooooh, goody. It’s my voter registration card.

RegularDad, who just discovered two days earlier that he is not registered to vote: Yeah. Goody.

Me: Sorry, hon.

RegularDad: What do you care? We’d just cancel each other out anyway.

Me: Not this year. You said you weren’t voting for McCain.

RegularDad: Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I was gonna vote for Obama, you know.

Me: Really? You weren’t?

RegularDad: Nope. Don’t like him either. I was gonna vote for anyone else.

Me: Oh.

RegularDad: You shouldn’t vote. That way it’ll be like we cancelled each other out, like usual.

Me: Nice try.

CONVERSATION AFTER I GOT BACK FROM THE STORE:

Me, glancing at the table where I thought I left my voter registration card, and seeing only the empty envelope: Hey, where’s my voter registration card?

RegularDad: Whaddaya mean? You lost it already?

Me, looking pointedly at him: You know, hon, I don’t NEED to show them that card when I go vote. You do know that, don’t you?

RegularDad: You don’t?

Me: Nope.

RegularDad: Oh, well, in that case, your card’s in the kitchen. You left it on top of the crock pot.

We’re rolling along a NJ county road caught behind a loooong line of cars. We’re doing exactly 5 miles under the speed limit because the car way at the front of the line is being piloted by the World’s Most Cautious Driver EVER. We’ve got about 17 more miles to go before we can exit this road, and it doesn’t look like that cautious dude up front is planning on pulling over any time soon. In the back of the van, the girls have started on what I believe is about the 92nd verse of “The Poopy Song.” Did you know that the 92nd verse is the same as the first? Do I have to tell you that all other previous verses were also hauntingly familiar to that infamous first verse?

I glance over at RegularDad and see his shoulders squared, his jaw set. He breathes a little teeny sigh and keeps on staring at the line of cars ahead of us.

Me: I read recently, on some message board or other, that if you pray for patience, you don’t just suddenly get this Whopping Butt-Load Of Patience.  What you get instead, is opportunity after opportunity after oppotunity to Practice Being Patient.

Behind us, the girls are belting out yet another verse of the ever-popular Poopy Song. The crawl of cars in front of us slows down even more.

Me: You…haven’t been praying for patience recently, have you?

RegularDad: Huh-uh. Not me. No way…. Have you?

Me: Nope. Me neither.

Waiting in traffic at the NJ turnpike toll exit, my 8-year-old spied a car pulled over to the side of the road, loaded with a family of people, luggage piled high on the top of the car. Next to the car, a man spoke urgently on a cell phone.

8-year-old: Huh. I wonder what they’re doing.

Me: Looks like they broke down. Bummer. I can’t imagine a worse place to break down than the toll area of the turnpike. (Brief silent pause.) Well, actually, I guess it’s better to break down here than somewhere in the middle of nowhere. (Another brief silent pause.) Well, actually, with cell phones, I guess it wouldn’t matter if you were in the middle of—

RegularDad (with a wink and a knowing grin): Oh, well, gee… I guess a flip-flopper like yourself would vote for Obama after all, wouldn’t ya?

A deluge opened up on us here just as we sat down for dinner tonight. During the meal, my 7-year-old fell into a state of sheer grumpiness, the kind to rival the darkest storm clouds and make me cringe as I anticipate the soon-to-arrive preteen years. RegularDad distracted her from her grumpies with a game of chess, and promised our 5-year-old a game as well, after her sister played. I told my 5-year-old sternly that she could watch the game only if she remained quiet and allowed the players to concentrate. She agreed and within five minutes of play, as she stared idly out the window at the sheets of rain coming down, she absently began to sing:

5-year-old (REPEATEDLY): It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring…. It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring…. It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring—

7-year-old (exasperated, and impatiently waiting for RegularDad to make his next move): The old man isn’t really snoring, you know. Dad’s the old man. The old man is TRYING to concentrate.

RegularDad: Man, I hope this stock I bought just takes off. ‘Cause if it does, I’m gonna cash it all in and open up a store, so I don’t have to go to work anymore.

Me: Ohh…kay…. You really want to go into business for yourself, then?

RegularDad: Oh, yeah.

Me: You realize that you’d be working, like, ALL the time? If you started your own business.

RegularDad: Yeah, I know.

Me: Okay. So, what kind of store would you open?

RegularDad: Oh, anything.

Me: A music store?

RegularDad (at the same time): Donuts.

Me: Donuts?

RegularDad: Oooooh!…. How about donuts and music?

Me: Donuts and music?

RegularDad: Yeah. People could be like: “Yeah, I’ll take that Les Paul* there…and gimmee a powdered jelly, too.”

Me: Mmm…hmm. And you could maybe have a drive-through window, too.

RegularDad: Yeah. People could drive up and say, “Yeah, I need a coffee, and a pack of D’Addarrios**… and a cruller.”

Me: And what if someone only wanted donuts?

RegularDad: That’s okay. That’d work. I’d give out free guitar picks with every dozen.

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*really cool guitar that musicians would totally drool over if you owned one.
**popular brand of guitar and bass strings.