Setter of Low Standards

In regards to my last post, learning to sew is on my list of things to do. I hate the term 'bucket list' because, well, it's dumb. But I suppose it is a bucket list. Along with learning a foreign language, playing the guitar, and getting rid of that fat where your arm meets your torso. I have yet to check any of them off.

My mom knows how to sew. Or at least, she did. Whenever I was pregnant, I heard about how she sewed her own maternity clothes, none of this running out to Old Navy for a top (like the wimp I apparently was). I've seen pictures of her in those clothes, what flattering smocks they were! Enormous bows sewn jauntily onto the front - for the carefree mother-to-be. Permed hair and curled bangs proudly standing a good foot off of the head. Of course, I was also told that she sewed clothes for us and our dolls. "Don't you remember?" she asks, an unspoken 'all the sacrifices I made for you' added to the end of the sentence. "I used to make homemade doughnuts," she'll say, passing a box of store bought eclairs. Apparently there was also homemade applesauce, spaghetti sauce, jams, cinnamon rolls, and other such culinary delights. I have no memory of this. "Remember when we took you guys to the Baseball Hall of Fame?" No. "Remember Niagara Falls?" Not really. "Disney World?" No. "Surely you remember the time we went to England and you stayed up all night with the Queen, giggling and trying on tiaras. Then you were so tired the next day you slept on the plane to Tahiti and missed riding the dolphins." No, can't say that I do. Then I ask why none of these trips and hand-sewn clothes and homemade food was there when I was old enough to remember it. The answer is: We were too tired. Which makes me realize that perhaps their standards for early childhood happiness were simply too high.

We set ours pretty low. Then it's easy to reach. This year I instituted a policy that the kids could pick out a box of cereal for their birthdays. Any cereal they want. It was like they won the lottery.  They each spent about 20 minutes in the cereal aisle, cautiously running fingers over Cookie Crisp and Apple Jacks (Katie called them 'Jacker Backs,' a nickname Matt has for Jack). They know the cereal rule is 6 grams of sugar or less per serving so they were heady with lawlessness. They eagerly clutched boxes of never-before-tasted goodness, eyes shining with joy, little feet pattering in anticipation. Even my speech about generic vs brand and cost per ounce did little to dampen the mood. Jack had a personal code of ethics crisis and debated whether to get the cookie cereal he's desired for months or to go with a healthier (albeit blander) cereal. In the end, the lure of eating miniature cookies for breakfast was too strong. I don't think he regretted it.

Or I'll take them to the dollar store and say magnanimously "You can pick out any three things you want." "Any three?" they squeal, hardly able to believe this landslide of good luck. "Oh, mother, you're the best, the very best!"

I know. Now finish your bowl of Fortunate Marshmallow Shapes.