conversations at my house!
The other night I came downstairs and D says, "Can you make that jello for me?" [Note: a couple days before when his stomach was still funky, I had offered to do so.]
"What? You don't know how to make jello?" [Note: the statute of limitations had run out on my offer.}
With a smirk: "I looked at the box, but I'm not sure it's safe. It involves boiling water."
Okay, boys and girls, after I picked myself up off the floor from laughing, I said, "Excuse me, but you are not RETARDED. I believe you can be entrusted with boiling water." Then I made him do it himself while I stood over him, reading him the step-by-step instructions. And, et voila, no persons were harmed in the making of this (disgusting) food item. Though, watching him, he *does* have an intention tremor, which does make pouring things into and out of measuring cups just slightly dicey. Not sure if that's a med side effect or not. Some people just have a familial one, but I don't think anyone on *my* side does.
Anyway, not to speak ill of the dead, but I blame my dad for this. (The boiling water comment, not the intention tremor. Follow along, wouldya?) Once D got sick, my dad's impulse was to infantalize him. I mean, totally out of love and concern and worry, but still. D would go to do something for himself and my dad would be all, "Oh, no, let me do that." I was constantly having to say, "Dad. He's not retarded, you know. He's not an idiot." And my dad would be all, "No, no. I know. I know." Then he'd do the same thing two days later. Sigh.
Anyway, the upside is that "I'm not sure it's safe" is well on its way to being one of those private jokes in my house that makes us laugh uncontrollably for two minutes anytime anyone says it. There's an upside to everything, all y'all.
Happy Easter, if you're celebrating. Remember, always bite the ears off your chocolate bunny first. Any other method is un-American.
xoxo
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