When You're a Disappointment on Every Front

There are many ways in which I feel like I've failed my parents over the years, not living up to the way in which they raised me. This is no more visible than in this example:

My parents, and my dad in particular, taught me how to make hospital corners. It was an expectation when I made my bed as a child.

Actually, I spent the summer before my 9th grade year volunteering at the hospital as a candy-striper. Among other duties, I made beds in empty rooms. There were two things that they stressed: 1) You can't hold a pillow under your chin to put the pillowcase on because that's not sanitary. There's a secret to it that would better be explained in a video I'm never going to make, so you'll just have to trust me. 2) Make crisp hospital corners or people may die.

So I know how to do it. I am sure it's how I used to make my beds. Somewhere along the line, however, I was broken of it.

First of all, I HATE having sheets "tucked in." It makes me feel like I'm being restrained and I do not like it. Secondly, D had a trundle/bunk combo, and those don't play nicely with hospital corners. Finally, Mal's bed is up against the wall, and, frankly, there are only so many hours per day... few enough that I cannot spare 18 seconds per bottom corner to assure that the horror you see above does not occur.

What can I say? I'm the worst.

AND, as a parent...

This weekend, we ate at a Thai place -- that was wonderful -- near the movie theater, which also happens to be near a Baskin Robbins. James said that as long as we were in the area, we should get ice cream... even though we were both pretty full.

As we walked across the parking lot, Mal declaimed, "I don't want ice cream; I'm stuffed! I just want to go home!" We agreed that James and I would get our ice cream in cones and eat it on the drive (fortunately, it was cool enough that that wouldn't be a messy proposition).

James and I placed our orders as a line formed behind us. I asked Mal if he was sure he didn't want anything, and he yelled, "I AM STUFFED! I don't want any ice cream!"

Okay.

They handed me my cone and were finishing James's when Mal said, "That looks good." He was pointing at something on the back wall, through the glass. We couldn't figure out what he meant. On the menu? On the wall? Eventually, we realized that he was pointing at a "squishy" ice cream cone with one bright yellow and one hot pink scoop.

I pointed out that that wasn't food, nor was it available for sale, and asked if he wanted anything from the freezer. He declined.

James stepped forward to pay, and we scooted down. There were probably a dozen people in line, and the first couple had started their orders. Mal noticed the sprinkles and said, "I want sprinkles on my ice cream." I reminded him that he hadn't ordered any ice cream.

He burst into tears. "But I want some vanilla ice cream!" I told him it was too late; that we'd paid and we couldn't "cut" in front of the other people, and that would be it, but then we walked outside as a big group was approaching the store.

YOU know what happened but what they saw was this: Two parents walking out of Baskin Robbins, each starting on a double-scoop waffle cone, with an empty-handed 5-year-old wailing, "I WANT SOME ICE CREAM!"

And they gave us a World's Best Parents trophy right then and there.

FIN.