Well, Excuuuse Me For Living!

Yes, that came out of my mouth last week. It was a busy morning as every school morning usually is - three kids, husband, lunches, Where’s my coffee cup, breakfast, schedule check-in - Wait, it’s Thursday?! -, ‘Mom, I can’t find any socks !’, bathroom ‘I was here first!’ battles, two dogs really have to pee….

For those of you who know me, morning time is my jam! I am up - at em’ - most likely very annoying and have been told once or twice that I “Do too much;”  ‘Mom, I am full, please stop.’ And things of that nature...

So, I was standing in front of the fridge staring at a diminishing collection of food and strategic unorganized organization and through the flurry of shenanigans, conversation, inquiry and peanut gallery squawking from the kinder somehow I shouted, 

“Well, Excuuuse me for living!”

I froze. My husband stopped what he was doing and stared straight at me in comical fear and confusion; I channeled my bubbe as if my soul was suctioned out of my body allowing room for hers to take over in that split second.

All I needed was a housecoat with one long zipper.

Why is this story worthy? Hear me out.

My bubbe lived with me and my father for a while when my dad was trying on his single-parenting shoes and though I am sure my father appreciated that his mom helped me with my homework, brushed my hair, made me wear pink (blach!), cooked us the best tomato soup ever placed in a bowl, she was, by far, the reason there is a definition of “Jewish Mother” in the dictionary. My dad never really learned how to swim because water was dangerous and we were never NEVER dressed warm enough!

One of the funniest memories for me now is what I call bus stop gate. The school bus picked me up at the end of my driveway every morning around 8:06 a.m. My bubbe made it her job to get me dressed and ready for that bus so my dad could do what he needed to do for his job making sure every tooth in Milwaukee was securely in its spot without deteriorating nerves and/or an inflamed gum line. This woman could have run this country - with a housecoat and a cup of hot coffee, “filled to the top.”

My bubbe’s first go at POTUBS (President of the United Bus Stop) went into the books this particular morning. The weather was questionable, but not terrible. Gorgeous, damp, temperamental fall was flirting with Wisconsin’s last try for a mediocre summer day and the clock was ticking - 7:30 a.m. I was outside standing ready and dressed for the ultimate hurricane/ snow storm/ vortex at the end of my driveway; I looked very similar to Poppin' Fresh DoughBoy. My bubbe was standing behind me in her housecoat because she was fine, don't worry about her, she's not cold! We stood there for 36 minutes. I could have entered my Alpha weight and joined a wrestling team after sweating through the layers of poof!

My father burst out of the house just as the school bus peered its yellow head around the corner,

“Mom! Jessie is dressed for winter, why are you in your nightgown AND have you been out here for over half an hour?!!”

“Well, excuuuse me for living!” My Bubbe Harrumphed up the driveway as I climbed the bus steps.

I found a seat with a nice friend who didn’t judge me for looking a bit ridiculous and I unwrapped myself. This seemed to take the entire trip to school. 

When I got home later that day bubbe was waiting for me with peanut butter cookies and hot chocolate, because it was 54 degrees outside. When my dad got home she made us both dinner and we sat together in silence.

My dad stopped eating at one point, looked at his mom and said, 

“Thanks ma.”

Love. 

It makes us do and say crazy things, but why in the world would we do or say anything different?