In need of a Re-Rhythming.

New Year’s Eve rolled around a few days ago, and I spent it over N’s house, ringing in the new year on their blessedly comfortable sent by God himself to make life better couch. (If you couldn’t tell already, I love that thing.) But before that, we went to Mom 3.0’s house for sundaes and a screening of The Help. Good movie. Not one I’d watch twice in a week’s time, but democracy slaughtered any chance of Bridesmaids. So there we have it.

I’ll stop pouting any day now, I promise.

ANYWAY (/end Klosterman moment), we had to make a pitstop to get all the sundae construction materials before we could head over, as well as a few other groceries for the house.

Somewhere in the middle, I got the feeling of dancing one step behind everyone else. This is the second night in a row that I’ve been through it in this form (we picked up missing ingredients for dinner the night before), but not the first time I’ve noticed it overall. There’s a rhythm to how Mom 2.0 and N do things that, though I’ve known them for under half my life, I can’t quite touch.

It’s not just the mother/daughter dynamic, either. They’re around each other a lot, and it’s just them living at the house. N’s sister lives with her fiance, and has no intention of coming home come hell or high water. (In fact, it’s her room I’m getting. And we’ve known each other since grade school. Awkard, but if she doesn’t have a problem with it…) So it’s not a shorthand. It’s a very literal rhythm.

And though they’re always inclusive (they’re taking me in, for Christ’s sake), there’s a precedence set for things. Take shopping for example:

  • Certain brands (i.e., Ruffles potato chips) will always be bought for the majority. The majority is Mom 2.0 and N.
  • All things chocolate chip cookie are to be worshipped, in whatever form they manifest.
  • Stressing your point on why certain strange foods are a good idea for more than thirty seconds will leave you subject to long uncomfortable silences, and make you feel nutty.
  • Deviation from the norm is for suckers.

It’s that whole ‘Italian-Portugese-Irish Professional Face Stuffers’ thing vs. the ‘Scottish-Irish Give Me Potatoes or Give Me Death’ sensibility. And while they’re doing their shopping, N bobs and weaves around the store as I’d with pre programmed destinations, foraging for The Good Stuff and bringing it back to the shopping cart. Mom 2.0 grabs what she needs, and spends most of her time keeping track of it all.

And on most things while being involved in this practice, I wind up deferring to N (for example, look to the rule involving cookies). When I’m at their house, I keep telling myself “This is not my house yet.”. But in five days, it will be.

Hence the need for a Re-Rhythming, and leading me to once again feel like a NatGeo special (why anyone would be interested enough to make this a reality does not enter into the thinking, thank you), and to wonder the next best route. N and Mom 2.0 can only help me along to a point, and I refuse to make their day that much more irritating by bickering over cookies in the middle of a supermarket.

I’ve even gone as far as trying to explain to N certain quirks I only have at home; holing up in my room for days on end, not socializing with the rest of the herd, etc. And while she was nodding at me, I tried to make her understand with a nonsensical response: “Yeah, I know you know, but you don’t know.” We’ve never lived together on a regular basis, and when we drive each other insane now, I won’t be able to take off to my house. Our proverbial ‘separate corners’ will be mere inches away, our rooms are right next to each other.

All the easier for me if I decide to go haul off and pop her in the head, but still.

The semi-foreign beast in a more or less new habitat, that’s me. Mom 2.0 has no issues about the situation (at least none that she’s showing), but maybe it’s easier as the Queen of the House. You put your foot down, all subjects are silenced.

Regardless, the beat must be found, and the dancing shoes must move accordingly. I want to carry as little shiny slices of dysfunction with me as possible when I get out of here.

Whether or not that’s to be, we’ll see.

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~ by Sara on January 2, 2012.

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