The whole blam dam family, that’s who.
The Guthrie (local theater) is putting on a production of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. Chris and I both remarked we’d like to go. In a moment of characteristically bad judgement, I decided the teenagers should come along. In typical AnneRealistic* fashion, I envisioned a fun family outing. Dinner and a show. A little culture and perhaps even some family discussion. I knew there would be some belly-aching on the part of the teenagers. Because, let’s face it, there’s always at least some bellyaching on the part of the teenagers.
I did not, however, anticipate the the exchange of 111 text messages amongst the four of us after adding it to the family calendar. Due to my hyperbolic tendencies, you think I’m exaggerating. Or perhaps you think I added an extra one when typing 111. But no. It was quite literally one hundred and eleven texts. Yes, I counted them.
I’m barely resisting the urge to screenshot the whole damn thing, because it was a relatively comical exchange. There were GIF’s, memes, F-bombs (though only two, which I’m totally taking as a win), misspellings, bad grammar, emojis, a request for $300, a guest appearance from one of Elise’s friends, and even a video of Chris singing. Badly. A multi-media smorgasbord exhibiting multiple facets of our family’s epic dysfunction. I probably should have been discouraged. Truthfully, though, their GIF and emoji games were 100% on point for both humor and appropriateness to the context of the conversation; so I gave myself a pat on the back instead. I take my wins where I can, folks.
The condensed version of the story is I booked the family to go to a play on the evening before Jerod’s 16th birthday.
Oh my stars! The HORROR!
Not ON his birthday, mind you. Or a weekend. But, I missed the memo that the entire birthday week is supposed to be held sacred with the honoree doing absolutely nothing he doesn’t want to.
Thinking this text was only between three out of four Holts, I suggested he could pick where we go to dinner before the show. Turns out four of four Holts were included in the discussion. So, cue the weeping and gnashing of teeth from the 13 year old.
The good news, I suppose, is they were so busy fighting with one another over where to eat that they forgot to be pissed at me for booking tickets to a play. So much winning, folks, so much winning.
*AnneRealistic. You like that word? I made it up. It’s mine, you can’t have it. It shall henceforth describe my overwhelming tendency to misunderestimate how badly a scenario will go. It’s like unrealistic, but my own special version. Which I deserve, because I am oh so frequently AnneRealistic.