Zsa Zsa gets braces

So last week, my Zsa Zsa got braces. This is a good thing since she has some weird things happening in her little mouth. Let's just say that her teeth look she is the progeny of two first cousins marrying. Luckily, she's pretty smart, so the inbreeding didn't seem to affect her intellect. Actually, there are people who have said that Big Shot Husband and I look alike. This is ludicrous. Big Shot Husband is tall, dark and handsome and I am, well, short. And pale. One person actually asked where our families were from (Russia, Poland) and smiled a see-I-knew-it smile. I mean, I'm sure they are onto something since no other Ashkenazic Jews come from those locales. Ahem.

Anyway, have you noticed that certain people are always trying to discuss how your kids resemble/act like/otherwise take after you or your husband? Like, I always get, "Your girls look just like you," or, "Perfect Eldest Son must be JUST LIKE Big Shot Husband when he was that age," or, "Gorby sure is athletic, which one of you is?" This one garners the following response: "It's a mutated recessive gene." I mean, I'm not sure if people are trying to make conversation, or are just interested in that sort of thing. But if the comment is flattering to me, I don't question it too much. Sometimes, however, it's not so flattering. To me.

I had this boss once whom I really respected. He was funny and smart and liked me and I really enjoyed working for him. To be honest, I think the reason he talked to me so often is that he was totally interested in Big Shot Husband's doings, which, at the time, were pretty darn interesting.

So even though he had eight kids of his own, I still thought he would DEFINITELY be interested in what 5- year-old Pes was up to and how smart he was. At that time, I was one of those REALLY ANNOYING parents who tells everyone how brilliant their first-born child is (N.B. to my friends who are reading this: yes, I know I still do this).

Anyway, my boss always seemed impressed with my tales of Pes's newest trick. So one day I was bragging about how Pes could recite all 43 (at the time) presidents in order. (I didn't mention that it was a big fat joke between Pes, Big Shot Husband and Mother that I had never heard of Chester A. Arthur before Pes started his studies). I went on a bit about the Presidents trick and his affinity for chess, and boss looked at me and said, "Wow, he sounds really smart. He must get that from your husband."

Back to Zsa Zsa's braces. We're at the friendly neighborhood orthodontist (yes, he's friendly and we live in the same neighborhood but of course his office is inconveniently located in the next city). I take a deep breath and ruminate on how completely crazy the day had been thus far (it was exactly noon at this point). It was pouring all day, I had done a million errands, I schlepped 25 minutes to school to collect her, then sloshed another 25 minutes in the opposite direction to the orthodontist.

As we arrived, I thought about how this was the end of the day already, as by the time we were finished, we would be heading to preschool to pick up Gorbachev, doing a quick "kill an hour" errand before getting Eva, arriving home at 4+ and doing homework, dinner blahblahblah, culminating in the prodigal son finally returning home after mishmar, basketball etc at 7PM and I know you are so bored by this your eyes are glazing over.

I have noticed of late that since some of my children are cognitively able to intereface at a semi-sophisticated level, I sometimes confide in them. This is usually a mistake. Nonetheless, as we were waiting for the appointment, hanging out in the bathroom, I confided in Zsa Zsa that this appointment really was somewhat inconvenient being right in the middle of the day and we're always rushing around and it's hard to get things done, and the day was over almost as soon as it had begun.

She said, "Mommy, how do the other mommies manage? I mean, Dr./Mrs. E has 6 kids, and Mrs. S has 7 kids, and Mrs.L has 10 kids and the so-and-so's have twelve kids, and they all seem to do it...
Don't worry, you'll get used to it." And she dried her hands and walked confidently out of the bathroom.

I looked after her and sighed. She's eight years old. How many more years of Life Lessons from Zsa Zsa will I have to endure? But of course, she's right. The mommies we know have a million kids and still seem to manage. And one day, G-d willing, she'll be a mommy and she'll complain to me about how much she has to do and how she has 57 carpools, and Shloimy has an ear infection, and Malky needs glasses and the baby was up all night and I'll just say, "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."