Mom, you're old and crabby

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I recently discovered I am old and crabby.  By discovered I mean Andrew said, "Mom, you are old and crabby."   I think I was born old.  The crabby part I have nurtured and cultivated to a point of perfection or contention depending on who you talk to.

Things I do well on the beach.
Sleep
Read
Drink
People watch
Laugh
Tell very accurate stories rarely embellished at all. Especially about squirrels.
Repeat.

Things I don't do well on the beach
tolerate teenagers ( which is why we rarely come here during spring break)
a radio
any radio
any music
wind chimes ( yes)
being read to ( especially if it's good for me)
being told to pray for people I'd like to see get eaten by sharks
cigars
cigarettes
fishing lines
sharing water with teenagers who were just shooting beer while their parents watched and whine that it's too far to walk back to their house and get some. (true story)

I was a kid once.  We did stupid things too.  Not at my parents house.  And not with my parents liquor. And we knew our parents would hold us accountable.  We were not allowed a sense of entitlement.  Which is probably why I was born old.  And if you really want to cultivate a crabby side work in a pediatric practice of any kind and watch the parade of clueless parents that are too busy being friends to their lost and boundary-less brood while feigning shock that anyone would require any amount of decorum while around said monsters.  Listen to them talk to their parents in such a way that is both disrespectful and degrading while the parent is writing a check for they're next entitled activity.  Dance, Football, Rock Climbing, Camp, Nails, Hair, Tanning Beds, New Car, etc.    They aren't all like that, most are wonderful.  But sometimes I feel like the tide is turning.

I'm pretty sure I got my attitude from my father.  He wasn't perfect but there were some things he got right. My mother had a dinner party at our home and invited some family she knew that had 2 daughters that were mine and my sister's ages, 6 and 8.  We were definitely a lower middle class working family. My dad had worked hard to get my mom a piano.  My mom could play and she loved that piano.  Over the course of the evening the guest monsters had gotten on top of the highly polished piano bench IN THEIR PATENT LEATHER SHOES and tapped away.  My mother although horrified would never had said a word and I feel certain she asked my father NOT to say anything.  And he didn't.  Until they got ready to leave.  As they were saying their goodbyes at the door and telling my mom what a great cook she was and how wonderful the evening was my dad leaned into the door and said " We had a great time too, we really enjoyed your company, and you're welcome here anytime, however don't ever bring your kids in my house again. I don't allow my children to act like that in my home and I won't allow it from yours either.  Have a nice evening."
And then he went to bed.  My mother and my sister and I stood there stunned.  Probably not as stunned as they were.

They never came back.
I inherited the piano.  And the attitude.

The piano, mom, Kim, Me and Mr. Attitude.