Friday, November 18, 2011

The summer of blending or how my blog got its name

It started out as just your average summer: Work, home, and fitting in some time at the beach.

On our first trip over to Nantucket, a cab driver stopped to pick us up. Chatting away in a familiar way he said, “I remember you folks. I drove you last summer.” "Really?" I said, not putting much thought into the comment.

That night at a restaurant the waitress stopped to take our drink orders. "I remember you from last summer at DeMarco’s.” The following night, the woman seated next to me leaned over and said, “Your son has gotten so tall." As I was trying to place her she added, "I’ve seen you with your son at then Bean.”

Wherever we went, people just seemed to remember us, prompting me to ask Tony hopefully, "Everyone remembers us. Do you think it is because we are such snappy dressers?” 

Tony responded "No. Don't you think there is something peculiar about our family?" "Well, I guess we don’t blend" I admitted. "That's an understatement" said Tony. I turned to Sam and said, "OK then. We are going to learn to blend." 

Tony looked dubious. 

On day one of our blending initiative, we stopped at the market after the beach. Waiting in the jeep, I read the paper while Sam entertained himself in the back seat. Part of his "entertainment" included yanking off his bothersome wet suit. I looked up just as he stuck his naked butt out the sunroof. Yikes.

A few days later, Sam performed what may have been an exuberant pirouette through restaurant as we left, leaving an elderly couple he passed by looking a bit perplexed. 

At the end of the week, exited the Flying Cloud in Hyannis. During those few moments of quiet while folks collected their baggage Sam decided to belt out a Sir Mix A Lot tune: “I like big butts and I do not lie…” As everyone turned to see who had a fondness for big butts, I mumbled to Sam under my breath, “Sammy, I am going to strangle you." Grinning, Sam responded with, "when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face..."

OK, blending is harder than I thought. 

A few nights later, we had a new inbound message on our answering machine, courtesy of Sam: biblical scriptures followed a few days later by a rendition of Fly Me To the Moon. 

Our next time out to dinner, I noticed the folks behind us watching Sam with a peculiar expression as Sam helped himself to one of their dinner rolls. On the drive home, Sam took off one of his flip flops and flung it out the sunroof.

The week after that, we did the Walk for Autism. All was going quite well until Sam tried to hitch a ride on the back of a garbage truck. As I tried to dissuade him, a nice policeman offered us a ride. We made a grand finish from the back of a police cruiser. 

Just as I was about to declare ourselves blending failures, I made one last ditch effort. We went out early to a local restaurant. I carefully prepped Sam with what was and was not acceptable behavior. We entered peacefully and quietly crossed the dining room. So far so good. Seconds from a perfectly unobtrusive entrance, Sam draped his giant arm around me. He flashed a very big grin and announced boisterously, “Mommy! You are my sunshine.” I heard several audible “awwws” from the handful of elderly couples dining. I saw many kind smiles. 

I was Sam's sunshine. 

I knew then we were not destined to blend. Ever. But at that moment I knew blending wasn’t everything. 

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  1. Sam's sunshine is lovely, and you're welcome to blend in our neighborhood any day.

  2. While I am always inspired by your take on the world, I do think you are a snappy dresser. And look at that shirt on Tony!

  3. I think that blending in is not all it's cracked up to be...I'm glad that Sam's star shines so bright it attracts attention and creates memories! Love, love his rendition of sister and I have a long standing tradition of singing that to each other when we are having a particularly bad time with something.