surprise is overrated

I have to say it again. I am rarely surprised. Truly. My brain and demeanor- aided by what I've read and watched- along with my quick wit (ok, now I'm just tooting my own horn)- but I just rarely am surprised.
These tiny people at our house do surprise me- constantly- but on a standard, they are not punching out Mozart or even repeating all the words in the flash card deck or wrapping up a day without shedding a tear- either of them- so surprised by the effort they make and the fact that they are here at all- that they play together and feed themselves- yep, surprise. Still, they've been sick and it could be that I'm just not pushing them hard enough- that I'm being too easy on them, or those around me- that I don't ask more of my days- or my people. I wonder if- combining two of my favorite activities of late might assist me in finding a little surprise- to get me through to February?
I watch a little late night Masterpiece(s)-Complete Jane Austen.
I also run off to Target- letting the man of my house play with his boys while I contemplate cleaners or birthday cards or my unusual attachment to plastic plates in it's varied isles. "Let it happen, bring it on" a modern Jane might whisper in my ear as I pass maternity clothes, men's Sponge Bob pajama pants, blue plastic Crock knock-offs I pick up and imagine Aidan wearing around the pool in Orlando as Henry floats by in his baby inner-tube bathed in sunscreen and awash in chlorine. "No, I say, Jane- nothing new. Same Target, different day."
And then, I am. Wholeheartedly surprised. And shocked, embarrassed, broken to my core. I put the mock Crocks back- deeming them unsafe as I hear from a neon-clad isle over, I kid you not, "Mom why did you adopt me anyway- so you can yell at me to be quiet and shut my mouth all the time?" Mom, almost ran into me- as I was on the move and so was she. She saw my face, my eyes, my unwashed hair pulled into a lazy ponytail. She read my surprise like I would like to take the time to read Jane instead of watching it acted out on my tv. But Jane without the costumes and the ancient trees and manor houses pales to the moment I watched, slack-jawed, that mother turn on her heel to flip quietly on her adopted preteen daughter. Her index finger accentuated what I couldn't hear. But the topper- even though my surprise I now shared with the unshakable brown skinned girl pushing the empty red cart- the topper was- she shot back at her mother- loudly enough for me to hear- "Then why don't you prove it?"


Sleep tight blondie-blondie, cry tomorrow if you want, eat as many bites of banana yogurt as you did today. Read the Little Fur Family with your legs crossed neatly in front of you. Sweet curly top-knit your transparent webby drool, howl when your brother takes away your newly acquired pacifier, spit out your green beans, bang your head to your invisible drummer.
Just don't surprise me. I don't think I could take it.