I am having one of those mornings.
Actually, it has been a piss poor couple of days.
It all started on Saturday morning when I woke up at the Crash Pad (aka my parent’s house where I go when Stanley is on nest duty). Most of the time, I am there alone. My parents are the lucky sort that have another home on a beautiful lake and since my dad’s retirement, they spend most of the time there. But this past weekend was a special one in my brother’s family and we were all invited to celebrate with them on Sunday, thus my parents were in town. I have tried to avoid my father throughout the election. He is very strong minded on any topic. Picture for yourself Archie Bunker with a Southern accent and there you have it.
One of the biggest mysteries of his life is how he ended up with a daughter that is a social worker. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fight, because I don’t fight with my dad. No one does. He is the unreasonable sort that just yells, louder and louder, and there actually isn’t any sort of discussion at all. Or he just ignores you. Usually, I am on the ignoring end. Anyway, he picked a fight with me about it because he was just dying to, then it went into my divorce and how ‘no one understands’ me and I ‘have friends who are gay’ (really) and degenerated into “I will not have a bleeding heart liberal sitting at my holiday table spouting her liberal ideas”. Okay. First, I am nothing if not a mute in my family, I never, ever, ever bring it up or even respond.
With the exception of the last time we were all around the holiday table
I think maybe it was Mother’s Day.
My uber conservative Sister in Law, married to the brother with the plane, made the statement:
“I think people just want to be gay because it looks fun on TV and is a way to get attention.”
I don’t think I actually said anything other than “I disagree” because my 13 year-old son was sitting there and I didn’t want him to think that it was okay. There was no fight, we agreed that having alternate viewpoints was okay and ate our Holiday ham and potato casserole.
But now I see that I am labeled. I am a liberal and I am divorced and I know gay people. He told me he is mourning and that soon we will be no better than England or France. For real. Archie lost total control. But it is pretty hard to hear you aren’t welcome around the ‘holiday table.’
Sooooo…. I cried all day.
Now my mom, who is perfect, made him come and apologize to me about 4 times. I have no doubt that he hasn’t had a hot meal and won’t be getting any for a good while. She has told me that if I don’t come for Thanksgiving that she isn’t cooking and he is welcome to go to said Sister in Law’s who has never once used her Viking stove. She told me that he has been looking for someone to go off on since the election and I was right there. But so what? That doesn’t make his behavior right or even acceptable.
He told me he is sorry and that he hopes I won’t hold it against him.
Hmmph. I am no where near that yet.
Which brings me to this morning. The kids were out of school yesterday which appears to have made it a billion times harder to accept that they had to go to school today judging from their attitudes and behavior. The boy, who is 13, left with a bandaid on his chin to cover a zit. His plan is to tell people he got a cut. Like no one will see through that one.
Look, even adults do it.
Poor kid. I’m afraid his attempt to hide it will make it much worse with the kids. But whatever, we all survived it.
But Merlot was a wreck. WRECK. Usually, it is Jumping Bean. But thank God, she was okay today because I couldn’t have handled it if she had been crying too. Merlot woke up tearful. I had to raise my voice several times to get her to put her clothes on. Then her pants were too long and her sleeves were too long (WTF) and then she couldn’t find her shoes.
Then she remembered where they were.
which results in
I left out the image of me yelling at her but you get the picture. My fear is that I looked like Archie in a dress. She can’t stand to screw up. This child sets really high standards for herself. She cried and cried and cried. Much like me on Saturday. Then she gagged and needed a Prilosec.
Bless her heart for the rest of her life.
She was still crying when I pulled up at the school. I hugged her and kissed her tears, letting the minutes tick by, and told her that we all do silly things that we wish we could go back in time and re do. Like for instance, I wish I had gotten my fat butt out of the Crash Pad on Saturday morning before Archie got out of bed. I held her hand and walked her in a few minutes late, wearing my jammie pants and an ugly sweater that as I pulled them on this morning I prayed that I wouldn’t get in an accident and have to see anyone.
The teachers gave me sympathetic looks.
As I drove home, I thought how hard it is to grow up. You ruin your shoes, you get zits, you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. I also thought about how hard it is to parent. I make tons of mistakes with my kids. I know I yelled at her about her shoes. But really she is a kid that is so hard on herself for her mistakes that I really don’t need to lose my shit to make a point.
Her sparkle shoes are ruined. Point made. Shut up Archie.
I have no idea how to get over my hurt with my dad. I know he loves me. He is flawed as we all are. He will be sad if I don’t come for Thanksgiving. I know he knows he didn’t handle that well with me. But still, I am hurt.Al says I should tell him that when he is in a nursing home I am going to make sure his caregivers are gay and have a loud liberal agenda. He also offered to send Uncle Sonny. I think Italians like vengeance. I’m good with that.
I’m trying to forgive him because I want to be forgiven by my kids.
Working on it.