Sundays with Stretchy Pants

Yeah, yeah, I know you all read Pepper Paints and she already blogged about Thursday’s fun. Too bad. Read about it again.

I missed last Thursday’s homeschool park day because I was in Michigan. The potluck was canceled (obviously, what fun would it have been without me?) Or maybe it was because Dawn has a job or something lame like that. Anyway, we’re on for today and I have an extra kid with me so it will be extra fun. My 10-year-old niece is visiting us for a bit and she’s really sweet so she gets along nicely with my kids and my kids’ friends. The pool even gave her a free membership for us so we wouldn’t have to try to sneak her in. Nice of them. Bryan and I were actually planning to just pay an extra 10 bucks to get a pass for a family of 6 instead of 5, but Bryan didn’t know if she had to be immediate family or what so I guess he stammered around saying, “I forgot, our step-daughter will be with us a lot this summer, so I need a pass for 6, blah, blah, blah.” The kid at the desk was like, “Whatever, geezer, have a free pass.” Yay!

I didn’t say anything to Bryan, but it’s funny that his choice of the word “our” really stood out to me when he was relaying the story. Poor little bunny from a two-parent home doesn’t understand that there is no “our” when you’re talking about step-daughters. Unfortunately, I’m quite in-the-know on all matters of step-crap. For the lie to work really well, he should have said my step-daughter. Right? It’s the little things that make a lie believable.

Speaking of step-crap, I’m making a new rule and I think all children of divorce will get behind me on this one: I decree that our parents only get one shot at “blending” families. Got that? My dad is now going through his 2nd divorce, so I will have an ex-step-mother and 2 ex-step-brothers and 1 ex-step-sister to go along with my ex-step-father whom my mom divorced several years ago. I’m not having anymore steps.  My dad’s next wife will be “my dad’s wife” and my children will call her by her first name or Mrs. Clement, but not grandma. Same goes for my mother’s next husband. If they don’t like that, I will go to plan B, which is to refer to the new spouse as “my dad’s current wife” or “my dad’s next ex-wife” or some such other equally degrading term. I think that’s fair.

Melissa just left a lovely comment about empowering these girls of mine, which is totally something we try to do. It would be awesome if it worked out that way. One of the empowering themes around here is that it’s ok to fight with people you love. This is tough for Lena to understand so it tends to come up a lot because she’s really trying to figure it out and I want her to know that it’s ok for her to say, “Hey, that’s not ok,” without worrying about hurting feelings because her feelings actually matter, too. And sometimes making your needs known can lead to fighting, but it’s ok. It’s ok! Everything’s ok. OK!

Turns out that it’s not so tough for Liberty to understand and I think she’s a little bit proud when she’s combative with her favorite people. It’s not a perfect system; we’re working on it. Both of them understood the issue in their own way until a stupid Disney channel show had the main character fighting and then making up with her best friend by saying, “We’re best friends; we shouldn’t fight.” And the audience said, “Awwww, clap clap clap,” and then Lena and Liberty panicked because that little sentence went against everything they had been taught for their whole life. But it was on tv and the audience seemed to agree! It took about 5 seconds for them to find me in the laundry room (or maybe I was napping or watching my stories on the other tv, who really knows?) and say, “Mom, should best friends fight?”

Stupid tv. Now we’ll be going over and over this in a million different ways from now until summer. And then they’re going to want to talk about my dad’s most recent divorce again, too. Don’t they understand that I tell them these things so they can discuss them amongst themselves, not so they can drag me into it all the time? I don’t understand how these things work. I’m not a healthy person! I shouldn’t be allowed to discuss it. *sigh* Stupid tv. I’m banning the Disney channel in favor of Adult Swim on Cartoon Network. There’s no mistaking the family values of Squidbillies.

I love April for many reasons. I got married in April. I became a mother in April. My birthday is in early May, which means April is practically my birth month, which means I can start saying, “Guess how many more days until my birthday!” over and over until even the kids try to stab me. So I’ve been trying to write an anniversary post and I’ve been trying to write a happy birthday Lena and Liberty post, but I keep being distracted by April ghosts.

My paternal grandmother, Lena, died when my dad was 14, and I’ve always pined for her. The only time I ever played with a Ouija board, it was her I was after. When I wondered if there was a heaven, it was her I was after. All of my first big questions revolved around her. I knew that, had she not died, my dad never would have moved to Chesaning and met my mom, making my existence impossible. I would ask myself, Is it better that she died so I could live or would it be better if she lived and then had different grandchildren? Of course I always said it would be better if she had lived because, after all, Santa could’ve been listening to my thoughts and I didn’t want him to know I was so selfish. But those imaginary “other” grandchildren she would’ve had? In my mind, they totally ended up sucking and then it was Grandma Lena who was pining for ME!

Anyway, my maternal grandmother is a very special kind of crazy. You know, the kind that translates into, “Wow, you’re really an evil bitch.” So I spent a lot of time as a girl imagining what it would be like if Grandma Lena were alive. I put her up on this pedestal of perfect grandmotherliness and I was always greedy for her. I can remember being relentless with my questioning about her from a very young age. How did she laugh? Did she wear an apron? Would she give us candy? Would she like us? My fascination with her didn’t end with my intense need for a grandmother who would love me. I was drawn to her by the tragedies she endured. First, she didn’t get married until she was 36 and when I was a little KISS-loving princess, to me that was tragic. I didn’t know until I was an adult that she turned down proposals and owned her own car and traveled all over and things like that. One of her sisters told me with a wink, “We weren’t even sure she was the marrying kind!” So she suprised everyone and married Carl Clement on April 23, 1947. Ten years later, on April 22, 1957 when my dad was 8 and his brother was 6, Carl died of a heart attack at work. April, you give and you take away.

Lena might have been used to April’s pissiness by 1957 because on April 12, 1948 she gave birth to a stillborn baby girl named Jane Marie. On the same date, exactly one year later, she gave birth to my dad. Many of my childhood imaginings of her had to do with the fact that every April 12th she had to contend with the warring emotions of grief for her stillborn daughter, and the bliss that was her healthy son. Even as a kid, I knew that there was probably no pain like losing a child and I couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like to go through another pregnancy that was due to end around the exact same time as that tragedy, not 2 or 5 or 7 years before, but only 1 year before. And then to give birth on the actual anniversary of the firstborn’s death? How? Seriously, how? I can tell you for a fact that the fear alone would have driven me to a mental institution. And then to be widowed with 2 small boys on the day before her 10th wedding anniversary? That’s just, I don’t know. I wish I had a better vocabulary but as I am, in my heart of hearts, trailer trash, all I can come up with is “bullshit.” It’s total bullshit.

So April? I’m glad you’re making with the sunny because you have a lot of esplainin’ to do and I demand that you atone for my grandmother’s roller-coaster of emotions by drying up the ground at the park and making pretty flowers bloom. Pretty ones! Not marigolds. She carried a lily in the center of her wedding bouquet. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for some early lilies.

It’s raining today, what a surprise. I knew it would be raining because it’s homeschool art class day and homeschool art class day is when my friends and I drop our kids off and walk to the most beautiful coffee shop in the world. And on every single homeschool art class day, the weather has treated us like shit. It’s either raining or freezing cold, even if it was sunny and 50 degrees the day before. I think that the universe thinks that if we get to spend an hour and a half chatting in a beautiful coffee shop and have nice weather for our little walk, our heads might just explode with glee. I guess that could happen. The more likely theory is that this kind of thing happens because I once hung up on Oprah and she’s been punishing me in these little ways ever since.

To be fair, I didn’t know Oprah was going to be Queen of the Universe back when I hung up on her and I really think she should take that into consideration. It was the ’80s and I’m not even sure her ratings were better than Donahue’s at that time. She was having a show about bad neighbors and I had a really bad neighbor. When I was 8, he shot my first pet, Pooty the cat, and then pointed a gun at my mom when my parents confronted him. (No, we didn’t live in a trailer park. Why do you ask?) Anyway, this was back in the call-in days. I figured I had a story to tell, so I called and called and called. Every time somebody told their bad neighbor story, I was all, “My story is worse than that you big baby!” while I frantically dialed through my tears. I finally got through during the last commercial break. I don’t remember how the person answered the phone, but I know I said, “My neighbor is so bad, he shot my cat because she walked on his car and then when my dad and mom went over there, he pointed the gun at my mom! And we don’t even live in a trailer park!” The person on the phone said, “Ok,” and then I heard a click. I thought that meant I should hang up. I was little. They came back from commercial and I was bouncing up and down on the couch waiting for Oprah to say something like, “We just had the most precious little girl call in and tell us the worst story we’ve heard yet today. This story puts all of our panel guests’ stories to shame. Oh, the tragedy this little child has faced. I don’t know how she finds the strength to go on.” But she didn’t say anything like that. She said, “Ok, we have a caller. Go ahead, Caller. Caller? Caller, are you there? Jesus H. Christ, Caller? WTF?” And then she turned to her producer and said, “Don’t tell me that little bitch hung up on me.” At least, that’s the way I remember it. And can I tell you how a little piece of me died that day? I watched Oprah get all tense because I hung up on her. I felt an odd mix of elation and dread. I could’ve been on OPRAH! Oh no, I hung up on OPRAH! And then my parents got divorced. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.

So, I want to say I’m sorry to Oprah. I also want to say I’m sorry to my homeschool mom friends. I shouldn’t have kept this part of my past from you. I don’t want you to be hurt by any more of Oprah’s cosmic retaliation powers. I mean, I’m not sorry enough that I’m going to skip the coffee shop just so you guys can have a nice walk there, but still. At least now you know the truth.

Bryan screwed the front license plate on our cars. Did you hear me? Do you know what that means? He paid $2.50 for the proper screws and he screwed our Ohio license plates onto the front of my mini van and his falling-apart-type beater thing. We’ve been living in Ohio for 3 years now. We came from Michigan, land of the single, back-end only license plate. Apparently, there is no point in having one on the front and one on the back when there isn’t any money in the state budget for highway patrol.

So we’ve been driving around with our front license plate tucked on our dashboard for 3 years. Last year, Bryan was issued a $40 ticket for this very infraction, yet he still couldn’t bring himself to permanently attach the license plates. This type of to-do list inaction is so against his character as a man that even he, King Literal, Head of the Knights of the Anti-Allegorical Order, could see the symbolism. As Bo Schembechler, rest His soul (yes, that’s a capital “H”) would say, he’s a Michigan Man. He loves that when he looks at his veins, they’re running blue. And he tries to never actually bleed because, well, the blood is scarlet. Nothing makes him more annoyed than Buckeye fever. That’s hard when you live in Columbus. Attaching the license plates? That’s some permanent stuff.

This move was supposed to be temporary. It was a way to get out of the shit-hole AT&T customer service job that he had been in for 6 years. A voluntary transfer to a better department in a city that we were bred to hate. My dad said, “Columbus? I raised you better than that! Divorce him!” Not really, but close. Indeed, I never would’ve agreed to a permanent move. We lived in our hometown of Chesaning, near both of our families in a house that we transformed from a run-down hovel into a gorgeous historic home fit for Chesaning’s now-defunct Parade of Homes. Move? MOVE? “I never would’ve married somebody who was going to move me away from my family,” said I, Queen Co-Dependent, Head Lady in Charge of Seeking Approval from Extended Family At All Costs. Ouch.

Then we moved. I was ready to look at this as temporary to get him out of that job, and just do what I could to get by for a couple of years and then move back home. But Columbus, she’s a seductress. She found many, many ways to my heart. Usually food is the only way to my heart, and she definitely has that covered, but let’s just take homeschooling as another for instance.

Homeschooling is a huge part of our lives and in Chesaning, we were a very lonely minority. I had no idea how lonely until we moved here. Homeschooling Community, you had me at hello. The Homeschool Gym, Homeschool classes that are offered at art galleries, science museums, recreation centers, the zoo, the metro parks, and anywhere you want them. Seriously, you just call places and say, “we want a homeschool class/tour,” and they fall all over themselves to make it happen. The roller skating rink? Some homeschooler called up and said, “We be homeschoolers and we desire to trade cash for services. But the cash shall be of an amount that is less than what they who are not homeschoolers pay.” And the roller rink (and the ice skating rink, btw) said, “Let it be written. Let it be so.” Support for homeschooling instead of blank stares and defensiveness? I. Had. No. Idea.

Oh, and there are fun people here, too. We like you guys.

**Oh my, you should feel how my blood pressure went up and my pulse quickened and my brain screamed, “Don’t talk about how much you love your Ohio friends! The people in Michigan are going to think you don’t like them anymore! What if they call you and yell at you for making new friends? Omigod, you are going to be abandoned!”**

That reminds me, one more thing we love about Columbus is the many options for psychotherapy.

It’s ok. It’s really ok. It’s hard to come out, but we’re doing it…

We love Columbus: The people, the stuff to do, the stuff to eat, the therapists. Not the buckeyes. We’ll never love the buckeyes. But we have 2 license plates on our vehicles now and, dammit, it feels good.