Ahhh...it's been a crazy-ish week, so far.
For starters, I'm starting to think God has the absolute worst form of colic. All he does is CRY! I mean, yeah, looking at today's world, I can certainly understand the need to bawl rather than try and analyze why we're forced to deal with the amount of stress we're destined to deal with - all in one lifetime, too. We've not had more than two or three days in a row without rain.
I normally wouldn't care so much whether it rained or the sun was out - I'm not an outdoorsy type at all. When it rains, I'm usually at home and I busy myself with housework. When it's sunny, my vampire mode kicks in and I prefer to stay in and relax if I have no other pressing plans. Oh, and another interesting tidbit about me - I have something called 'achoo syndrome.' It's really a thing, look it up. I can't step out into the sunlight without sneezing violently and scaring the living hell out of whoever's standing next to me at the time.
However, this rain worries me. I'm planning a graduation party for exactly thirteen days from now and my backyard has been waiting (patiently I might add...since mid-April!) for a concrete pour and the ass-clown I hired to do the job will not do it if the ground is wet. Weather IS a factor when it comes to cement pouring but he's also delayed doing the work on days God was 'happy' (as rarely as that's been lately) and I'm trying NOT to panic at the thought that the yard simply may not be finished in time. Ass-clown says he will be here Monday and cement should be poured by Wednesday - but honestly, I've heard all of this, before.
We'll see. I'm seriously going to join God and cry if this crap isn't done by the end of next week. The cement is only the first step - I also have to repair patches of grass that the men wrecked during their working moments, and I have to see about some decorating...this, of course, means another trip to Home Depot is in my very near future.
So, the party-planner in me is a nervous wreck. I'll have about 50 people in my back yard, which, right now, looks like a waterlogged dump.
The Son's actual graduation day is the 12th. He is in need of a pair of pants and a dress shirt and a tie. And a shave and a haircut. Oh, and if an attitude adjustment could be arranged, too, that would be great. You would think he needed a root canal; he's constantly complaining that he doesn't like wearing 'dressy' attire but it clearly states on his school notice discussing graduation what the Class of 2018 is expected to wear. Every day since that notice came home, I'll ask him, "shall we go to the Big & Tall after school today?" And every day, his answer is, "nah, I'm tired," or "nah, I've got homework," or just plain, "nah, I don't feel like it." We are now nine days away from graduation and he has no pants, no shirt, no tie and no shoes, he's built like John Candy but has Zach Galifianakis' haircut with a five o'clock shadow he's too lazy to tend to. It's just ANOTHER THING we have to deal with in a short amount of time. So not only is the cement guy delaying me in several ways, I feel the Son is trying to cut it close, too.
So, before he left to go to the wasband's house, I informed him through clenched teeth that on Wednesday afternoon, we were going to the store after school and we would NOT be leaving until he's got a full outfit for his graduation. I got a very well rehearsed, "Absolutely, Mom. We will do that."
The sports fan in me is not happy right now, either. My New York Mets have sincerely forgotten how to play the game called baseball. My father, whom I inherited Mets fandom from, actually went online to try and get tickets to a YANKEE game. His reasoning? "I want to see some REAL baseball! I feel like I'm watching a Little League team!" (And he's not wrong about that.) I just came from watching tonight's game...score is tied at 1-1 for seven innings or so - then the Mets (Mess) decide to put in a reliever with a high ERA (I DO understand the bullpen was getting thin, but STILL....) and the Cubs score six. And to add injury to insult, the Mets come up empty in the bottom of the 14th. They've now lost four or five in a row - I forget which, but watching their games is rapidly becoming a risk of wasted time. Maybe I'll just start putting the games on during the last inning?
The Daughter had me laughing earlier this week, though. Do you all remember where, in a couple blog entries ago, I mentioned that I was dealing with some private issues? Well, I'm still not quite ready to divulge all those details but it has to do with her recent behavior and a phone call was placed by the school. The wasband was involved, of course, but we've NEVER been on the same page when it came to figuring out what was best when dealing with our children. He simply disciplines while I prefer to talk to them and both try to understand and help THEM understand why they acted in a certain way. I feel that's the most effective way to parent because you're actually listening to THEIR side, too and they see this - which makes them more likely to come to me for guidance or advice or whenever they run into trouble. I'm of the belief that if you lose your shit, they'll learn very quickly that you're NOT able to be there for them in a rational, calm manner when it's needed. And so, I listen and I discipline them AFTER I've heard the full story, I know they understand what they did was wrong and not before. But the wasband, having come from a broken, unstable home filled with violence and drug/alcohol abuse, has never been one to listen to what the kids have to say but is quick to deal out a punishment. It's a typical Lion Vs. Lamb situation. The kids are terrified of going to him first, for this reason mainly.
Anyway, long story short - the daughter has had her phone taken away for two weeks, now, as a result of her latest misbehavior. The wasband and I had sat her down (was just us three) and we had a discussion. Before this (pre-planned; 'meet me at the park at 5:00' sorta thing) discussion, I told the daughter that she just had to hear him out and let him say whatever he needed to say - we already knew he'd resort to his usual unreasonable, belittling ways and she wasn't likely to get a word in. She knows now that even if she doesn't agree with him, she'd better pretend she does because there is simply NO reasoning with him when he talks. This is exactly how I felt when I was married to him, and sadly, STILL how I feel, even after being divorced for almost ten years. The path of least resistance is simply to nod and let him THINK he's getting a point across. She (and her brother) has come to recognize this trait in her father and she was prepared for this meeting knowing that she and I would talk later on when it was just us two.
So, this is the part that made me chuckle. The wasband has a very distinct, unmistakeable face that he puts on whenever he doesn't understand or agree with something. His eyes get narrow, his lip curls upwards. He'll talk slowly, making you feel like you'd BETTER respond the right way. Yes, I'm fully aware this is all part of the abuse he's been inflicting on everyone around him for the last two decades or more, but some people, I've learned to accept, simply can't be fixed. The Son is nearly 18 and will eventually lock horns with his father (won't be a good day, but is inevitable, I think) and the Daughter, at 12, is already forming her own conclusions in regard to her father's character versus her mother's. Anyway, when this face comes on, he's clearly disgusted with you, he makes you feel as if YOU'RE the crazy one, and whatever you approached him about in the first place, becomes something you simply don't want to address anymore, resulting in the dropping of said topic/subject. It certainly was a deterrent when I approached him while we were married, and asked him if I could visit a therapist once per week. That didn't work out so well.
Anyhow, during our meeting, he put this face on. A face that the Daughter now refers to as the 'TrumpFace.' We had a very amusing talk on the way home from the park, where in the car I asked her how she felt it went. She felt she didn't get a chance to explain herself because he simply wouldn't listen to her nor did he present as approachable due to the constant putting on of the TrumpFace. I think, though, we'll just call it Constipa-Face because to me, it does resemble our current POTUS but also looks as if the wasband is severely constipated and is in serious need of some toilet time.
On one hand, I'm secretly glad that the Daughter and I have this mutual understanding about her Dad, but on the other, I am somewhat saddened because I do not feel that any child should feel that a parent is not truly there or understanding them and their needs. I guess in this respect, I'm going to be pulling double duty because Constipa-Face is incapable of change.
Has a nice ring to it, don't it?
So, ahh....yes - when the Daughter came into my room and caught me in autopilot mode, just kind of going down the list of shit I have to get accomplished this week, I looked down and realized that I was slowly feeding tiny bits of beef jerky to the cat. He was enjoying it, too...it was a tender enough brand of jerky and he was likely savoring the flavor-filled chews before swallowing his treat. And he'd wait patiently for the next morsel, too, which I'd deliver in between my own little bites.
I suppose I'll find out in the morning if he truly enjoyed it or it ended up irritating his stomach.
Hoping all's well with you guys. Until next time.