Momfrontations

Follow up to My Bday Weekend

2009-10-13T18:44:00.000-07:00

Originally written in April.

So I finally got the Complaint Call from Crazy, in which she explained how rude she thought we all were, leaving her behind repeatedly on Historical Street and how she "genuinely just wanted to show [us] the stores", and here I was biting her head off. I said the reason I bit her head off when I came back to fetch her at Historical Sweets was for this reason right here: that I knew, at that moment, she would call within the week and lay me out about "walking too fast" and "leaving her behind" and "being rude" and "all she wanted to do was be allowed to shop like everyone else", rather than what she was really doing, which was dragging her feet to make herself look pathetic and have us all running around after her like baby ducks, wondering what would please her to do next, until she declared that she was done shopping and then we'd all be allowed to leave. Because that is exactly what happens every other time.

She of course hates it when I call her on things and blew up, asking how I could possibly assume such a horrible thing, to which I replied that I wasn't new. She then claimed we can all improve our behavior and get along without having to cut off trips entirely, which she rightly guessed I was *thisclose* to doing. All my assertions that we'd been informed she would be catching up to us any moment, by her, somehow were invalidated immediately and the 'misunderstanding' blamed on Beleagured Dad.

Then she sat in silence, waiting for my apology. She's still waiting.

I suppose what I should be thankful for is that she only took 3 days to spin that crap into gold. Heaven only knows what she would have made it sound like if she'd taken til the weekend to work on it. It would probably have been the solution to the country's economic problems and I, being the evil hag that I am, have now dashed it in twain, leaving the country to founder in recession, or something equally dramatic involving Jesus.

The Historical City Saga*, aka, My Bday Weekend

2009-10-13T18:06:00.000-07:00

(Originally written April 24)

*Names have been blandified to protect the guilty bloggers. I publish this now because it is approaching her "birthday weekend" during which the Crazy reaches epic proportions. Beware.

Saturday night, we all met at Historical St in Historical City with the goal being to have dinner at Popular Fish Restaurant. First half was fine, though Crazy made Beleagured Dad walk all the way back to the car to get her point-and-shoot camera, despite my brother having his large, professional camera. Dinner was ok, but because we were sitting right where the wind whipped through from the water, Crazy lectured everyone about not having jackets, and asked pointedly if I didn't want my father to ask the waitstaff for a towel or tablecloth to wrap up in. Then she got put out that I didn't and sat sullenly in protest of my not wrapping up like a mummy in public at dinner. The nerve of me!

After dinner, the Crazy really kicked in. She started taking mass amounts of photos (I'm sure they're all just fabulous, since we were totally windblown by then) and announced they were picking up the check... then complained loudly that it was So Expensive. Nobody knew what to do... offer to buy anyway? Say thanks and look abashed? This happens everytime they offer, which thank God is infrequently.

We started walking back, intent on getting some gelato, and she kept falling behind. FAR behind. This is a well-known Crazy Trick--you think you are all walking somewhere together, but if she is not in the lead, dictating your every step, speed, and stop, that means she's behind you, dragging her feet, trying to do the same thing. Only she chooses random speeds so that you can never truly estimate the proper gait to keep her in the group and must continually turn around to check on her, at which point she'll greet you, wherever she is, possibly as far as 2 blocks behind, with a slightly sad smile, like she always knew you were the kind of inconsiderate bastard that leaves your mother wandering the streets of historical cities alone while you selfishly search out the fleshly gratification of ice cream-related products.

I should note that she's very fit and perfectly able to keep up with a normal walking speed. It is 100% intentional.

So, anyway, everyone had to constantly double up to find her, and, I'm sorry, but it was impossible with this many people on the streets. At one point a huge glut of people separates us, and Beleagured Dad runs up to say she's stopped at Historical Sweets and would "catch up." Fine, so we keep trying to find the gelato.

*2 minutes later*

Phone call #1: Where are you guys?

Phone call #2: Ok, we'll catch up with you.

Phone call #3: WHY HAVEN'T YOU COME TO FIND ME. THIS STORE IS AMAZING!

It is at this point that her voice begins to take on an inexplicably loud, slightly stoned quality. I find that people do this when they want to emphasize how magical a moment is when it really isn't. It also has the unfortunate side effect of quashing emotion around them, since you clearly Don't Get how amazing this moment truly is.

Well, we were finally at the end of Very Long Historical Street, with gelato, and had to walk all the way back, only for her to exclaim about the wonders of this store and act like she'd never been there. Hello? We're natives. We've been there.

After several more stops for weird photos ("WOW, WHAT IS THIS FLOWER?!" "Bouganvillia, just like is in the back yard." "LET'S ALL TAKE A PHOTO IN FRONT OF THIS WATER WHEEL!"), we reached the end and she announced that she's never been to Historical City at night because "we" are always trying to hustle her back to the car after dinner, but she loves it there in the evenings. Totally, patently false. We have been to Historical City, a mere 30 minutes from our own city, hundreds of times, possibly more than a thousand, most times at night for hours at a time if she herself wasn't hustling us back to the car for no reason.

20 yards from the car, Crazy tried to organize one last photo of "the bride and groom" which I nixed, because 1. give me a break, 2. we've been married 6 months, 3. I look like crap after 3 hours in the wind, 4. I had horrible cramps which she knew about, and at last we could leave.

The following day wasn't much better, as I was nearly crippled with cramps and a migraine, so of course she wanted to go walk on the beach. On my feet and away from a bathroom: just what I wanted!

Instead I had them all over for lunch, where she was offended that I didn't have enough napkins out for her (8), that I made a 'centerpiece' of chips bags (I set up a buffet on the formal table, but she insisted we move all the food and sit there instead), and that I didn't feel like entertaining everyone for more than 3 hours.

How dare I, right? I spent the rest of the day in bed, freebasing ibuprofen and moaning.

Someone please shoot me.

Let the holiday hell begin

2009-09-24T17:12:00.001-07:00

Same day, post inspection, just as I'm finishing dinner prep, phone rings.

Highlight #1:
C: Well, I just thought I'd check in... (tone suggests I should have already called) How much longer did you stay after I left?
Me: Um, not much longer since you stayed until after the inspectors left.
C: Oh! But I saw them give you key!
Me: That's the realtor's key. I locked it up in the box.
C: But you don't get a key?!?!?!
Me: We haven't paid for the house yet, Mom.

Highlight #2:
Me: ...so we ran to the store, then talked to his dad about the results on Skype.
C: *clearly jealous tone* OH?! And when did they get a phone on their computer?!
Me: Um, a few months ago? So we can talk to them?
C: MHMMMM
(I'm still confused about that one, seeing as how, we see my parents all the time.)

Highlight #3:
C: So, you mentioned his parents might visit for Christmas?
Me: Yes, they may, but we don't know.
C: But....... How is that FAIR?!
Me: Fair?
C: You saw them LAST Christmas! And you're going up for Thanksgiving!
Me: We're going up before Thanksgiving and we'll be here for Christmas. They'll be alone on Christmas.
C: But that would only be fair if you didn't see them at ALL last Christmas. And now they'll see you again!!
Me: I thought the point was that WE would be HERE vs. us being there.
C: Well, if you don't care, nobody will care. You're making me sound like a 15 year old!
Me: You do sound like a 15 year old. His parents can visit us if they want.
C: But we won't get to see you alone! They will be involved in everything!
Me: Why does that matter?
C: IT'S NOT FAIR!!!
Me: I have to go. *click*

Inspection Day

2009-09-24T17:08:00.000-07:00

My husband and I are in the middle of purchasing a home, and today Crazy and my Beleagured Dad, clamoring like 6 year olds before Christmas, demanded to attend the official inspection. Here are the results:

Crazy was thrilled and got there very early to see the house alone, chatting up even our incredibly verbose realtor and inspector, and pretty much never shut up the entire time. I walked in, the inspector was introducing himself, and Crazy walks right up, grabs me, and says, "Show me the walk-in pantry. Now." She had just looked at it herself. It was empty. It's an empty closet. What is there to show?

The whole time was like that. "Come here. Look at this. Look at that. Walk over here. Show me this. You know what you need to do... What you should do... You know what you MUST do..."

Here was the best suggestion: "You really have to get another stove. I mean, everyone who cooks wishes they had 2 stoves. You could put it RIGHT HERE. Just take out this cabinet."

I was like, "Yet again, totally NOT a priority. As soon as we shell out all of our cash for a down payment, the closing, the floor, a washer drier, blinds, paint, caulk, CHRISTMAS, etc. etc. etc...."

Give me a break. She kept saying they should leave and let us finish up, and yet they didn't walk out the door until after the inspectors left. I could barely get a word in edgewise with the inspector thanks to her.

True cost of home buying short vent

2009-09-18T17:24:00.000-07:00

The real hidden cost of buying a home isn't anything in the house or having to do with finances, it's the fact that every time I call Crazy with an update, which, as we all know, are mandatory upon penalty of death, the conversation goes like this:

My news + (Her random thoughts about Janet Jackson, the news, Pilates chairs, Home Shopping, church drama, etc. = minutes spent telling her my news x 50 billion) = EVERY CONVERSATION

I even stop responding! It doesn't stop her! She keeps talking!

Last conversation, I timed it. 1 minutes 32 seconds relating the results of our offer being accepted, 24 minutes of her random thoughts including 8 minutes of my not actually responding in any way.

Priorities

2009-09-17T17:28:00.000-07:00

Me: "Well, it looks like we're going to win the bid on the house!"
C: "That's great! But the real question is, are you going to get rid of his sofas first?"
Me: "Um, I haven't gotten that far yet..."
C: "...because you CANNOT put his sofas in that house, I mean, you CANNOT. They are so Northeastern and huge and dark and don't look nice and ......" (10 minutes of random blather)
*silence from me*
C: "I mean, let's get real. Who cares about financing and affording floors and whatever. Get rid of his sofas."

2009-09-04T17:45:00.000-07:00

Well, it's a holiday weekend, and y'all know what that means:

Crazy Time! (tm)

My phone just rang with her going on while eating popcorn loudly that "since it's a holiday weekendddddddd......, I was wondering if you... (insert time-consuming, overly dramatic, out-of-the-way event)."

This time, it's going to Other Fish Restaurant, which we've already had a meltdown over because we previously wouldn't go there at 10:30 am in the 96-degree blazing sun. Yes, if anyone ever wishes to make dinner plans with us, please be advised that we will suggest a time and location convenient and comfortable for everyone and will most likely nix any locations that involve one or all of the parties experiencing heat stroke.

THE AUDACITY OF US... BUM BUM BUMMM!!!

So, yeah, anyway, she wants to go to Other Fish Restaurant and of course suggested, everyone say it after me:

Going to Historical Street in Historical City.

There is no. way. in. HELL we are doing that evar again, even if it is good blog material. So I said we'd meet them after viewing houses on the way down. And then she offered to follow us through the neighborhoods in a car to see them also.

Um... No.

Dinner Momversations

2009-07-18T17:20:00.000-07:00

For someone so concerned with propriety, I often wonder how Crazy justifies her conversational, shall we say, diversions. You can be talking to her about something perfectly normal, and suddenly she'll be 'reminded' of something she saw on CourtTV, typically about a man murdering his wife (when I was single, somehow the murdered wives in her stories always matched my description). Before you know it, you're on the unstoppable conversational train to Crazyland.

We could be walking out of church, fresh off an inspirational message and surrounded by fellow parishoners, when, literally out of the blue, she'd launch into a loud, detailed description of how so-and-so beat his wife's head in on the sofa, dragged her into the woods, and then sat down to a nice chianti. No amount of shock on my or my brother's part, or shushing, would slow the bizarre turn towards the morbid.

Tonight The Man and I went to dinner with my parents at a once-classic locale, now musty restaurant, picked by her. We'd said no or diverted to another place so many times already that the guilt tripping about going there was unavoidable. The evening started oddly enough with some stray passive-aggressiveness about our upcoming vacation planning, but eventually hit a stride.

It was towards the end of dinner that things got weird again. The Man and I had started telling my parents about a house we'd been considering buying--pretty important stuff--when Crazy launched into, "BOY, that thing with those people getting killed down south is pretty crazy!" I was startled, but I guessed I could see where she might have thought there was a conversational lull. We talked briefly about it and then I mentioned the house again to wrap up our thoughts (if I hadn't, I would have been accused of hiding it from her).

Before I knew it, she'd turned to Dad and said, "Who was that woman you worked with? Whose son killed his wife?" She turned back to us and said ominously, "They found him GUILTY." And proceeded to describe how he'd done it. Graphically. Still at the dinner table.

We sputtered through the end of the meal and headed out, said goodbye, and got in the car. As we started the car, we said, "What was THAT?!" The Man conjectured that Crazy just couldn't stand to be out of the center of attention, and on the way home we wondered how she would react if someone else in the room were equally Crazy. Would it suddenly be improper? Would it be her soul mate?

Let's not find out.

Doing Something

2009-07-13T15:04:00.000-07:00

Crazy is all about Doing Things, either the fact that we are doing them or not doing them. For example, on the holidays, she won't tell you when to come over for Christmas lunch or Thanksgiving dinner because she feels that it's the holiday and you should come sit around with your family. When you ask, "Why? What are we doing?" She says, "Nothing. We're not doing anything today. It's family time." And by that she means, literally, you are sitting around, doing nothing, including talking, because something riveting is on Fox News or HSN. Quality family time like that.

On the opposite hand, she was a stay-at-home mom and is now a stay-at-home wife, so she was able to get all her errands and chores done during the week. So when the weekend came around, she didn't care if you hadn't gotten all that done, she wanted to Do Something, typically involving getting up super early and taking all day. And if you said, "Sorry, I really have to get xyz done," or, "Sorry, I just am way too bushed from the week," she'd immediately go into a pout and accuse you of keeping her from doing anything fun. Nevermind that she could have gone and done it, it was way better to add Guilt Trip and Apology to your weekend To Do list.

The extra thing about her Doing Something is that it can never just be something simple, like run to the mall for a couple of hours, it always has to have the following characteristics:

1. Totally new.
2. She saw it in the paper.
3. It's somehow unideal weather-wise, like outside in July or during a monsoon.
4. It involves leaving one car, so that you are subject to her whims, despite your protests.
5. It takes all day.

Now that I'm married, she's mostly laid off the pre-planning, but still calls frequently on Saturday morning, leaving long, detailed messages about an event she's sure we'll want to go to, with or without them, and which she expects an excuse for if we don't. A good excuse. Not just a realistic excuse.

This Saturday, for instance, she left three messages with details regarding the World Frisbee Competition, for which she didn't have the all-day schedule but thought it would be great for us to go to, in an open field, in the sun, when it was 95 degrees. YES, SIGN ME UP.

Obviously, we nixed that. She was put out.

The next day was church. Crazy had already put in a request the week before that we all go out to lunch afterwards at a fish place, in one car, 45 minutes south, outside, in the sun. Again.

Understandably, The Man declined. I broke the news to her after the service that we'd rather stay in the area, and how about we go to brunch instead, together with my oldest friend, who was also there. OH, come ON!!! she immediately whined. And walked off alone from the group. I said, "Let's just go to brunch around here, ok?" "No, y'all don't ever want to have brunch with us." "And yet we've made plans for today to do just that." "No."

Again, walking off from 4 other adults. Eventually I caught up and asked if she were sure. "No," she pouted, and proceeded to say goodbye to everyone else as we all headed to our cars.

I assume the ensuing silence is her trying to figure out a way to make this all my fault.

You're Wearing That?

2009-05-19T18:26:00.000-07:00

She called me, saying she had read a book I had given her probably 2 years ago titled, "You're wearing that?!" about the landmines of communication between daughters and mothers.

Personally I had to spend several months talking myself into giving it to her, because even though I found it to be incredibly accurate and helpful, things of that nature are generally not well received, like,

Me: "Would you please tell me what you're thinking before you make plans involving me?"

Her: "You always think the WORST of me!! How can you say that?!"

Me: "Because you just made plans for my entire weekend without asking me."

Her: *click*

Her: *calls back* AND DON'T TALK TO YOUR MOTHER THAT WAY *click*

Anyway, she claimed to have read it 3 times now, trying to figure out, why, for the life of her, I would recommend such a thing to her. Perhaps, she pleaded, pseudo-sweetly, I could tell her why I might think we are similar to those "crazy, dysfunctional, sad women" in the book?

What am I, new? That's a phone call I'll never make.

Photo Follow Up

2009-05-19T18:21:00.000-07:00

Mom called me the morning after looking at the wedding photos, Tone fully employed.

"Yeah, um, I liked them."

I said, "Why didn't you like them?" because it's obvious she didn't.

"There aren't enough pictures of me."

Then she gave me a list of 30 photos to remove from the proofs. Not the album, no. The proofs that were no longer allowed to exist.

Reminded me of her mother, who never met a photo of herself she couldn't throw out. Future epitaph? Take it again.

The Good Pink Coat

2009-05-19T09:17:00.000-07:00

You wouldn't think I could have a story about her from my honeymoon, but yes, yes, I do.

The deal was, The Man moved here in July into our new 3/2 condo while I took my time packing up my 1/1, working, planning the wedding, etc. Eventually I was so near breakdown that my parents assured me I shouldn't worry, whatever was left in my condo they would move while I was gone. Clearly, this was a mistake on my part, but, hindsight.

Now I thought I had done a pretty darn good job of getting most everything over there, but apparently not. Eventually Crazy broke her toe doing something over there, so you know I will be paying for that until the day I die. The thing is, I'd told them to just hire movers, gave them the name of one, and said I would reimburse immediately upon return and would even give them my card. But no. Why should they do that when I can pay for it in guilt?

So on our honeymoon, The Man was enjoying a family-less phone call time, while I occasionally had to field one from the ever-crazed homefront as they did whatever it was they were doing in my furniture-only-left condo. Example: I had covered my dining room table in tons of stuff to be donated. Everything on the table => Salvation Army. Everything. on. the. table. There was a note to that effect, an itemized inventory, and I had confirmed that fact in several texts throughout the day. All that needed to be done was the hauling.

The next day, The Man and I are hiking through an old lava flow, hot as sin, and crabby because we were lost. *RING* It's Dad.

"So, what should I do with these coats on the table?"

"As I mentioned, everything on the table goes."

"Even the coats?"

"Everything. I have replaced them all."

I hear Crazy in the background, "SURELY NOT HER GOOD PINK COAT!!!!!"

"YES, Dad, my coats. Because I have replaced them all. Because they are all 15 years old. ALL of them."

"Well, what about...." *line crackles* "blrhgb *crack* blwurhg?"

"Dad, we are out in the middle of a lava flow."

*Crazy is going on and on in the background about how I don't mean what I say*

"What?"

"WE ARE OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF A LAVA FLOW."

"Well, excuse me, but we are [blahblahblah guilt trip]."

"I'm just saying I can't hear you, so if all else fails, everything on the table goes to charity."

"Ok."

At this point, The Man had become irritated with the conversation and had wandered off into the attraction alone, quite far. I was irate. They were irate. The next 24 hours were irate with many texts.

A week later I come home... and what is in my closet? The coats.

I call Crazy: "Why didn't you donate these coats? It's cold out there. People need these."

"SURELY, you didn't mean your GOOD PINK COAT!?!!?"

*sigh*

Got a Light?

2009-05-19T09:08:00.000-07:00

Another one from the Wedding Archives:

Since I spent this afternoon manhandling my bed back together in the 3rd bedroom and, again, the largest box in there is due to the following situation, here is my final Wedding + Crazy story:

I bought approximately 1 bajillion votives from Crate & Barrel for the reception tables and filled them with silk hydrangeas. Then I got 8 square vases for the centerpieces and 4 tall vases for our bouquets.

Crazy had repeatedly called me during the weeks and days up to the wedding, sometimes more than once a day, telling me I needed to come up with a method to give out the votives/centerpieces afterwards, suggesting a dot under the plate, something under the chair, etc.: a game. I did consider it, but was ultimately distracted by all the other decisions needing to be made. I even made a note on my final to-do list in my wedding purse and on the DJ's sheet that I might have an announcement to that effect. My sole concern was that my bridesmaid get the ones she’d claimed for her reception. My mother, however, thought for sure that The Man’s family would want to take them (they would never go make it home in a suitcase--I broke 2 just trying to straighten the flowers), I should send them with the grandmothers, whatever.

Beyond that, my only idea was that I’d asked the setup people to evenly distribute colors of paper cranes I’d made, and cream being the smallest number, so people with cream could have them. But, when I got to the reception, I saw that the DOC had put all the cream ones on the head table, so I just put it completely out of my mind from that point on, especially since our DJ was a mumbler, and nobody would have heard him anyway.

Meanwhile, my Beleaguered Dad approached me hesitatingly towards the end, telling me that Crazy yet again was going ballistic about whom would get the votives, and I just said, "Please just tell people to TAKE them. Seriously, all I want is to not have them when I come home." So he ran off to execute the plan.

I should have known that wasn't good enough. As the reception started to wind down, I saw Crazy out of the corner of my eye, in a frenzy. Apparently she noted that Dad's family was hauling off the centerpieces and votives, which enraged her, and she had grabbed Dad by the arm telling him to stop them, that it was wrong, etc. Then I turned around and saw her corralling the waiters into gathering all the glass pieces and putting them on a table in the corner as she fluttered around the room, hands fanning the air, stating dramatically, "THIS ISN'T THE WAY IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPENING!!!" like Scarlett O'Hara.

I believe I said, "What on earth are you doing?" She said something Crazy about it all being WRONG WRONG WRONG, no matter what I said, and since I was about 15 minutes from walking out to 2 weeks of Crazyless bliss, I just let it go.

And so, here I am: 2 centerpiece vases, 4 tall vases, and TWENTY-FIVE votives. Because it's so much better that I have all of them than the "wrong" people have any. I'm so relieved....

Feelings, Nothing More Than Feelings

2009-05-18T18:48:00.000-07:00

At the rehearsal dinner, The Man’s parents (FIL, SMIL, and MIL) disappeared for quite some time, and eventually reappeared. They had written out a 12-page poem about him from birth to the present and did a dramatic reading of it. Cute, funny, long--that is their way. His family is very vocal about family, hosting, toasts, etc. When we first got engaged, his father broke out into a sweet, spontaneous toast declaring their love for me and their happiness at my joining the family; it was very touching and we cried (well, I did).

My family on the other hand... Let's just say they have really wide Personal Space zones and are tightlipped like Blue Bloods. Their philosophy is more like, If anything sentimental needs to be said, don't look at me... and better yet, don't say it at all. Ew, I think a feeling got on me. Shortly after we got engaged, Crazy stumbled over saying that she loved The Man, and I just said, “Don't worry about it, you've got time to work on that.”

Meanwhile, the long speech. Suddenly, my parents were very uncomfortable; it hadn't occurred to them to say anything at all, even though they were hosting all these people in our hometown. A few people turned to me and loudly joked, "So when do we get to hear all about you?" in front of them, and I tried to laugh it off, damage control, saying, "Google me." I could tell it had hit the mark, but it was a distracting time and they dropped it.

As the wedding reception began the next day, however, Crazy realized that, yet again, his family was going to say something (his brother was the best man), so, she ran to tell me that they were going to give a speech.

The thing is, even when they try, it just doesn't happen; they're just not naturally expressive, especially when it comes to their children, and I’ve made my peace with it. Some people are extremely thankful for their children and fascinated by them; my parents see it like, they birthed us, fed us, clothed us, and here we are being SUCCESSFUL, INDEPENDENT ADULTS. EVERY DAY. THE NERVE. They are still getting over it, and not well.

Plus, the spotlight: You know how some people giggle under pressure? My parents just look like they are supremely annoyed and about to lecture you, and, odds are, they are. I tried to talk them out of it, but they went on and unsmilingly thanked all the vendors, irritably said they were happy to have The Man in the family, etc. All in all, nothing was said about me at all, yet again, and, wow, it was awkward.

Then his brother got up, and gave another amazing, touching, sweet, long speech about The Man and misted up about how he was happy to have me as an aunt to his children. My maid of honor gave a sweet, funny, little speech about us... And the whole time Crazy could not have looked MORE completely put out. Feelings! On display! Eloquent ones at that! Eegads!

Crazy felt outdone again, and so, in turn, tried to say one more thing about the photographer (I'm not sure why thanking the vendors was akin to talking about me as a daughter, but whatever), and it again went over like a lead zeppelin.

Sigh, family.

Wedding Photos

2009-05-18T18:40:00.000-07:00

Can you tell I'm cleaning out the archive?

After the wedding, we assembled for photos. Now, I envisioned in my mind doing somewhat of an assembly line: all grandparents and assorted relatives, then they can go; all siblings, then they can go; all parents, then all bridal party, then the two of us. Meanwhile, Crazy was pulling people here and there, and since a few people had wandered off, she wondered out loud near my Beleaguered Dad, "Where is so-and-so?" And he, not being stupid, would run out the door to find them. Problem was, we didn't need those people right then, we needed HIM. Father of the Bride—kind of integral to wedding pictures.

So, every time I turned around, she's casually mentioned some other random person, and my father had again run out the door to find them. Grandparents were wearing out, I was starting to lose it a little, and he was nowhere to be found. When he’d get back, she’d yell at him for running off. Repeat 10x. By the time we'd finished with photos, I had completely lost my gourd and probably looked like a bridezilla standing up there in my glory going, WHERE IS MY FATHER?! YOU! IT'S YOUR TURN! CAN NANA GO OR WHAT. Then Crazy had turned to my brother to go find someone irrelevant, and he was a groomsman! Not a better choice.

The photographer’s wife, bless her heart, reassured me that my dad would be found, before Crazy chased him off again looking for, who knows, the neighbor's niece or something ridiculous.

Then came the best line of all: She walked up to the stage and announced, "Now I just want one of OUR family, not The Man*."

I said, "We just got married. He IS our family." And here I'd thought people only said stuff like that in movies.

Lastly, when I got a little preview set of photos back, which was only a sample, her only reaction was, "I sure hope they got more pictures of me than that."

* My husband. Obviously not his real name, or what she calls him.

A Limousine Named Guilt

2009-05-18T17:40:00.000-07:00

Since the start of our engagement, my mother had been angling for me to get ready on the day of the wedding at her house. And, that is a nice idea, but it’s a ranch-style home built in the early 70s, apparently before builders realized you A) need more than 10 square feet in the bathroom and B) might enjoy a few windows. I kept asserting that if all my girls and I were going to get ready at once with a photographer in attendance, it might be smarter to be at my apartment, land of the gigantic bathroom, vanity, mirror, and windows. She, however, persisted, despite the fact that the very-tall, photographer would have barely been able to fit in our bathroom alone, much less with me, my poofy dress, and the ever photogenic 1-foot-tall vanity.

The day before the wedding, I finally insisted that we not try to shoehorn ourselves into her place, which led her to accuse me of not wanting her to help me get ready, no matter my logical reasons. Randomly, she then switched tactics and announced that now there would not be room in the borrowed SUV for her, just by sheer virtue of us being at my apartment. I had to count the seats, three times, to convince her otherwise, reminding her that I only had THREE bridesmaids, and 4 plus 2 is 6.
The day of, the frantic phone calls start rolling in, saying they haven't yet picked up the SUV from my aunt's (I thought they'd picked it up days before and had it detailed, as they’d told me), Dad hadn't yet delivered the flowers to the reception place, she hadn't yet done xyz, and according to her accusatory tone, this was all my fault. Considering that none of those things were my idea, I'm still trying to figure that out; but I was the bride, so why not blame me for everything. Because what I needed was more stress.

The photographer was due at 3 and the girls at 1. She, however, decided she would not come until they'd picked up the SUV. At some point, she’d hijacked my brother, who should have been with my fiancé as a groomsman, into picking up the key midday. He hadn't eaten all day, so my party had to force a sandwich on him before he ran back off on her errand.

Meanwhile, the photog arrived early, I was stuck in shorts, we were all completely made up… It was now 3:30, when we should have been leaving to do photos at the church, rather than just starting dress photos, and she was STILL NOT THERE. (5 o'clock wedding, 30 minute drive)

FINALLY, about 3:40 she arrived, sauntering in, all sweet, "Oh! You waited for me to get dressed!" What was I, new? Did I want the Everlasting Guilt Trip of All Time Until I Died for putting on my own wedding gown and not having MOB photos? And, of course, she hit me immediately with one last guilt trip for the late SUV pickup. Nice to see you, too.

Eventually she helped me get ready, we got our photos, she asked for more... It was 4 PM and guests were due to start arriving at 4:30, so church photos were totally scrapped. We all got in the car, and of course as I texted my brother, the guys were all leaving at the same time, which meant we had to go through shenanigans to not see them.

All this thanks to the woman who told me literally all my life that wedding days should be scheduled to the minute because that is proper and right and "Southern."

Lesson learned?

Newsflash

2009-04-26T18:52:00.000-07:00

Apparently my 3-day migrane and crampfest is my own darn fault due to being "dehydrated" and "drinking all that caffeine" like I do, or so my mother claims. I have one cup of tea or coffee in the morning and drink water all day.

What else should I be doing, hooking myself up to an IV? Sometimes when I talk to her, I wonder who she's really thinking of, because it obviously isn't me.

But as we all know, the facts are irrelevant if they don't fit her story. So, meet me, the coffee addict.

Good Friday Crazy

2009-04-10T18:01:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I've ever shared what it is like to be on vacation with Crazy, but it is exactly what you might imagine, if you were stuck in the car with her for hours on end, in a different place, without her special foods and special water, without everything she controls 100% on a daily basis. I can't remember a trip, ever, in my whole life, without a major meltdown, many times before we got out of the driveway, and her threatening to go home.

My brother considered Christmas a little miracle and everyone declared it a success, when she "only" melted down for a few hours, woke his neighbors, and sulked in the morning, all because she didn't approve of my dad's driving techniques.

Anyway. Next weekend is Friends & Family weekend at NASA (brother works there), and she has been all about going, until it actually happened, and then she couldn't decide. I told my brother last night that we'd really love to go and spend time with him, but if she were there, heck no. Not only would we be stuck in one car with her and dad, but then either have to get a hotel room or sleep on the floor with all of them in the apartment. Nevermind coordinating with them for her buttcrack-of-dawn breakfast ideas, her "I can't eat that" dinners, etc.

Sure enough she calls me this morning, suddenly having decided to go. I tried to beg off and say DH wasn't too interested. She then says I could come with them by myself. Do I look NEW around here? After I say, "Probably not, but I'll watch your cats," she gives me a long guilt trip about how NASA hasn't done this in a while and it could be our last chance in a long long long long time and obviously I'm not "too thrilled" about doing it, which offends her on behalf of our country and space exploration as a whole.

Honestly, I would love to go. I'd love to poke around and see the campus and hang with my brother. I love space travel. But if she even so much as hinted at a meltdown, that would be one too many for me. I am not going to subject DH to that in close quarters, or myself, ever again, if I can help it.

I'm sure this won't be the last word about it, though.

Well, still...

2009-03-31T15:02:00.000-07:00

On the phone yesterday:

C: So you have to call and tell me all about your trip when you have time.
DP: I already told you about it.
C: YOU HAVEN'T TALKED TO ME SINCE YOU GOT BACK (12 hours)
DP: You called me 6 times this weekend and I told you everything we were doing, since you wouldn't let me off the phone.
C: Oh. Well, still.

Second phone call yesterday:

C: There's a special on TV about the preachers from the 1700s. I studied them for a few weeks in college, you know.
(She's told me this several times a year my whole life)
DP: Yes, I do know. And I studied the Puritans for a year and half in grad school, remember? I'm not unfamiliar with the material.
C: Oh. Well, still.

Also yesterday:
C: So, I guess you were doing laundry last night since you didn't call me. Did you get any sleep at all?
DP: Yes, we were settling back in, and I did get some rest, but I'm still really tired today.
C: That doesn't answer my question.
DP: Um... yes, it does.

Crying Wolf

2009-03-25T14:59:00.000-07:00

Right as I'm finishing up my preparations to get out the door this morning, my cell rings. I see it's Her, so I wait til she leaves a message, because she periodically gets in a habit of calling me when I need to get somewhere and blabbing about nothing. The message is, "Oh, I was really hoping to catch you before you left for work, but I'll leave another message at work just in case. Please call me when you get this."

Now, anyone who knows me knows I check my cell compulsively, so if you leave a message on both phones, to me, that is akin to screaming out FIRE!!! So I think, What if something has happened to Grandpa (he's almost 90) or my brother got in a wreck in the rain or... So I call her back.

She wanted me to call her so she could tell me that my brother would still be in town until 1 in case I wanted to call him to chat. Um, yeah. Or I could just... call him every day on his cell. What difference is it that he's in town on his cell or in Orlando on his cell if he doesn't have time to hang out? This was the big emergency???

Then she proceeds to tell me in excruciating detail about them hooking up their new DVD player. I mean, if that isn’t worth hunting down someone, I don’t know what is.

How Moving

2009-02-28T14:50:00.000-08:00

Recently his grandmother called her, and as grandmothers are wont to do, spent the hour mostly talking about what she'd been doing, what was going on with her friends, and how she felt. When you come to accept the reality of this about grandmothers, your life becomes infinitely easier--that's what they all talk about. Far be it from Mom to accept reality, though. I get a call later that day:

“I just talked to his grandmother on the phone.”
“Oh, that’s nice. She’s sweet.”
“Well, I could barely get a word in edgewise.”
“That’s how the elderly are, Mom. Dad’s mom is just like that.”
“EXACTLY. You should never move up there, ever. They’re just like your father’s family.”
*silence*
“What?! Don’t tell me you’re already planning on moving back.”
“Not yet, but she’s 86 years old. Don’t you think she just wanted someone to talk to?”
“JUST. LIKE. YOUR FATHER. DON’T. MOVE.”

Right, because conversations with family down here are so balanced.

Holy Shrimp Creole

2009-02-25T14:42:00.000-08:00

I called my mom on the way back from the store yesterday afternoon to check on her day. I mentioned that I had a car full of shrimp and whatnot for Mardi Gras.

I’m just heading home with some shrimp for Mardi Gras.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

It's Mardi Gras. Today.

"Why would you celebrate that?"

No reason, just good food. I'm just doing shrimp creole and some tiny king cakes.

"Isn't that when people act like heathens before Easter?"

It's before the self-denial of lent.

"I wonder what Jesus thinks of Mardi Gras."

Ummm....He probably thinks it’s pretty trashy?

“I think he thinks it’s MORE than TRASHY.”

Ok?

"When you think about it, those masks are really demonic."

........The…what?

"I mean, really, they've made it worse than Hallmark has made Christmas."

Ok, then.

Dueling Voice Mails

2009-02-15T14:51:00.000-08:00

On Valentine’s Day, our first as a married couple, Mom started the day by texting 4 times about an order for our business, then followed up with a frantic phone call, none of which I could hear in the loud brunch place we’d picked. After she indignantly argued against my definition of brunch (1 PM) versus hers (10 AM), we resolved the issue and she mentioned my father might want to bring over something after dinner for our first Valentine’s.

The day goes on, I don’t hear from them, so I lay down for a 20-minute nap at 5 before we make our favorite meal. When I get up, I find, again, several messages demanding to know where I am (at home?) and a voice mail from my father saying they’re out to dinner and want to come by. Immediately following that is a voice mail from her stating… that I should 1. answer my phone right away and 2. listen to my father’s voice mail.

Think about it....

Spare the Birthday, Spoil the Child

2009-01-31T14:39:00.000-08:00

We found a great deal on airfare and happily the dates lined up with our niece’s birthday. When I later excitedly told her of our plans, she admonished me. “You know, as much as they all go on about those kids, if you ever go up for their birthdays, you’ll just be spoiling them.” “Mom, she’s 2. It’s not like we can ignore their birthdays to make them tougher.” “Still.”

Jesus vs. Jack Bauer (the original Momfrontation)

2009-01-01T14:30:00.000-08:00

This is the story that started it all, and it's 100% true.

We all know that every season of 24 starts with 2 hours on a Sunday and 2 hours the next day, to kick start the plot. Back when season 5 or 6 started, I can’t remember which, I had a tiny premiere party of four, including me, made a few appetizers on Sunday and then re-invited the crew over for dinner on Monday. It was very casual, just my closest friends, and clearly not a big deal.

Monday night I’m sticking the meatloaf in the oven and making a salad when the phone rings. Mom says accusingly, “Well, you certainly are going all out for a TV show.” Insert overused metaphor about dripping disdain here. TV is something she and I never quite saw eye to eye on; she prefers Law & Order, NCIS, and anything featuring Nancy Grace or a young woman being killed by her husband, all material that would later show up in an argument. Meanwhile, I am decidedly on the scifi and blowing crap up programming track.

At any rate, I say, “Not really, just throwing together some dinner before the show comes on.”

“I just don’t understand all this hype about something so violent and amoral. It never even makes sense to me.” (She usually tunes in once about hour 17 and declares it nonsensical. And I am forced to agree, but still.)

“It’s just fun. You have to suspend disbelief and enjoy the explosions.”

“When are you going to throw a JESUS PARTY?”

The ridiculous statement, the guilt-laden, disapproving tone, is so classically provocative, I’m steered immediately into sacrilege: “Um, maybe when he throws a 2-hour premiere featuring good-looking men and nuclear bombs. I don’t know.”

“Well, why don’t you ever throw a party for one of Joel Osteen’s sermons? And invite everyone? Jesus isn’t worth celebrating?”

“Seriously, Mom. That’s just silly.”

“BUT WHY??”

“OH LOOK JENNIFER IS HERE!” *click*