Weekend Warrior

I’m a fixer by nature. Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest child in my family. Maybe it’s just from our family dynamic of big personalities, stubbornness, and very verbal opinions. Maybe it’s just because I’d rather we all get along and I’ll do my part (and more) to make it that way. I don’t know. I just know I work to fix things when I can. And this compromise can put me some sticky situations because I am not immune to the stubbornness of my family, which means I’m fairly tenacious.

 

It was a very stressful weekend heading into a very stressful week. Friday evening there was an altercation at a local restaurant where we dine frequently. I don’t know if it’s the terrible two’s or just the two week combination of a head cold/sinus/allergies and the whole tooth debacle, but Love Bug has been fairly incorrigible lately. He was especially ornery at dinner Friday night so to calm him, Primero was playing music on his phone. The music was fairly loud (and I think I’m becoming immune to it) and a woman at the table behind us asked Primero to turn it down. Here’s the set up: The woman and her two kids, a boy and a girl probably around the ages of 7 and 9, were seated behind us sometime after we had ordered our food. They were expecting the father, who arrived roughly 15 minutes later. They were sitting behind me so Primero was facing their table. When the father got there, a lot of shoving ensued as he tried to cram himself into the booth with his daughter and I heard him admonishing her for not giving him enough room. Love Bug was clearly melting down, beginning to scream and throw things. It was clear the music was calming him down. I can understand asking to have the volume lowered. Primero immediately turned the music off and apologized. But, that wasn’t good enough for the woman at the table behind us. I didn’t really know what was happening, other than I knew Andres had been asked to turn the music off. His face got red and he uttered, “I need to get out of here” and stormed out of the restaurant. Love Bug and Chica Marie were eating their ice cream and I was trying to rush them so we could leave, since things had gotten uncomfortable. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even turn around. I had plans to talk to Primero about it, to let him know it is rude to play loud music in a restaurant, even if it is to keep the baby quiet. But, I had no intentions of speaking to the woman behind me. As I was gathering our things to pay the bill and leave, I heard, plain as day, the woman complaining to her waitress. It was over, the issue was over and done with, but she had to bring it back up to talk about it. Now, it was my turn to get red in the face. I turned to her, baby on my hip, and said, “Must we still talk about this? It’s over and done.” She sputtered about how rude it was and the music was inappropriate (um, no I don’t let Primero play inappropriate music for the children – yes it was rap, but it’s wasn’t offensive). To which I responded, “No, you continuing to talk about it when it’s over is rude and inappropriate. And you know what, these are foster kids, but thanks for judging us!” I was so angry I was shaking. I was so visibly upset and complaining to the manager when I was paying the bill that she took money off the bill because I said I didn’t think we’d be back. And I asked her to talk to her waitress about the situation. The waitress should not have talked about us when I was still sitting right there! I stormed out of the restaurant seething and met an equally angry Primero by the car. It was then that I found out Primero didn’t leave because he was asked to turn the music off, he stormed out because the woman was making condescending faces at him, which was pissing him off. What a terrible example to make for her kids! I praised Primero for leaving instead of causing a scene and then told him about the scene I caused since the rude woman couldn’t leave well enough alone. We drove Primero to his uncle’s house, since he had plans to visit with his cousin who is in town from Las Vegas. I had asked Primero to be home at 11 and he didn’t get in until after 11:30, which irritated me, mostly because the dogs have a hissy fit and wake me up.

 

Saturday my sister had planned, months ago in fact, for my mom, me, the other brides maid, and the mother-in-law-to-be to go along to the salon for her hairstyle trial. I was talking with my mom about it last weekend because she was unsure if she would be able to go along. She is now wearing a hard boot instead of the cast, but she isn’t able to put full weight on her left foot at this point. So, she cannot easily go up and down stairs, since she still needs to hop. She doesn’t feel comfortable with me wheeling her out of the house so my Brainiac idea was to have my sister’s fiancé come to the house to wheel her out and then I would take her to the salon appointment. I spoke with my sister about it and there was only a small, easily remedied hiccup – they had a meeting with the florist in the morning and they only have one car. So, the solution was to have the mother-in-law-to-be take my sister to the florist, freeing the car for the fiancé to drive to the farm and help me and my mom. Great! Done and done. But…. My mom asked about getting into the salon. So, my sister called the salon and was told there are two small steps and they are able to help a customer with a walker get up and down. My mom wasn’t sure she wanted to try it. I talked her into it. Until I made the fatal mistake of mentioning the mother-in-law-to-be would be taking my sister to the florist. My mom started to cry and said she didn’t want to go and hung up on me. (For more on the wedding drama go here and here) Sigh. I was contemplating not going myself and instead just visiting with my mom, but I thought I’d call my dad and see if he had any sage advice. We spoke for a few minutes about how hard things have been for my mom, how she had an issue at work last week and that being incapacitated during spring time is not helping her emotional well-being. I hemmed and hawed about it, but I finally called my sister after sending her a nondescript text saying “Mom doesn’t feel up to going today” as a cancellation to the above plans. I found my sister receptive to a conversation and we talked for a bit and agreed it wasn’t good for my mom to stay home and so we would carry on as planned. My sister would try to call her and let her know she was wanted at the event. Then my aunt called me. She had been on the phone with my mom (which is why she didn’t answer the first two phone calls my sister made) and wanted to know what was going on. I explained my error and how that upset the plans and my aunt agreed the plan to get her out was still the best and she also gave me her regrets, stating she needed to go see her mom (technically my grandmother) in the rehab because she fell and broke three ribs. I called my dad back to let him know the plans and because it occurred to me that I hadn’t made plans on how to get my mom back home. He said he had the smaller car and so it would be better for me to take her back in the van. My sister called stating she spoke with our mom and things were tense but my mom agreed to go, so the plans were definitely on. Thus, began my mad dash across the county. Primero had asked his uncle if he could come over, so that was my first stop. Then onto the bank for some cash and the meeting place for the respite foster home for the little ones, which was thankfully on my way to the farm. I found my mom to be nearly ready to go, I just needed to get her a shirt, and very moody. I tried to remain calm and chipper, gathering the things she needed, getting the van prepared for her wheelchair and walker, and listening to her complain about the wedding, my sister, her leg, and the state of the house and surrounding yards. My sister’s fiancé showed up and handily wheeled her out of the house, down the two ramps and right to the van and we were off. A quick stop for gas and we made our way to the salon in town. Fortunately my sister was there already and so she came and helped get my mom up the steps and into the salon. The hair stylist (her, her older sister, me and my sister used to all be the BEST of friends when we were teenagers – then life happened and we are hardly friends anymore) offered us some wine (OMG THANK YOU!) and got to work. My sister brought along the flower arrangement for the wedding along with a few extra roses to put in her hair. I got my mom settled, took pictures, tried to talk to the mother-in-law-to-be, gave advice on the hairstyle, and text Primero about seeing a movie afterwards. Two hours later and it was time to head back home. I did a quick make-up trial for my sister in the parking lot and then drove my mom home all the while listening to her rehash her complaints and hurts about the wedding as well as her statement, “If I had to permanently be in a wheelchair I’d get the biggest gun I could find and end it.” Getting her out of the house did not do much for her psyche. I called my dad and he was home from the market and thus available to wheel my mom back into the house where I heard more of the same talk regarding her displeasure at how my sister has handled things with the wedding as well as her anger over not being able to tend to her flower gardens.  I left the farm and text Primero I was on my way to pick him up. I was going thirty minutes into town to get him, hoping we’d have enough time to grab some dinner and then head back in the same direction of the farm to pick up the little ones. As I got to his uncle’s apartment I saw I had a missed call from his uncle and Primero text me to let me know they had gone to Dairy Queen, which was further away. I was livid! I called Primero and had to deal with his smart mouth on top of it. I spoke with his uncle about the plans regarding Primero’s mother’s anniversary party and learned it was going to be a big family reunion meeting/conversation and that he planned on leaving around 2 and being back no later than 6-6:30. This was more agreeable to me than the time Primero had told me, which was the party was starting at 7:30 pm in a town 40 minute away on a school night. Not a great idea. We had to rush off to get the little ones, driving twenty minutes back in the direction I had come from. We picked up the little ones and Primero asked to go to Old Navy to see about getting a new outfit, stating he needed new shorts. We didn’t stay too long in the store because Love Bug was grumpy and needed to go home to bed. Saturday ended with a redbox movie.

 

Sunday morning Love Bug had a haircut appointment. We go on off times so the barber can take his time and so it’s quiet for the little one. The barber didn’t cut Love Bug’s hair how I wanted it and spent time complaining his hair was knotted even after I confessed to not having time to comb it out. Sigh. Feeling sorta crappy about the baby’s haircut and the comments about his knotted hair (I DID’T HAVE TIME TO COMB IT!), we went grocery shopping getting home in time for Primero to have lunch before his older brother came to pick him up for the big family gathering. I was on pins and needles about the meeting because Primero told me his uncle told him something totally different than what he told me his expectations were for the reunion. Primero was worried about how things were going to go and how his mother would handle it if negative things were discussed on the day she was supposed to be celebrating. Luckily, it was a positive experience and seemed to create a lot of healing for the entire family. But, Primero was not home at the time I was made to believe he would be home. He finally text me to tell me he was back in town but visiting with Mr. J’s girlfriend and would be back by 8:45. I had been outside with the little ones most of the afternoon, so I needed to give them a bath. Unfortunately, Love Bug pooped in the tub again while I was taking Chica Marie’s hair out of  the rubber bands to wash it. And of course I didn’t see the floaters until I had already dumped the poopy water over their little heads. I put a naked Love Bug in the bathroom sink and had a shivering, naked Chica Marie standing next to me as I drained and washed the tub. Good Lord!

 

After the stressful weekend the week started off on the wrong foot. Transportation for Chica Marie’s special school program has been changed, they will pick her up at home, but it will take two weeks. So, this morning I had to run her to daycare to meet her bus. And the morning was just flying by with everyone not being ready to go. I had asked Primero to put the trash out last night, but he didn’t. I recommended getting up earlier to put it out because there was a lot of trash and because I knew there would not be any extra time this morning. He did not get up any earlier. At one point, when we were supposed to be in the car pulling away from the house, I was yelling for everyone to run, run, run and move, move, move. Primero got angry because I brushed Love Bug off while running past him and he fell (Primero said I pushed him). He refused to get in the car and instead walked to school, texting me later that I don’t appreciate what he does to help me and I treat them like the dogs when I yell at them like that. Never mind all that I do all. the. time. to keep the household running. All the dishes I wash, the laundry, the cleaning, the RUNNING to get some kid some place they want/need to be, the meals I prepare, the time and money I spend entertaining the children. Any appreciation for any of those things? No. All that I do is taken for granted. And when I ask for help and then don’t worship the ground he walks on, I’m the bee-otch. I know I’m not the cool mom. I’m the one who tells him to take the trash out. I’m not the mom who likes the same music as him. I’m the mom who tells him he can’t play songs with offensive lyrics when the kids are around. I’m not the mom who likes all his friends or likes that fact that he calls his girlfriend’s child his “step-daughter.” I’m the mom who tries to teach him how to be a grown up and that children are a responsibility not a fashion accessory. I’m not the mom who has an amazing story of redemption to tell. I’m the mom who is boring and does boring things like buys groceries and gets excited about using the points from groceries to get gas a few cents cheaper. I’m not the mom that’s part of his family. I’m the other person just doing her best, held to a higher standard and never quite making the mark. I’m the mom waiting in bed for the good-night hug, worrying each night it might be the last one. Of course I didn’t say any of this to Primero. I just thanked him for the help, told him I appreciated all he did and let it go. I felt the fight leave my body and I had no desire to even try to confront him about his warped thinking. I’m tired of fighting to get Primero to respect me, to think of me as anything other than a punisher, a rule-maker, and an ATM.

 

Primero relayed to me a conversation he had with his cousin when he visited with her Friday night. She and I have the same name and apparently he was confusing her in stories since our names are the same. She asked him why he didn’t call me mom (which, incidentally, Love Bug’s therapist asked him the same thing last week). He must have said something along the lines like it would be weird or something and his cousin went off on a tirade about how he should call me mom which made him feel uncomfortable. In his usual fashion, he changed the subject and I guess they didn’t speak about it again. Last week, when Love Bug’s speech therapist heard him call me by my name she asked him why he didn’t call me mom and his response was because he was adopted. When she asked, I cringed. If I had the power of teleportation, I would have used it right then and there to get me out of the room. This is the sorest of subjects and not something I ever try to discuss with Primero. Not since the whole incident when I first asked him to call me mom. I just stuff it all deep, deep down and forget about it as best as I can. I don’t know why he shared this story with me. I didn’t really say anything after he told me about it because there isn’t really anything for me to say. I might have said it wasn’t nice for her to pressure him about things like that, but I really had nothing else to say. It’s this thing with him. It’s not something I want to rehash because it is way too painful. Hearing his cousin express exasperation at his stubbornness only compounds my feelings about the issue. I’ve said all I can say about the topic. It’s a deep wound. I don’t touch it.