(Jobthingy: some shows require you to wait several months between cliffhangers. Be happy I only made you wait a few days, and not for ratings but rather due to my annoying Lifethingy.)
If you haven't read The Martha, part 1, this post will make very little sense to you. So I suggest you either click this link and read it, or follow me through my snazzy verbal montage:
Previously, on Stay-at-Home-Mayhem: The Maven of Mayhem begins to tell her sordid tale of wanting to be more cultured, joining a book club, getting a slap on the wrist for not putting together a 'food theme' quick enough for her hosting day, and being asked - nay, implored - to keep her new pregnancy a secret at the next gathering without being provided a reason to do such.
And now, the conclusion of a tale almost too ridiculous to be believable:
I used to be a good person when I went to AA meetings regularly. Then I stopped going because I had a baby and figured I wouldn't have time to think about drinking anyway (little did I know that children are a prime excuse to relapse, as they are stressful little monsters who know just the right buttons to push to make mommy tell herself that wine makes her incredibly clever.)
Relapse I did not. I stayed quite sober in my years away from the program. What did happen, however, is that I became somewhat less of a good person who ended up befriending people who were just as bad as me. I once again became judgmental and liked to point my finger at people. There are two reasons for this:
The great thing about life is that things like this come back to bite you on your sizable ass and you get to know what it feels like to be the recipient. Like, say, your judgmental/secretly insecure self might get invited to join a book club by the Queen of Judgment, whom is also known in this story as Tweedle-Dee. And previously to showing her cool disappointment for your lazy food orchestration, she might have also slowly filled your ears with other fingers she's pointed at you or opinions she's given at less-than-ideal times. Like, say a few months after she attended the birth of your much anticipated second child:
Or, a couple of years prior when we were struggling with fertility issues and I was pouring my heart out about how sad I was that I couldn't give my only son a sibling:
And, my personal favourite from not too long before the book club fiasco began:
Don't take it personally!? Look, I may call them gremlins and they may fit that description to a tee 90% of the time, but they're my gremlins, damnit. I worked hard making them. I spend 24 hours a day corruptin... raising them. Only I get to complain about their behaviour to others and pull my hair out by the fistful while eating ice cream and sobbing. That's my right, not hers.
I had overlooked all the other comments (and there were many) over the years, because our friendship in other ways was very good. I respected and admired her as a person. She was smart, outgoing and interesting. She was always there for me. We had a lot in common (smart, outgoing and interesting) and I pretty much idolized her. I don't idolize anyone, so that should tell you something. But there's a line that should not be crossed, and cross it she did.
It broke my heart. I cried a lot. Then I decided that I would let it go for the sole reason that we had to see each other once a month at book club, if anything else.
So after that, you can imagine the restraint needed to deal with the food theme. Taking a deep breath and answering her politely was about all I could do. After that, I hung up the phone, beat up a teddy bear in the nursery where I had been sitting, cried my face off again and decided I should probably leave the book club altogether.
I called her back the next day and let her know that I was going to leave. She tried so hard to convince me not to go: 'I'm sorry' cards in the mail, flowers, chocolate, sexual favours, sky writing... But nothing worked. I was committed to my decision.
Committed to it even more because in actuality, when I told her that's what I thought I would do, she said nothing but 'Sorry to see you go' followed by 'Well, since you won't be there anymore, I suppose I can tell you why I wanted you to keep your pregnancy a secret. Childless Woman is expecting and wants to announce it to the group. I didn't want you or I to steal her thunder, that's all.'
That's it?! That's what she couldn't tell me that in the first place? Rageful Maven wanted to smash things at Miserable Ex-Friend. In my impeccable view, that's a perfectly good reason to keep my pregnancy under wraps for a few more weeks. But what I don't like is when people want me to do something and won't give me a reason. I'm not three (although I wish I was sometimes for the sweet naps) and I know how to lie and act surprised; you should see me with Gutsy's scribbled artwork 'Oh, I love your panting! I can totally see the firetruck!'
Moms are the best liars. We kick ass at it.
I knew I would miss the other book club moms. They were so nice to me and I was still shocked to think that 'some of them' had been calling Tweedle-Dee about my lack of hosting awesomeness. I emailed the group and said that I had a lot on my plate at the time (I really did, too - much more than the pregnancy) and that Tweedle-Dee had graciously (puke) offered up the use of her home to help me out, and that I apologized for not being a better organizer and was giving some serious thought to whether or not I should continue in the club. This is supposed to be fun, after all, and when it starts becoming stressful it's usually a bad sign, I wrote.
There. I had done it. It was over.
Except that within a few hours I had my email box filled with beautiful, supportive messages from these women. Don't leave, they said. We really love your company and don't care the least about the food or what we bring or what you're serving. It's about friendship, after all. You're wonderful and we want you to stay. Take a break if you have to, but please don't leave altogether.
Duh. Of course they wanted me to stay. I'm The Maven, after all. There's only one Maven and she rocks the book club world with her unpreparedness and her nachos and her lame bestseller book selections. They only wished they could be as relaxed as yours truly. I was their breath of fresh air in that stuffy, pressed slacks and themed parties world of theirs.
Two names that were glaringly missing from those email replies? You're right, Smartypants: Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.
Tweedle-Dum called the next day and made a verbal plea for me to stay. By this point I was feeling wonderful about the idea of sticking around. I would be civil and even mildly friendly with Tweedle-Dee and her child-disliking ways if it meant I could continue to get to know the other ladies. Tweedle-Dum was alright, too, but I was beginning to think she enjoyed stirring the pot somewhat. No reason to believe it, mind you, but it was my gut feeling.
I have a big gut and it has a lot of feelings that seem to be right. Observe:
I told Tweedle-Dum that I would stay and would even show up for the event at Tweedle-Dee's house on Sunday - still five days away. I resolved to grit my teeth and call her right after my conversation with Tweedle-Dum. Then I got a call on the other line and had to let Dum go. It was a life insurane nurse doing a phone interview. Oh well, I'd call Dee right after.
During that 20 minute call I got call from Dee. I didn't answer and instead picked up the message when I was done. It went something like this:
'Hi, Maven, this is Tweedle-Dee. Uh, I just heard that you will be attending on Sunday? I thought you were leaving book club? And frankly, I would expect you would let me know if you planned to come to my house. Give me a call. Bye.'
Ouch. Rageful Maven started to well up inside. Angry, hormonal Maven. I was ready to tear a strip off that girl and her Intrepid-and-Gutsy-Haterpalooza personage.
And then a light suddenly came on. And I began to laugh. And call her I did, all the while guffawing my ass off in the most tactless way.
'Hi, Tweedle-Dee? *laugh* It's The Maven. Um, what's your problem?'
'My... What?'
'Your problem. You sounded *giggle* very upset in your message.'
'Uh... I'm not... I'm not upset. I'm just...confused.'
'No. No, no. That sounded pretty upset to me. Confused sounds more like I would be now if I wasn't laughing.'
'Why are you laughing?'
'Because this is completely ridiculous, that's why. *laugh* It's a book club. A BOOK CLUB! Nothing more. And you're angry over it. And I've been angry over it. It's so not worth it, you know. This is just stupid.'
'I'm not angry. Sorry if it seemed that way (backpeddle, backpeddle) I'm just confused. Because I thought you would let me know if you were coming. I'd have to make more chicken if you were coming so I need to know so I can plan ahead.'
'*trying to compose self* I'm nauseous. I wasn't going to eat anything anyway. Thanks though. And I didn't get a chance to call you because I spoke to Tweedle-Dum 20 minutes ago, then a nurse, then I got your angry message. Funny how I spoke to Dum such a short time ago and she's the only person I mentioned this to, and yet you already know that I was planning on coming. Funny, the flow of information, isn't it?'
'Yeah... ... I thought you were leaving, though. So are you coming?'
'Nope, *snicker* I'm definitely not coming. You just helped me make up my mind. Thanks for that. Enjoy your Sunday gathering.'
And that was pretty much it. I laughed from the beginning of that stupid conversation to the very end.
After that, I heard from Tweedle-Dum a few times, but that quickly tapered off. I told her nothing of my personal life or about my horrid children. No more fodder for Tweedle-Dee via Tweedle-Dum. The Maven's bridge of communication had been blown to shreds.
I saw Tweedle-Dee once more a few weeks later, after she emailed me to pick up a couple of things of hers and one that belonged to a friend of hers (you know Girl Games - you have to pick up everyone's borrowed stuff to show a united front). The email also included an invitation to talk to her 'anytime' if I ever needed to vent or share, because she would 'always be there for that'.
I replied about the stuff (leaving out anything about 'sharing'), invited her to come get it, grabbed everything I could think of that belonged to her and not just what she had asked for. I said hello to her when she got here, talked to her for about two minutes, said hello to her sweet little girls and waved them goodbye. I haven't seen her since.
A couple of months ago I received a private message on a board I'm on. She had been reading threads and found me somehow by my signature. She congratulated me on my boy, told me she had had another girl a few days prior to Spawnling's arrival, and such and such. I replied, congratulated her and left no doors open.
The Maven is done with unhealthy friendships. And passing out judgment.
And book clubs. No. More. Book. Clubs.
And the only themed food I plan to have in the foreseeable future comes out of a box that says 'Old El Paso'.
Feel bad for Tweedle-Dee because she was talked about in this post? I do a little, too. I don't like talking about people, but this is my blog and this is where I vent a great deal of the time. Besides, she'll get her vindication when my three boys marry their wives and leave me to cry alone about what dreadful children they are, with only my cesarean scars to make me angry.
The Martha I am not. The Maven I will always be. Gremlins I will always have. Like it? Great. Love it? Even better. Hate it? I don't really blame you. In fact, I know of a great book club you can join...
If you haven't read The Martha, part 1, this post will make very little sense to you. So I suggest you either click this link and read it, or follow me through my snazzy verbal montage:
Previously, on Stay-at-Home-Mayhem: The Maven of Mayhem begins to tell her sordid tale of wanting to be more cultured, joining a book club, getting a slap on the wrist for not putting together a 'food theme' quick enough for her hosting day, and being asked - nay, implored - to keep her new pregnancy a secret at the next gathering without being provided a reason to do such.
And now, the conclusion of a tale almost too ridiculous to be believable:
I used to be a good person when I went to AA meetings regularly. Then I stopped going because I had a baby and figured I wouldn't have time to think about drinking anyway (little did I know that children are a prime excuse to relapse, as they are stressful little monsters who know just the right buttons to push to make mommy tell herself that wine makes her incredibly clever.)
Relapse I did not. I stayed quite sober in my years away from the program. What did happen, however, is that I became somewhat less of a good person who ended up befriending people who were just as bad as me. I once again became judgmental and liked to point my finger at people. There are two reasons for this:
- It's not my fault that you suck so bad that I have to judge you.
- I wasn't going to AA meetings where I would otherwise constantly deal with folks who strive to become better people. Like, um, non-judgmental people.
The great thing about life is that things like this come back to bite you on your sizable ass and you get to know what it feels like to be the recipient. Like, say, your judgmental/secretly insecure self might get invited to join a book club by the Queen of Judgment, whom is also known in this story as Tweedle-Dee. And previously to showing her cool disappointment for your lazy food orchestration, she might have also slowly filled your ears with other fingers she's pointed at you or opinions she's given at less-than-ideal times. Like, say a few months after she attended the birth of your much anticipated second child:
Maven, it's great that you want to make peace with your unplanned cesarean with Gutsy, but I know I would be angry the rest of my life and you have the right to be, too. In fact, if I ever had a cesarean I would need a lot of therapy afterwards.
Or, a couple of years prior when we were struggling with fertility issues and I was pouring my heart out about how sad I was that I couldn't give my only son a sibling:
Maven, I'm sorry you're struggling with the idea that you may never have a second child.... You know, I'm really glad I had girls, because you know what they say: 'A daughter is a daughter for life, but a son is a son until he meets a wife'.
And, my personal favourite from not too long before the book club fiasco began:
And then, enter Tweedle-Dum, another girl I met at book club who's friends with Tweedle-Dee and is pretty much a younger, slightly more hyper clone of the original. She had the tact to inform me that Tweedle-Dee didn't like Gutsy, either. But it's ok, Maven, because Gutsy's just the flavour of the month. She's always talking about somebody's child! She'll move on soon. Don't take it personally.
I don't see why people seem to think it's wrong if you say you don't like a child. I mean, I didn't like Intrepid for the longest time! Heck, the only reason I had him around was because he's your child.
Don't take it personally!? Look, I may call them gremlins and they may fit that description to a tee 90% of the time, but they're my gremlins, damnit. I worked hard making them. I spend 24 hours a day corruptin... raising them. Only I get to complain about their behaviour to others and pull my hair out by the fistful while eating ice cream and sobbing. That's my right, not hers.
I had overlooked all the other comments (and there were many) over the years, because our friendship in other ways was very good. I respected and admired her as a person. She was smart, outgoing and interesting. She was always there for me. We had a lot in common (smart, outgoing and interesting) and I pretty much idolized her. I don't idolize anyone, so that should tell you something. But there's a line that should not be crossed, and cross it she did.
It broke my heart. I cried a lot. Then I decided that I would let it go for the sole reason that we had to see each other once a month at book club, if anything else.
So after that, you can imagine the restraint needed to deal with the food theme. Taking a deep breath and answering her politely was about all I could do. After that, I hung up the phone, beat up a teddy bear in the nursery where I had been sitting, cried my face off again and decided I should probably leave the book club altogether.
I called her back the next day and let her know that I was going to leave. She tried so hard to convince me not to go: 'I'm sorry' cards in the mail, flowers, chocolate, sexual favours, sky writing... But nothing worked. I was committed to my decision.
Committed to it even more because in actuality, when I told her that's what I thought I would do, she said nothing but 'Sorry to see you go' followed by 'Well, since you won't be there anymore, I suppose I can tell you why I wanted you to keep your pregnancy a secret. Childless Woman is expecting and wants to announce it to the group. I didn't want you or I to steal her thunder, that's all.'
That's it?! That's what she couldn't tell me that in the first place? Rageful Maven wanted to smash things at Miserable Ex-Friend. In my impeccable view, that's a perfectly good reason to keep my pregnancy under wraps for a few more weeks. But what I don't like is when people want me to do something and won't give me a reason. I'm not three (although I wish I was sometimes for the sweet naps) and I know how to lie and act surprised; you should see me with Gutsy's scribbled artwork 'Oh, I love your panting! I can totally see the firetruck!'
Moms are the best liars. We kick ass at it.
I knew I would miss the other book club moms. They were so nice to me and I was still shocked to think that 'some of them' had been calling Tweedle-Dee about my lack of hosting awesomeness. I emailed the group and said that I had a lot on my plate at the time (I really did, too - much more than the pregnancy) and that Tweedle-Dee had graciously (puke) offered up the use of her home to help me out, and that I apologized for not being a better organizer and was giving some serious thought to whether or not I should continue in the club. This is supposed to be fun, after all, and when it starts becoming stressful it's usually a bad sign, I wrote.
There. I had done it. It was over.
Except that within a few hours I had my email box filled with beautiful, supportive messages from these women. Don't leave, they said. We really love your company and don't care the least about the food or what we bring or what you're serving. It's about friendship, after all. You're wonderful and we want you to stay. Take a break if you have to, but please don't leave altogether.
Duh. Of course they wanted me to stay. I'm The Maven, after all. There's only one Maven and she rocks the book club world with her unpreparedness and her nachos and her lame bestseller book selections. They only wished they could be as relaxed as yours truly. I was their breath of fresh air in that stuffy, pressed slacks and themed parties world of theirs.
Two names that were glaringly missing from those email replies? You're right, Smartypants: Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.
Tweedle-Dum called the next day and made a verbal plea for me to stay. By this point I was feeling wonderful about the idea of sticking around. I would be civil and even mildly friendly with Tweedle-Dee and her child-disliking ways if it meant I could continue to get to know the other ladies. Tweedle-Dum was alright, too, but I was beginning to think she enjoyed stirring the pot somewhat. No reason to believe it, mind you, but it was my gut feeling.
I have a big gut and it has a lot of feelings that seem to be right. Observe:
I told Tweedle-Dum that I would stay and would even show up for the event at Tweedle-Dee's house on Sunday - still five days away. I resolved to grit my teeth and call her right after my conversation with Tweedle-Dum. Then I got a call on the other line and had to let Dum go. It was a life insurane nurse doing a phone interview. Oh well, I'd call Dee right after.
During that 20 minute call I got call from Dee. I didn't answer and instead picked up the message when I was done. It went something like this:
'Hi, Maven, this is Tweedle-Dee. Uh, I just heard that you will be attending on Sunday? I thought you were leaving book club? And frankly, I would expect you would let me know if you planned to come to my house. Give me a call. Bye.'
Ouch. Rageful Maven started to well up inside. Angry, hormonal Maven. I was ready to tear a strip off that girl and her Intrepid-and-Gutsy-Haterpalooza personage.
And then a light suddenly came on. And I began to laugh. And call her I did, all the while guffawing my ass off in the most tactless way.
'Hi, Tweedle-Dee? *laugh* It's The Maven. Um, what's your problem?'
'My... What?'
'Your problem. You sounded *giggle* very upset in your message.'
'Uh... I'm not... I'm not upset. I'm just...confused.'
'No. No, no. That sounded pretty upset to me. Confused sounds more like I would be now if I wasn't laughing.'
'Why are you laughing?'
'Because this is completely ridiculous, that's why. *laugh* It's a book club. A BOOK CLUB! Nothing more. And you're angry over it. And I've been angry over it. It's so not worth it, you know. This is just stupid.'
'I'm not angry. Sorry if it seemed that way (backpeddle, backpeddle) I'm just confused. Because I thought you would let me know if you were coming. I'd have to make more chicken if you were coming so I need to know so I can plan ahead.'
'*trying to compose self* I'm nauseous. I wasn't going to eat anything anyway. Thanks though. And I didn't get a chance to call you because I spoke to Tweedle-Dum 20 minutes ago, then a nurse, then I got your angry message. Funny how I spoke to Dum such a short time ago and she's the only person I mentioned this to, and yet you already know that I was planning on coming. Funny, the flow of information, isn't it?'
'Yeah... ... I thought you were leaving, though. So are you coming?'
'Nope, *snicker* I'm definitely not coming. You just helped me make up my mind. Thanks for that. Enjoy your Sunday gathering.'
And that was pretty much it. I laughed from the beginning of that stupid conversation to the very end.
After that, I heard from Tweedle-Dum a few times, but that quickly tapered off. I told her nothing of my personal life or about my horrid children. No more fodder for Tweedle-Dee via Tweedle-Dum. The Maven's bridge of communication had been blown to shreds.
I saw Tweedle-Dee once more a few weeks later, after she emailed me to pick up a couple of things of hers and one that belonged to a friend of hers (you know Girl Games - you have to pick up everyone's borrowed stuff to show a united front). The email also included an invitation to talk to her 'anytime' if I ever needed to vent or share, because she would 'always be there for that'.
I replied about the stuff (leaving out anything about 'sharing'), invited her to come get it, grabbed everything I could think of that belonged to her and not just what she had asked for. I said hello to her when she got here, talked to her for about two minutes, said hello to her sweet little girls and waved them goodbye. I haven't seen her since.
A couple of months ago I received a private message on a board I'm on. She had been reading threads and found me somehow by my signature. She congratulated me on my boy, told me she had had another girl a few days prior to Spawnling's arrival, and such and such. I replied, congratulated her and left no doors open.
The Maven is done with unhealthy friendships. And passing out judgment.
And book clubs. No. More. Book. Clubs.
And the only themed food I plan to have in the foreseeable future comes out of a box that says 'Old El Paso'.
Feel bad for Tweedle-Dee because she was talked about in this post? I do a little, too. I don't like talking about people, but this is my blog and this is where I vent a great deal of the time. Besides, she'll get her vindication when my three boys marry their wives and leave me to cry alone about what dreadful children they are, with only my cesarean scars to make me angry.
The Martha I am not. The Maven I will always be. Gremlins I will always have. Like it? Great. Love it? Even better. Hate it? I don't really blame you. In fact, I know of a great book club you can join...