So, it appears my grandmother is upset with me.
Have I mentioned I have grandmas? Two of them, actually. Good Grandma and Evil Grandma.
Evil Grandma is my step-grandma. I've never once uttered her nickname within earshot, as she might suck the life out of me with her vampiric powers. EG has outlived two husbands and, in her mid-80s, is healthier than I am. She drives, she vacations, she lives independently. I would be jumping up and down if she were the type of grandmother who enjoyed my company and spoiled my children rotten. Instead, she's been plotting against me since I became her son's step-daughter at the age of 18 months (that would be my age at the time, not hers. I shouldn't have to clarify that, but there are some really dumb people out there. Dumb enough to vote for George Dubyah twice, even.)
Yes, Evil Grandma has made my step-grandaughterism known since the dawn of time. My time, anyway. For example, I have a cousin who's the same age as me. Every year she liked to show me (because actions speak louder than words) how much more she loved him. She once came over with a card for my birthday. I think there might have been a nice sum of money in it to a young girl, like $10. I was thrilled! I started thinking about what I could buy with that money. What I would do with it. I was rich now, after all. This was really great! I thanked EG profusely in my cute little dress with my adorably curly hair.
"You know," said granny. "Your cousin's birtday was two days ago." She always mentioned this as if it were a new fact and not as though the day of his miraculous birth overshadowed mine year after year. "I got him a guitar and a year's worth of lessons. He really likes guitar, you know. He was so happy!"
... I, too, liked guitar, as was clearly demonstrated by the fact that I played it all the time, even when she was over. Suddenly, my $10 seemed like step-granddaughter money. And these days, my cousin plays in a band and manages a department in a large music store. I am not in a band and manage to eat a lot of bon-bons in order to heal the emotional wounds of many, many reminders such as these. This was just one example of my relationship with EG. But I digress.
This isn't about Evil Grandma. This is about Good Grandma. The one who has always loved me, always let me know she loves me and, despite her many quirks, has always been an important part of my life.
Good Grandma doesn't like me right now and I don't know why. I called her today to wish her a happy birthday. Sure, I was a day late, but I've had a flu, I'm moving and, oh yeah, I have three kids, including a sick baby. I called this morning, singing her my on-the-fly birthday tune:
Pretty creative, huh? I thought so. I was driving and soothing a crying baby at the same time, too.
She normally would have laughed her sweet, wrinkly face off. Yet she didn't appreciate my song. She didn't sound happy to hear from me at all. She was cool and uninterested and not at all friendly. In fact, she didn't even try to come up with a good excuse to let me go. Instead, she told me she had something on the stove.
Something on the stove. Sheesh. I'm not even worth a 'I'm not feeling well and have to go lie down'. Not even a 'There's someone at the door.' Diss.
She never invited me to her party, either, but I didn't think twice about it at the time. I figured that's because she has a small place and I have the Torrential Trio. I was happy thinking that was the case. Unfortunately I had to ruin all that by calling. Now I know better, which is kind of sucktacular.
So yes, I've upset Good Grandma. I no longer have a single grandma who likes me. I've alienated the elderly people in my life. Is there a medal for people like me?
I'm trying not to take it personally. She may be upset that I haven't had the chance to spend much time with her lately. There's been so much going on. Heck, I haven't even been blogging. That's clue number one. Maybe she should start reading my blog.
Or um, maybe not. Not after this post, anyway.
No. I can't take it personally. She's a grown woman who can also pick up the phone and call me. She's a grown woman who's moved many times in her life and who's had three children. She should get it, and if she doesn't that's not my fault. This is also the woman who didn't speak to my mother for a year because my mother didn't pick her up from the airport after insisting she NOT pick her up.
Yeah, she's like that. It's a bit unnerving.
It's just that I've never been the one who was shunned before. GG has always adored me, or at least not let me know that she was upset with me. It appears my time has come and I need to carry the torch for a while. The torch of utter dysfunction.
The Sister came over tonight and brought the movie Parenthood. Surprisingly, I had never seen it before. In it, Steve Martin plays a dad who's relationship with his own father was so poor that he fears screwing up his children in the same way. It's mostly a funny movie, but there are some touchy-feely parts, too.
I saw myself in Steve Martin's character. Hey, we're a lot alike, you know. He's a guy... and I'm... Well, ok. That didn't work. But he's funny and I'm funny, right? And as a result, we both have amazing things in our lives. He makes bajillions of dollars and I have a snazzy blog with 3 loyal readers. That makes us peas in a pod, Steve-o and I.
Sometimes I look at where I come from and wonder how the hell I'm ever going to raise healthy kids. It terrifies me. I am one messed up Maven and yet I have the biggest responsibility a person can have: I have to somehow manage to bring up three boys into young men. Men who have values and who are compassionate and who love and who certainly are not messed up enough to blog about their feelings or anything.
They are the only thing I've ever done right in my life. I was an unhappy child, a troubled teen with no friends, a full-blown alcoholic and drug addict by the time I hit puberty, in rehab at fourteen, a high-school dropout. I've never finished college, I've been known to be a lousy friend,I had a baby too young, got married too young and had to work damn hard with my husband to make our relationship a healthy and perpetually loving one. I suck at just about every job I do, I eat my feelings and I procrastinate about everything.
But my boys... my boys are perfection. They came into this world smart and beautiful and with amazing personality. Having them and raising them is my biggest accomplishment and an enormous undertaking. They drive me crazy, they make me want to rip my hair out (I bite my nails and eat donuts instead) and wonder 10 times in a day why I don't let someone with more patience care for them during the day while I get a nice, quiet office job somewhere... And yet I wouldn't have it any other way.
I can't screw this up. I can't screw them up. And therein lies my biggest fear. Because for all the talk of gremlins (and they most certainly are) and late nights and teething and screaming and joining scary playgroups, and constantly working on being a better mother, I must believe that somewhere, somehow, I'm doing an OK job.
I don't know what Good Grandma's issue with me is. For all I know my clothing didn't match last time I saw her and now she won't speak to me for two years. Her loss. If she's not going to communicate with me then there's nothing I can do. And Evil Grandma can continue to short-change me - and now also her step-great-grandkids - on gifts and the like, too. We'll be ok. I can shield them from most of that and instead surround them with people only dysfunctional enough to want to have me as a friend and my crazy family in their lives.
I don't have time for other people's dysfunction right now. I'm The Maven of Mayhem and I have a flock of Gremlins to raise as best I can. Do you think it would mess them up if I put that velcro wall in the playroom of the new house? I'd only use it under extreme circumstances, like when Spawnling decides he'd like to start walking at eight months. He won't remember being up there anyway.
I really, really,
truly,
love my boys.
Have I mentioned I have grandmas? Two of them, actually. Good Grandma and Evil Grandma.
Evil Grandma is my step-grandma. I've never once uttered her nickname within earshot, as she might suck the life out of me with her vampiric powers. EG has outlived two husbands and, in her mid-80s, is healthier than I am. She drives, she vacations, she lives independently. I would be jumping up and down if she were the type of grandmother who enjoyed my company and spoiled my children rotten. Instead, she's been plotting against me since I became her son's step-daughter at the age of 18 months (that would be my age at the time, not hers. I shouldn't have to clarify that, but there are some really dumb people out there. Dumb enough to vote for George Dubyah twice, even.)
Yes, Evil Grandma has made my step-grandaughterism known since the dawn of time. My time, anyway. For example, I have a cousin who's the same age as me. Every year she liked to show me (because actions speak louder than words) how much more she loved him. She once came over with a card for my birthday. I think there might have been a nice sum of money in it to a young girl, like $10. I was thrilled! I started thinking about what I could buy with that money. What I would do with it. I was rich now, after all. This was really great! I thanked EG profusely in my cute little dress with my adorably curly hair.
"You know," said granny. "Your cousin's birtday was two days ago." She always mentioned this as if it were a new fact and not as though the day of his miraculous birth overshadowed mine year after year. "I got him a guitar and a year's worth of lessons. He really likes guitar, you know. He was so happy!"
... I, too, liked guitar, as was clearly demonstrated by the fact that I played it all the time, even when she was over. Suddenly, my $10 seemed like step-granddaughter money. And these days, my cousin plays in a band and manages a department in a large music store. I am not in a band and manage to eat a lot of bon-bons in order to heal the emotional wounds of many, many reminders such as these. This was just one example of my relationship with EG. But I digress.
This isn't about Evil Grandma. This is about Good Grandma. The one who has always loved me, always let me know she loves me and, despite her many quirks, has always been an important part of my life.
Good Grandma doesn't like me right now and I don't know why. I called her today to wish her a happy birthday. Sure, I was a day late, but I've had a flu, I'm moving and, oh yeah, I have three kids, including a sick baby. I called this morning, singing her my on-the-fly birthday tune:
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
So sorry it's a day late!
But I've had the flu!
Pretty creative, huh? I thought so. I was driving and soothing a crying baby at the same time, too.
She normally would have laughed her sweet, wrinkly face off. Yet she didn't appreciate my song. She didn't sound happy to hear from me at all. She was cool and uninterested and not at all friendly. In fact, she didn't even try to come up with a good excuse to let me go. Instead, she told me she had something on the stove.
Something on the stove. Sheesh. I'm not even worth a 'I'm not feeling well and have to go lie down'. Not even a 'There's someone at the door.' Diss.
She never invited me to her party, either, but I didn't think twice about it at the time. I figured that's because she has a small place and I have the Torrential Trio. I was happy thinking that was the case. Unfortunately I had to ruin all that by calling. Now I know better, which is kind of sucktacular.
So yes, I've upset Good Grandma. I no longer have a single grandma who likes me. I've alienated the elderly people in my life. Is there a medal for people like me?
I'm trying not to take it personally. She may be upset that I haven't had the chance to spend much time with her lately. There's been so much going on. Heck, I haven't even been blogging. That's clue number one. Maybe she should start reading my blog.
Or um, maybe not. Not after this post, anyway.
No. I can't take it personally. She's a grown woman who can also pick up the phone and call me. She's a grown woman who's moved many times in her life and who's had three children. She should get it, and if she doesn't that's not my fault. This is also the woman who didn't speak to my mother for a year because my mother didn't pick her up from the airport after insisting she NOT pick her up.
Yeah, she's like that. It's a bit unnerving.
It's just that I've never been the one who was shunned before. GG has always adored me, or at least not let me know that she was upset with me. It appears my time has come and I need to carry the torch for a while. The torch of utter dysfunction.
The Sister came over tonight and brought the movie Parenthood. Surprisingly, I had never seen it before. In it, Steve Martin plays a dad who's relationship with his own father was so poor that he fears screwing up his children in the same way. It's mostly a funny movie, but there are some touchy-feely parts, too.
I saw myself in Steve Martin's character. Hey, we're a lot alike, you know. He's a guy... and I'm... Well, ok. That didn't work. But he's funny and I'm funny, right? And as a result, we both have amazing things in our lives. He makes bajillions of dollars and I have a snazzy blog with 3 loyal readers. That makes us peas in a pod, Steve-o and I.
Sometimes I look at where I come from and wonder how the hell I'm ever going to raise healthy kids. It terrifies me. I am one messed up Maven and yet I have the biggest responsibility a person can have: I have to somehow manage to bring up three boys into young men. Men who have values and who are compassionate and who love and who certainly are not messed up enough to blog about their feelings or anything.
They are the only thing I've ever done right in my life. I was an unhappy child, a troubled teen with no friends, a full-blown alcoholic and drug addict by the time I hit puberty, in rehab at fourteen, a high-school dropout. I've never finished college, I've been known to be a lousy friend,I had a baby too young, got married too young and had to work damn hard with my husband to make our relationship a healthy and perpetually loving one. I suck at just about every job I do, I eat my feelings and I procrastinate about everything.
But my boys... my boys are perfection. They came into this world smart and beautiful and with amazing personality. Having them and raising them is my biggest accomplishment and an enormous undertaking. They drive me crazy, they make me want to rip my hair out (I bite my nails and eat donuts instead) and wonder 10 times in a day why I don't let someone with more patience care for them during the day while I get a nice, quiet office job somewhere... And yet I wouldn't have it any other way.
I can't screw this up. I can't screw them up. And therein lies my biggest fear. Because for all the talk of gremlins (and they most certainly are) and late nights and teething and screaming and joining scary playgroups, and constantly working on being a better mother, I must believe that somewhere, somehow, I'm doing an OK job.
I don't know what Good Grandma's issue with me is. For all I know my clothing didn't match last time I saw her and now she won't speak to me for two years. Her loss. If she's not going to communicate with me then there's nothing I can do. And Evil Grandma can continue to short-change me - and now also her step-great-grandkids - on gifts and the like, too. We'll be ok. I can shield them from most of that and instead surround them with people only dysfunctional enough to want to have me as a friend and my crazy family in their lives.
I don't have time for other people's dysfunction right now. I'm The Maven of Mayhem and I have a flock of Gremlins to raise as best I can. Do you think it would mess them up if I put that velcro wall in the playroom of the new house? I'd only use it under extreme circumstances, like when Spawnling decides he'd like to start walking at eight months. He won't remember being up there anyway.
I really, really,
truly,
love my boys.