Bland name for a post, but I am still stuck on last Sunday. First, being the recusant sort that I am, really, Hallmark made up the need for all of us to scurry out and buy a card and celebrate some number of days preprinted on our calendars. That said, however, it has become customary and downright obligatory to celebrate said days, including Father's and Mother's Days.
Personally I get a little irritated when Mother's Day rolls around because 1. I am not a mother and won't be, 2. There is some amount of pain for me to watch kids gather around their own mothers and honor them in numerous ways, 3. It clearly defines the honorary roll of mothers, obviously or why else have it, and 4. It more clearly omits those of us who play house as a mother without all the bennies. When's the last time a second grade teacher had her student draw, cut and paste together a cone shaped vase with paper flowers for a stepmom? Maybe by default, or by some 30th wonder of the world where the kid actually makes a personal choice to do two - one for mommy and one for stepmommy - and even then they probably have to come up with the 50 cents or some other bribe for the extra supplies used because, hey, the other kids didn't get to make two! Let's not even talk about California where how the heck do you know which parent to give the Mother's Day paper cone shaped vase to anyway? Gasp. Alright, on to the namesake of this blog.
Fathers. You know the ones; they faithfully send the child support check, do all the picking up and dropping off, make all the dental appointments and do the picking up and dropping off, while still working a real job to support said kids in another world. At least in my world that's how it is. Too graphic? Oh alright, I'll stop with the wisecracks.
Spouse-man's daughters pretended Dad didn't exist last Sunday. It was a heavy weekend. It started with a text message 4 days prior from the youngest - youngest being 15 now who is familiar with snogging in the hallways with a boyfriend at school (read: knows how to make a choice to have a relationship) - that said "What do you want for Father's Day?". I was immensely proud of Spouse-man who typed back "Time, as always". Then, Nothing. The silence was deafening all weekend. It broke my heart to watch him glance at the phone when coming in from working outside to check caller ID and say, "No call yet". I got madder as the weekend went on and we had many circular discussions around this pink elephant sitting in the living room. At some point I realized I didn't want them to show up because it wouldn't be pretty what might come from me; I had so much emotion wrapped up in it. We blamed them, we blamed The Mother and various other circumstances and entities that crossed our radar. We were cross. And hurt. It just made the division bigger.
The eldest called a couple nights ago pretending nothing was amiss declaring her fortune at a new job and her excitement over a trip coming up. That was it. I opened my mouth. Nothing good ever comes out of my mouth when I have emotion behind it. It wasn't pretty. I am not good at saying exactly what I've practiced saying. My best intentions turn into ugly red spears in reality.
My intention: It would be great if you had called your dad and let him know how much you appreciate him. He sure loves you.
Reality: You sit around and diss your dad, and your mother, while he faithfully sends a chunk of change to your mother so you can enjoy the lifestyle you have at her house. Oh, yes, there was more.
OUCH. Ugly doesn't begin to describe what I am capable of saying.
The division gets bigger. This isn't finished yet, however I have been advised by wiser ones than me that my job at this time is done; drop back and let happen happen. That's the exterior. My interior has a different topography. I glance at the cool bags of gifts and momentos we brought them from Italy taking up a chair in the living room, and think about the echoing invite to come over and receive them ... and no one has showed up ... and I get mad all over. It becomes a marathon; how long will those gifts sit there? How long before we move them to the secondary spot, then another resting spot and eventually pack them away somewhere?
That's the month of June for us so far. Tomorrow, my first of four email postings of our travels while in Italy.