Touching on Various Subjects
A glimpse of what's been left unsaid.
I'm off this week, originally because we'd planned another cross country adventure circa Summer 2006, but as it turns out, so far the time has been spent turning Hannah's old room into an office for me. She moved out two weeks ago and has been having a ball socializing with John's family, the same people who outcast us six months ago for daring to question their inappropriate meddling in John's kids' lives. If you're confused by that sentence, join the club. In response to our statement that we weren't going to participate in dysfunctional dynamics of passive aggression, denial, and character attacks, we were told by John's sister and brother-in-law that we would never be spoken to again. Nice. Ever since then, John's mom, aka Leader of the Pack, has told us (despite our clear requests not to do certain favors for his oldest son --like ENABLING him, for instance-- as he learns about the consequences of his adult choices) that she would "do it all over again" and has wondered aloud with complete innocence why she feels she doesn't get to see our five- and six-year-olds. Gee, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that not only do you have no respect for me as parent and undermine me with small jabs at every turn when you're around any of my kids or stepkids, but you also blatantly told me this is how you plan to operate over and over again. No, we won't be lining up at your door for babysitting services. She thinks it's "unnatural" to call and ask to see the kids, by the way -- we aren't stopping her from seeing them, as much as she tries to convince us that we are.
No more excuses not to write.
Anyway, while Hannah and the in-laws burn pictures of us, brew stolen toenail and hair clippings, and sew the final touches on the voodoo dolls they plan to stab in our honor, I've been busy trying to create an office for myself. Our (still new) house still feels huge, but most of our space feels shared to me; I haven't had a place to privately sit down and work, think, read, or write other than our bedroom, where there is usually a small child or children bouncing on a bed or having a sword fight - despite the fact that they each have their own beds on which to bounce as well as a huge gameroom full of their toys and plenty of space for whatever mutual maiming they insist on doing for the 14 waking hours that make up each day. My new office has inherited lots of individual pieces of furniture that were randomly placed up until now, as well as previously unhung pictures, and it is fast becoming the coziest room in the house. In addition to a writing desk and a comfortable chair, we lugged the huge bookshelf from the gameroom (the only place we had to store it until now), which means it's like a real, live office of someone who would habitually read and write. My only remaining excuse for NOT reading or writing will be the ever-present time factor, which won't exactly hold much water if I continue to spend my evenings halfway to coma status in front of the TV. The transported furniture means, of course, that there are now gaping holes in our larger-than-we-realized master bedroom, which has turned Project Office Creation into Project Master Bedroom Completion, something I wasn't prepared to deal with in the measley five days I have off work, a few of those we have supposedly set aside to do something that resembles a vacation with the kids (and that is literally as much planning as we've done so far).
I'm off this week, originally because we'd planned another cross country adventure circa Summer 2006, but as it turns out, so far the time has been spent turning Hannah's old room into an office for me. She moved out two weeks ago and has been having a ball socializing with John's family, the same people who outcast us six months ago for daring to question their inappropriate meddling in John's kids' lives. If you're confused by that sentence, join the club. In response to our statement that we weren't going to participate in dysfunctional dynamics of passive aggression, denial, and character attacks, we were told by John's sister and brother-in-law that we would never be spoken to again. Nice. Ever since then, John's mom, aka Leader of the Pack, has told us (despite our clear requests not to do certain favors for his oldest son --like ENABLING him, for instance-- as he learns about the consequences of his adult choices) that she would "do it all over again" and has wondered aloud with complete innocence why she feels she doesn't get to see our five- and six-year-olds. Gee, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that not only do you have no respect for me as parent and undermine me with small jabs at every turn when you're around any of my kids or stepkids, but you also blatantly told me this is how you plan to operate over and over again. No, we won't be lining up at your door for babysitting services. She thinks it's "unnatural" to call and ask to see the kids, by the way -- we aren't stopping her from seeing them, as much as she tries to convince us that we are.
No more excuses not to write.
Anyway, while Hannah and the in-laws burn pictures of us, brew stolen toenail and hair clippings, and sew the final touches on the voodoo dolls they plan to stab in our honor, I've been busy trying to create an office for myself. Our (still new) house still feels huge, but most of our space feels shared to me; I haven't had a place to privately sit down and work, think, read, or write other than our bedroom, where there is usually a small child or children bouncing on a bed or having a sword fight - despite the fact that they each have their own beds on which to bounce as well as a huge gameroom full of their toys and plenty of space for whatever mutual maiming they insist on doing for the 14 waking hours that make up each day. My new office has inherited lots of individual pieces of furniture that were randomly placed up until now, as well as previously unhung pictures, and it is fast becoming the coziest room in the house. In addition to a writing desk and a comfortable chair, we lugged the huge bookshelf from the gameroom (the only place we had to store it until now), which means it's like a real, live office of someone who would habitually read and write. My only remaining excuse for NOT reading or writing will be the ever-present time factor, which won't exactly hold much water if I continue to spend my evenings halfway to coma status in front of the TV. The transported furniture means, of course, that there are now gaping holes in our larger-than-we-realized master bedroom, which has turned Project Office Creation into Project Master Bedroom Completion, something I wasn't prepared to deal with in the measley five days I have off work, a few of those we have supposedly set aside to do something that resembles a vacation with the kids (and that is literally as much planning as we've done so far).
Free entertainment, until you cave and buy a pet (we haven't yet).
So, the past year has been, shall we say, full ofsurprises crap stress -- well, just full. One of the results of said fullness has been our focused buckle down on the finances, which means all of our planned trips this year were either drastically simplified or eliminated completely. We've taken to finding things to do in our own locale -- and not just the SAME things we always do, either. And when I say "we" I really mean mostly John, since he is the one attempting to work out of our house all summer while two bored elementary schoolers (Quinn will be in kindergarten, so I can officially say that now - excuse me while I sob) loudly and constantly beg to swim, bowl, play miniature golf, and go to restaurants. (I really only see one activity - swimming - in that series of requests that would seem "normal" to me for a five- and six-year-old. What have we done to these kids?) John has drowned out some of the begging with SpongeBob and video games (against my useless protesting from a phone in my cubicle 15 miles away), but he's come up with some free summertime entertainment, too. They've hit pet stores, water parks, and "home school," which as you can see by the look of joy on Quinn's face in the last picture, is clearly all the rage with today's five-year-olds.
So, the past year has been, shall we say, full of
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