Friday, December 19, 2008

Don't rock the boat, Baby

So, we had a bit of a rant tonight.

We went to see a 'hockey' game due to the benevolence of mah friend who has season tickets. (I have to put it in quotes as I am from Hockeytown & am married to a Canadian.) It was fun, even though MiniMe loaded up on the sugar today & did not nap. Biggie sold 3 cars today. Yeah. 3 cars in one day in this economy. & no, he don't wear no cape & magic boots. We waited for him to finish showing his last customers the ropes on their new Van; MiniMe used her little potty in the back of my truck. 

When he got in the car, he said something that shocked me. He said, "I'm sorry we're always late." He meant that he is sorry that he is always at work until at least 8pm & that every time we make plans to do things with other people we are inevitably late because he cannot leave yet. I told him not to worry; it is how things are. I was overcome by how he felt compelled to say this, but even more so by the thought that he doesn't realise how I am always late to everything, regardless of if he is with us or not. I have no control of when I am able to be somewhere. I am beholden to the needs & constraints of others to the extent that I can never be confident in my ability to do anything at a particular time. 

On the way home, something happened. I don't know why, but Biggie has this thing about food. It's been a source of constant struggle in our marriage. He would tell you I am some sort of food Nazi that restricts anything that actually tastes good. I will tell you that we made an agreement when we became parents that we wouldn't bring any food (eschewing liquor) into the house we wouldn't want our kids to eat. Biggie is much more strict than I am about what MiniMe eats. I'm much less "Do as I say, not as I do" than he. Regardless.... 

He has a fast-food habit that he tries to hide from me. It's not so much a health thing as it is a money thing. The friends that have the season tickets saw him at McDonald's that morning, when he happened to be running late. When he commented on the way home on how he couldn't believe he got to work in less than an hour, I said, "Wow. If you ate breakfast at home maybe you could sleep in even longer." Not in Miss Snarky voice. Seriously. He immediately turned into Mr. Driving Aggressively, Mr. Interrupter, Mr. I Suggest You Don't Dare Say Another Word. I HATE it when he does this. I know it's not really about me. I HATE that MiniMe has to see her father talk to me this way because she Does Not Like It & shows it very demonstratively for hours if not days afterwards. 

The biggest problem I have with Biggie is that he can be so incredibly Mean. When he feels that someone has wronged him, including me, anyone really, he thinks it is completely justifiable to treat the offender however he feels like. He has said things that can't be taken back. No, he would never hit me. But often, his words hurt more than any blows ever could. He can be Cruel.

I said something offhand the other day that apparently really bothered him  we need to find a way to discuss it, because he is being mean. I said that I feel like I never get what I want. He took it personally, as he IS the bread (ok, I make the bread. But, with flour his salary pays for.) winner, 1st generation Italian Man. He isn't getting what so many of you moms out there I'm so sure do. I meant that I can't even get through a workout without tending to the needs of our kid at least twice. I did also mean that I am so fricken homesick, break into tears at least twice a day because everywhere we go is playing White Christmas, & (dude!) I want to go skiing, tobogganing, make a fricken snow angel. 

Just had to get that out there.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Joy & Pain

Yep. I'm singing Rob Bass. (Pump it up! Pump it up, now!) Hey, I never had Garden Weasel bangs.

So, the pain part. We have been given a court date on our house for foreclosure. You typically have 60 days after the court date to get your stuff out before it is no longer available to you. I have to find a place for us to live. During the holidays. With a 3-year old in tow. A 3-year old who REALLY wants to live in a 2-story house where her bedroom is closer to ours & has a pool. Sigh. 

Also, the dealership is raising our health insurance premium. Again.

Moving on... (both literally & figuratively)

The joy part. Christmas jumper #1 is complete. It has been worn to a birthday party for our friend Lolly (Lorelai) on Sunday & again today. It is super-cute. My favorite part is the trim on the hemline. 

She's got it bad for Tommy the Elf, who is in this print. You can't tell very clearly from the pics, but I also sewed little lightbulb charms along the pockets. 

She really does appreciate that she has a mom that does this stuff for her. 

I also am very excited for Christmas morning. We are giving MiniMe the dollhouse I was given by my parents when I was 3. Seen as how MiniMe was born 2 days before my birthday, she is basically exactly the age I was when I got it. My parents, who had been divorced for a while at the time, actually worked together to buy it for me. It was relinquished to me by my mom when she was pissed at me for something & not speaking to me. Apparently she didn't see that episode of Gilmore Girls. To her credit, she did cart the thing down here, even if her second husband actually threw away the toddler bed my dad made for me. Bygones. I asked Biggie to make a platform for it with casters so that the house can be turned around. It always annoyed me as a kid that I couldn't really access the front of the house because it was up against the wall. He rocks & made a backyard for it, too. He's asking about grass for the yard. He's giving me seriously unpleasant flashbacks of making models in architecture school. 

I also have to finagle what Santa is bringing. MiniMe told Santa she wants a space station. Seriously. Last year, when she was 2-years old, she asked for a 'pinano' & a 'gee-tar'. She's killing me. We've had talk(s) about how Santa would have a really hard time fitting a space station on the sleigh. I just don't want to stretch the whole Santa discussions too long because we haven't exactly decided how we are going to handle the day when she looks at us & point blank asks if there is a Santa.

Last Christmas she picked this super-cute pseudo vintage book, Miss Flora McFlimsey's Christmas Eve, from the library. I seriously knew it by heart in 3 days, & it ain't a short book. I didn't mind; it's a great story. Flora is an old-school doll living in the attic that comes down to peek at the Christmas tree & gets suckered into being a present since that slacker Santa lost a doll on his way. The other dolls make fun of her. I don't want to ruin it, but it all works out in the end & I love the look MiniMe gets on her face when we read the last page. 

Well, it turns out that Flora McFlimsey was an actual doll back in the '30's that the author used as a model for the series of books she wrote about Flora. Madame Alexander made a Flora McFlimsey doll last year & let's just say that I'm crossing my fingers that she is a welcome substitute for the space station. Yes, I love that my 3 year old girl wants a space station, but I highly suspect that it has more to do with the fact that Caillou asks for one for Christmas & less to do with ours trips to the MOSI museum. Cross your fingers, y'all.