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11:33 a.m. - 2011-09-12
It's Monday, you're expecting Chekhov?

I had Princess's hair cut when? April? May? And she still looks terrible. If I'd known ahead of time that it'd take this long for her coat to start growing back I don't think I'd have gotten her such a severe clip. I don't know if she'll ever look the same. Wished I'd taken better pictures of her while she was still pretty. Not that she cares how she looks. She's still my sweetie little doggie who's delighted to see me in the morning. She doesn't care how I look either. I come downstairs with my hair all snatzy wearing my awful housecoat and Princess dances around, tail wagging so hard her whole butt is waggling, "Mom! Oh Mom! You're here! OMG! Mom's up! YAY!!!!!"

Nobody is ever as glad to see you as a dog.

I'm hoping this school week runs smoothly. Things are okay on Mick's campus, but Wolf's school is having difficulties. The phones were down all last week, a souvenir from the hurricane. Something which contributed to the ease of that first morning when we were trying to get the scheduling snafu worked out. Mick's impression of calm at Podunkville High was bolstered by the lack of shrilling phones. The staff was able to focus on the people in front of them and didn't have to slot off every 5 seconds to answer a phone. So no phones. Then on the first day a transformer blew and they had to dismiss school early. The second day there was a state-mandated bus drill and again the kids were sent home early. Thursday there was no school because of the rainstorm and the terrible flooding. Friday was okay, but the bus got stuck in a traffic snarl because of an accident and then had to reroute because of the flooding and take the long way around, so Wolf got home really late. We still don't know when exactly he's supposed to get back if things are normal.

We took up another new normal and met the folks for dinner yesterday. It went okay, I guess. I was in sales for a very long time and haven't lost a bit of my ability to make pleasant chit-chat with people I loathe. Oh, they knew, MIL and FIL both, that something was up but could make no complaints. Aside from less eye contact and not hugging her my behavior was as usual. Light chat about nothing, listening politely to all her kvetching about groundhogs and the mess from the storms. She slung a few pointed remarks about how I haven't been around lately but I didn't take the bait. My time is my own, lady, and I don't need to justify how and with whom I spend it. I'm your son's wife, not your indentured servant. I don't owe you anything.

Poor Mick. All through the meal he was waiting for his mother to say something. To apologize. Or at least ask what the deal was. Nope. Like I said, aside from a few caustic remarks and dirty looks shot my way MIL ignored the elephant named George sitting on our table. My guy couldn't believe his mom could be that cold. He's looking at her with new eyes now and is disgusted by what he sees. Which is terrible. For Mick, I mean. He loves his mom. But now everything has new context. Mick is seeing MIL as a person, not just as 'Mom' and the difference is killing him. Over the years she's driven him crazy as moms do, and he's often bewildered by some of her decisions and reactions to things, but on the whole she was just 'Mom'. He can't see her as just good old Mom anymore and he's floundering for a way to be around her. Can't decide how to act or what to say. He's seen for himself how it is with her, she's not going to budge on this.

I'll say one more thing about this mess and try to move on after. I get what a few of you said about MIL's frame of reference, how someone her age comes from a line of thought barely ahead of honor killings. How the woman who'd been manhandled, beaten or raped was the one at fault. But you know what? I don't care. The woman's never missed an episode of 'Law & Order: SVU' or 'Criminal Minds'. If she hasn't figured out by now that men putting their hands and genitals on a woman who doesn't want them there is a no-no then she's got all the brainpower of a sea snail. As for the theory George might have gotten to her as a child, he's 11 years younger than she is. She was married and a mother twice over before George even hit puberty. But the biggest thing? She fucking knows my history. She knows how badly my life was screwed up by molestation and maternal indifference to it. She knows all about me and my horrifying past and she still did what she did.

So no excuses. None. Not a reason in the world for her behavior that can explain away what she's done. Not a one.


I can tell it's truly fall despite how toasty it's been since the rain stopped, the past two mornings I've come in here and found the place booby-trapped with cobwebs. Got me another 8-legged girlfriend looking for a warm place to spend the winter. Or worse- to pull a Charlotte and leave me saddled with her kids. Do I look like a Wilbur to you? Then again my office is a pig-sty. Perhaps it's an honest mistake on Ms Arachnid's part. "What? This isn't Zuckerman's farm? My apologies. Sure smells like Wilbur's place though. And I was sure that weird guy out back was Lurvy."

In any case I'm going to have to have a talk with her. But spiders are so stubborn. Every year I tell them they can stay if they hang out up near the ceiling and in the windows and to not sling webbing all over the place every night. I think that's pretty darn nice of me. Especially considering how most people feel about spiders. And do they listen? Noooo. Every morning I come in here and get all cobwebby. On my legs. On my face. It's gross. So then I have to find the spider and evict her dumb silk-spinning ass. Some folks just won't see when they have it good and have to be stupid and mess it up for themselves.

Way of the world, I guess. ~LA

7 Wanna talk about it!

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