I'm Gonna Love You Just A Little More Baby

Tonight we wagged off boxing. Instead, I stopped off to get my leg's waxed and the Squeeze went to sit, sip coffee and watch the world go by.

I hate that week before I get my legs waxed. I'm not an overly hairy person at the best of times but this morning, I looked like a European wolf spider. So by the time I was walking out of the salon and off to meet the Squeeze for a cup of tea and conversation; I was feeling pretty good about myself.

We got home and he cooked a fantastic Carbonara; I had a glass of red. I showered, we watched My Kitchen Rules and I turned to him at 8pm and said “let's just go to bed now... have wild sex and go to sleep...”

And here is where the background music is needed...

And he said “but we can't! It's My Kitchen Rules night! And then we've got to watch the Walking Dead!”

Hmmmm. This idiot sounds like a man that since being with me, can't remember what “sexual drought” was like.  Doesn't remember when he had to put a bit of Marvin Gaye or Barry White on to get a bit of action.

And I think he is about rediscover just what that feels like...

Do Not Forsake Me

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I'm not what you would call a 'girly girl'. In fact when it comes to power tools or understanding the manly thought process; in this relationship – I am the one.

For example; when we decided to buy and hang a bag in the garage to practice boxing, the Squeeze figured we could just throw a chain over the existing beam and start whacking.   I tend to figure I'd rather check out the support structure and when I find it insufficient, won't hold with the additional weight and impact, set about fortifying it.

Today however, I think it was proven that I am the woman.  The Squeeze, is well... truly swimming in the land of testosterone.  He is sweating it.  Totally manned up.  All bow at the feet of the man.

After doing a mercy dash to the girl and delivering an epi pen (she has inherited every bad gene I have got going and reactions come with swollen tongue and throat); we went out for breakfast, did an Office Works run which is like Toys-R-Us for adults and then came home, slammed the door and settled in.

Being in an unusual mellow mood, I've just gone with the flow today and the Squeeze has had his will with the television.  He has poured through dvd's and offered the odd, perfunctory "what about this..?" query.  But now, at 8.12 pm, I realize I've totally overdosed on testosterone today; hell, I could literally scratch my balls at any moment!

My afternoon consisted of gangster movie “Public Enemy” (although having Johnny on screen for the afternoon was pleasant...) and this was followed by Wyatt Earp.

Never was there so much spitting, punching and gun fighting in my house...

I’m Moodle... Your Brand New Man

The Squeeze went off for his monthly visit to the Nut Doctor on Tuesday night.  This is in the hope that one day, he will become a real human; so far this has not been a success.

He was born with a retarded 6 drops of essence of “romance”; five drops of “Moodle sauce”.  And now that the stirring is done, I daresay that not unlike Milton the Monster, that is just who he is and I must deal with it (or kill him off...)

After the Nut Doctor, it is usual for him to walk in the door clutching some sort of weird drawing in his hand.  A simple glance at this will easily give me a synopsis of the session.  I can tell with one fleeting glimpse what facts that idiot has twisted in his head and exactly how they have been presented.

The first few sessions had little circles drawn in thick black texta; all on an even par.  In the middle of each, was a stick figure; the Squeeze in one, the Harridan in another to one side and me crammed into a circle on the other side.  Simple really; a visual representation of being stuck in the middle which I suspect was true enough.  Still, you don’t need a degree in psychology to understand that if he attempts to keep the peace and just continues to obey the Harridan at every turn – then that was never going to work.  I believe he may even be starting to get that, albeit, slowly.

Then this week, there was a change in the diagram.  The Harridan didn’t even make it onto the drawing.  Instead, we had the Squeeze, the Kid and me; three circles equally intersecting and distinct lines in the sand to dictate “relationship” and “parenting”. 

I decided that some actual conversation around what was discussed and a possible resolution was required because I may have been drawn as an equal circle with as much input in the intersecting as the others, but that is not the reality. 

And I decided that I wasn’t going to pull any punches or hold anything back.  I have said previously, the day he comes home and says the kid is moving in, is the day I’m helping him find another place – because that isn’t happening... Not on my watch!  I never wanted to go back to parenting a teenager; I still don’t and mummy has always had such a tight hold that I figured I was safe there.

So looking at the picture, both the Moodle and the Nut Doctor seemed to have forgotten something in their doodles and arrows and lines.  While scratching about relationships and scrawling “his home” under the kid’s circle they forgot to get my perspective on it.  The Squeeze and I live a life alone and then 2 days a fortnight the kid is there – so how can they all have the same input and consideration requirement?  In my world, this is OUR home and 90% of the stuff in it is things that I have collected and restored over the years.   

Yes, he can parent all he likes and I have never wanted that role (I’d rather be staked to an ants nest and covered in honey.)  Hell no, I don’t want that, he is welcome to it; but he must actually ‘parent’ him.  He must put controls and rules in place that protect me and the things that are important to me.  Everyone’s needs and requirements must be address; not just theirs.  Up to this point, I have been left with the feeling that my needs are worth less than everyone else that exists in the equation – and I didn’t sign up for that.

So how do we do this?  Via compromise I suppose.

I won’t live a slovenly life and nor will I have my things used harshly.  My compromise is that my home looks more chaotic now than it ever has; and I deal with it.  And in truth, I don’t see that what I am asking for is even about parenting; it is about manners and respect.

So I decided to put my own “compromise” line in the sand; if his requirement was to have the kid an additional night a fortnight, this would work better for me, if he came on the Friday night and maintained the Sunday afternoon home time. 

From his perspective, it really isn’t any different other than he won’t have to have the added stress of the Monday morning debacle of this week.  From my perspective, they will be up early and gone for the Saturday morning so I can keep my routine; and come Sunday afternoon, I can continue my “pour a glass of red, unwind, clean up and distress!”

I’ve put it to him; it will be interesting to see what answer I get back...

Lighter shade of pale

This was the colour of my face this morning when I waltzed half-awake into the bathroom, bra and undies in hand; only discover a naked kid in the bathroom.  He twisted like a pretzel in an effort to hide, leaving me with an image of Marge walking in on Mr Burns in the shower.

For me, this end to the weekend was in a word, apt.

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The Squeeze and I had decided to take a four day weekend; he teaming a visit to his GP with a ‘sicky’ and me taking an ADO.   By Thursday I realised that our weekend wasn’t going to be quite the blast of relaxation I’d planned when the Squeeze informed me that he was no longer going to ‘waste’ a sick day and was going in to work.

This immediately got my back up; hell, we both knew that had the Harridan called to instruct him to have the kid, he’d have taken the day off quick enough.  I however, don't quite fit into that totem pole of importance.

Okay.  I can deal with that ‘on the fly’.  I don’t have to like it but I can deal with it.  And although I had a rather leisurely day on Friday, I woke Saturday with a raging stress headache.  Why?  Well the reality is that somehow, somewhere along the line, all the rules changed and it irks me that I have no input in to decisions.

We have a simple routine.  The word by its very meaning would tend to imply “organisation”, although it is a little more haphazard than that.  Still, as a general rule, the Squeeze heads off to the Velvet side of town while I sleep in and read, then get up and do a housework day.

By lunchtime, he and the kid are home and we either cook a brunch or go out for it.  The afternoon whizzes by in a blaze of television and technology where upon we cook, eat and get another bout of television and technology.  The morning is unhurried.  We cook breakfast, read the papers and clean up.  At this point, depending on what is on, we either all go off some place, or I encourage the Squeeze to go bond with the kid over a movie or something, prior to taking him back to the vice like grip of mummies arms and Velvetland.  I get to use this time to clean up, sit down and relax before he is back in the door.

But no, the Squeeze informs me that from here on in, he will be staying an extra night and catching the bus to school on the Monday and my annoyance level peaks again because unless I am mistaken, I kind of figure that extending the nights we have the kid should be something discussed between us; not something decided by the Squeeze, Harridan and Kid and handed to me fait accompli!

Sunday afternoon is my sanctuary after what is a rather stressful time.  It’s not that he is a bad kid or sets the house on fire or anything.  It’s that he has been raised completely differently to mine and there appears to be minimal boundaries – and I struggle with this.  Where I come from, families help out.  I work full time and do 90% of all the work around the house, sorry, but I expect you to pick up after yourself; either that or pay me a hell of alot more since it appears I'm to be the “help” as well.

Saturday over dinner, we had a discussion re why you need a job - so as to be able to provide for yourself and buy the things you want.   This was in regards to a non stop whine for a $50 soccer top that went throughout the day.  I think he missed the undertone of the message as it was answered with “you only have to think about what you want and it will come to you…”

WTF?  Trust me, that isn’t true.  If it were, I’d be getting up in the morning 10 kilo lighter, 10 years younger and Bradley Cooper would be making my coffee!  Having said that, I guess it was true for the Harridan who decided she could think about the Squeeze's tent – and then almost like magic, it was hers.

I like a good debate and I can be quite vocal in my argument (loud and obnoxious), so keeping myself restrained was in a word… Difficult.   Then Sunday, as we were about to leave for the caravan club to watch gospel for breakfast, the kid decides it’s time for breakfast – so we stand around while he spoons cereal into his face – and all the while, I feel every muscle in my back and shoulders tightening…

For stress relief, I decide to take the afternoon off and catch a movie with the girl.  We go off and have lunch and come home to help the Squeeze prepare a roast with all the trimmings, including chocolate steam pudding with custard and cream.  (Approximately 7000 kj I imagine….)

Given the waiting at breakfast, I start a discussion on the importance of keeping time; because in the end, I’m not hiring anyone that figures they are too busy and important to meet me at the correct time.  Sorry, but your time is not worth more than mine…  If you are more than ten minutes late for a meeting, I won’t be there.

To answer this, I get utter gibberish, informing me that being on time is only about “my” reality; in “his” reality, he can do as he likes and doesn’t have to submit to my time frames.   And with that one comment, I saw the rest of the next few years stretch out before me;  standing around tapping my foot as he refuses to hurry for “my" reality.

At the conclusion of the roast, the Squeeze and kid retire to technology in the bedroom where upon I get to clean up and wash all the roast dishes, including drying and putting away – because I can’t fit dessert dishes on the rack!

The Squeeze slinks back out a while later (possibly due to how loud the saucepans were crashing together like cymbals) and takes the tea towel from my hand – to which I say what is obviously the equivalent to “velvet wearing child abuse”…  ‘No.  You can wash.  The kid can dry.  I did all the rest.’

The outrage!  The Squeeze wouldn’t hear of it, his face and reaction were akin to me suggesting we drag him out to the back yard and flog him for an hour or two.  As my eye rolling becomes almost comical and the pot slamming routine escalates, I get the argument of "and why should he, it’s not like your children do the dishes when they are here?"  I'll admit, I had to go off and think about that because I'm not unaware that I can sometimes be the pot, calling the kettle...   But no, he obviously missed the part where the girl hasn’t been here for a meal since last year; boy 1 stayed 2 days on his way to moving to Queensland with his gal – and I know that she did the dishes…  And boy 3 came one weekend so far this year.  At the conclusion of me cooking breakfast – he and his girl got up and did all the dishes and clean up.  And I'll go so far as to say each of those times was unprovoked (what happens when you actually expect kids to help out...)

When I questioned the kid being here an extra day – and the off the cuff comment of “and if you have a music thing on or just want to come stay through the week… no probs…”   I got “it won’t affect you!  He will catch the bus to school!”

No.  It won’t affect me.  This morning I got woken up 15 minutes earlier than usual.  Much to my horror, walked in on a naked kid.  Suffered a cold shower because the Squeeze and kid are busy and important and must go first.  His music thing at school started at 7.30 so there wasn't any bus travel.  And after the seventh time of hearing the Squeeze say “come on come on come on!” this morning, I just turned off.

It’s all in the Breeding

Last night we went off to a school concert to watch a bunch of nerdy kids, all dressed in black and playing instruments.  These are the kids that back when I was young, may have gone on to obtain greatness however, you know that there is a world of torture going on before they get to that point.  At the half time break, one kid walked passed me actually wearing sunglasses.  It’s night.  You are inside.  Get real.

I’m not overly fond of the whole school concert/play thing.  I never have been.  I didn’t like being in them when I was young; didn’t like going to them when my kids were at school; dislike it even more now that there isn’t any cute little kids dressed as the grub in Alice in Wonderland or Earth shattering talent to be found.  The whole thing is full of nepotism and unrealistic demanding mothers.  I go for the same reason I went every other time; because you need a united front of support for kids. (And when I was young I was forced to.)

I always know I’m going to be in for a fun-filled, thrilling school adventure because the Harridan will be there; and fronting up to any event is proceeded by the never ending list of orders and instructions that come via text message.  In this instance, it was “pick up kid 3 from kid 2’s place (we are talking across the city via peak hour traffic), buy black shirt and shoes and get kid to the venue by 6.15 and then take kid 2 back home to the other side of town; and I still don’t have my epi pen!” (Rather than the 233 characters I’ve just typed, the message would have been 90 given the “ugg-caveman-wot-u-fkwit” speak.

She seems to miss the point where we actually work for a living, and this is surprising, given her “two income” comments that comes out on the occasional monetary argument.  So you would figure that she would understand the implications of us just walking out of work whenever she feels like it...   I mention to the Squeeze that he needs to reply to say “sure, bring our epi pen and we can do the swap”.  I also point out that although the kid’s is in my bag, we are not handing it over without the return of ours – if that occurs, then we are not having him this weekend.  After all, they are her ‘rules’; he wasn’t allowed to come camping with us unless the Squeeze turned up holding the epi pen in his hand like Oliver asking for more – as proof we actually had one.

Although it takes a few more harsh words than it used to, to get him out on that ball performing in the middle of the circus tent; years of obedience is hard to shake, so although he has vetoed the pick up; I notice that new black stuff and am told that when we make our escape, we will be driving back to the city to drop kid 2 off.

In short, she is like any good negotiator.  Ask for more than reasonable, and if you get most, you are winning.

I have struggled in the past when the Harridan has put on her performance for anyone that may be watching.  She goes out of her way to prove that she has no problem with the Squeeze being happy, in a relationship and moving on.  At soccer last year, it was a very chatty and loud “let’s all go for coffee!”  My face must have been priceless and I’m not sure how I refrained from actually saying out loud “I’d rather be dead…” because the week previously, she had inundated him with screaming, abusing, text messages that repeatedly told him what a pathetic, useless, uncaring father he was.

This has every protective instinct in my being rise up Joan of Arc style and I would love nothing better than to whip out my sword or leap across a room Wendi Deng style.  It isn’t like I wouldn’t love to say exactly what I think of her constant demands and spite; I would.  But in the end, it is about two things.  Good breeding and the kids.  I say exactly what I feel via my blog so I don’t need to be either rude or friendly to her.  I remain on the steady course of civility.  Nothing more, nothing less.

So after leaving the soccer, we were literally laughing our heads off at the ridiculousness of her even attempting to pretend that she doesn’t wish us both dead.  Even though we didn’t start seeing one another until 4 years after the final, legal end of the relationship, it is like acid to her.  His happiness is her kryptonite!  She can grin at him like an evil clown and say “I’m happy you are happy”; even while wishing she was pulling his entrails out through his nose.

Last night, it was the opposite.  She walked up to us standing in the foyer drinking coffee.  A happy little group consisting of the Squeeze, myself, Kid 2 and his gal, plus Kid 3 laughing about a television series – and pushed herself in, changed the conversation and was very, very careful to make sure she didn’t look at or acknowledge me in any way.

It is quite simple in my world.  I don’t like you.  You don’t like me.  That’s fine.  But face to face, with the kids, you retain civility.  They are her kids and if she wants to teach them rudeness, that's fine I guess.

I assume the discourtesy was designed to make me feel uncomfortable and ensure I stayed at home (where I belonged) the next time.   Sorry, you have to do a little better than turning on a show of rudeness and ignorance.  Blended families are strange things.  I love and support the Squeeze which means I do belong there.  I like his kids and have spent a great deal of time with them, which also means I belong there.

I have also just spent an hour washing Kid 3’s clothes that were dumped here last night.  Why an hour?  Because they required 2 washes with napisan since the Harridan obviously can’t work a washing machine and they could have stood in the corner on their own they were so filthy.  And if nothing else – that entitles me belong there.

There is a fine line between ‘fake’ and ‘vulgarity’ and the Harridan does not possess the common sense or good breeding to walk that line. 

How do I maintain my civility..?  Because the Squeeze is mine...