Truths: Where to begin?

I have so much to say after yesterday that I don’t even know where to start. I try to look at days like yesterday as learning experiences and maybe as I write this blog something of an educational nature will come to me. I hope.

The day started out in a way that some would find disappointing from the get go. The painters were supposed to come and start spraying all the new trim boards which will undoubtedly be a three day project. But, early on I found out that the painter was sick and wouldn’t be coming at all.

For me it was actually a huge relief – almost cause for celebration. For the last two months someone has been in my house working everyday and to know that no one would be here and I would be home all day (my car is in the shop…part two of the story)- I couldn’t stop smiling.

I worked out – walked around in my spandex because NO ONE was hear to see me… and then I got down to business and took on wrapping presents. I told my friend, Nancy, “Wrapping presents always seems like such a fun, Christmassy, thing to do – but in reality it is just a pain in the ass.”

Worse is when you have PMS. PMS and the paper rips or the tape runs out or the damn shirt won’t fit in the box (the few boxes you did get from the stores – they always seem to run out every Christmas – can no one anticipate anything?)

So, if wrapping gifts and PMS don’t go together you can surely imagine what it is like when the dealership calls to tell you that your car won’t be ready and they don’t even know what is wrong with it.

I avoided these calls and left them to Bill. I knew me responding to any of it would have ended in a lawsuit.

And, if all of that isn’t enough – add a hormonal 13 year old to the mix and it is nothing short of disaster. And while you might be smiling – it is NOT funny.

Abby pretty much had a hissy fit and blamed us for the fact that she would be up until midnight studying for a test that she knew NOTHING about all because we had to go get my car – not my car – but the loaner they were giving us – because they are idiots and don’t know how to rotate four tires in less than 8 hours. (its Anderson BMW in Crystal Lake, IL – I thought you should know.)

It’s a 20 minute car ride to the dealership and NO ONE talks. All you hear is deep sighs and bodies shifting. I can feel my stomach turn upside down and my head exploding.

I remember these days with my mom. I do. So, now, instead of antogoninzing the situation, I choose to say nothing at all. I am sure some psychologist is gasping because I am teaching my daughter to avoid conflict. But conflict with an adolescent girl seems more deadly than a future of poor communication skills.

And then as we ate dinner out – the words that I have feared all a long came blurting out, “I HATE the divorce!”

It was dumb of me to ask – but at the time I didn’t get it. “What divorce?”

“Yours and dad’s, duh!” Okay she didn’t actually say, “Duh,” but I know it was implied.

The weird thing about the divorce is that we have been divorced for 10 years – it is pretty much all Abby knows and yet, one day, we all knew it would surface.

So that was the ultimate bomb of the day and that pretty much put me in a dark place. One bottle of 64 wasn’t going to make that go away. I don’t even know if a case would have helped. But, being that it was my lucky day – we didn’t have any 64 at home. Go figure.

We are home now – and Abby is in her room – still sighing and stomping – Bill and I are in the basement – mostly silent – because what is there to say… and out of the blue, Keith, my ex-husband, comes over.

For a moment – I really thought Abby called him begging for an escape out of the Hell we have her in but no, he stopped by because he had gotten me a gift certificate that I needed for someone for Christmas. Isn’t that what all ex-husbands do? And how many women actually feel blessed to see their ex-husband at the door.

One because I did think he was taking Abby away… and two – because it broke up the wall of tension building in our house.

I know suicide is not a laughing matter – but I can’t help but think that it was the mom of a teenage daughter who said, “I would rather slit my wrists.” Because that is truly how I felt last night.

Sure by the time we went to bed – the house and its raw emotions had settled down – and by this morning things were back to whatever normal around here is…but enough had been said and not said to make me realize that last night wasn’t really the last night – it was just the first night of more like it to come.

I am going to have to step up my game to straight shots and forget about beer. What else can I do?

And, that is my educational take away.