y'know, i'm not sure it's right how much i'm enjoying this weekend.
i have the weekend mostly to myself. and not as in, doing my own thing while they do theirs. no, i really have it mostly to myself - hubby and MedSm are doing a cub scout sleepover. they left this morning. yipee!
i've been able to run the day on my own damn schedule, and it feels fine. got a haircut, bought myself a box of chocolates, a cookbook, a crappy magazine, and lunch at the sushi place in town. meandered home by way of the pet store (lizards gotta eat, no matter the day), and am now contemplating: should i watch a movie? or read a magazine? or both? and should i have chocolate while doing so? oh, and got myself a root beer slushie on the way home.
truly, i love my guys, but i'm really glad they're gone for a bit. :)
so, having calmed down a tad, i still have things to say about the Stepmom Card Debacle.
slightly more nuanced, but not much, i guess, because the wrongness of it all just irks me.
as difficult as it was for me to deal with not finding a card, at least i can put on the Big Girl Panties, put it in perspective, and move on. (having finally found an unsucky card - one, count 'em one - helped.)
but what if you're the kid? you love your stepmom or stepdad, and want to get them a special card. you go to the store, and there's bupkis to choose from. not a damn option that says 'happy day, stepmom!' what does that do to your little brain? don't tell me that on some level it doesn't fuck with them. and they have a hard enough row to hoe already, if they're a stepkid. making peace with the fact that your bioparents don't live in the same house, and did you do something to cause it, explaining over and over again to other kids that you have three or four parents... it sucks, man. no card is just a kick in the teeth, methinks.
and lest you think i'm overly sensitive about defending my role as mom, how about this: talking with a friend last night, we were discussing kids taking after us. his is a smartypants, mine is sarcastic. and he said (and i quote) 'yeah, and he's not even your kid.' not. even. my. kid. again with the biological imperative that you must be the one what birthed 'em to be a parent. and that came from someone i'd say is a friend. a hearty Fuck You for that one.
when hubby and i got together, i said that i knew he had a kid, and i'd take that as part of the package, signing up to be a parent. what i didn't know, what you can't know until you're in the situation, is that you're also signing up to deal with a whole slew of stupid people every damn day. the worst is, it occasionally comes from within the camp, as well. there are things that hubby or MedSmall say that are salt in the wound. the time that MedSmall got disciplined for screwing up (and he should have been, that's legit), and i came home to be told that 'oh, yeah, we [read: he and her, not me] talked about it, and we've decided he's grounded for the weekend.' let's take a look at that. a parenting decision was made by 'the parents'. it was on a weekend where MedSmall was with us - so Biohazard had the luxury of meting out punishment without actually doing any punishing. and it was a weekend where i was flying solo, because hubby was working. so, guess who got to be the enforcer of an agreement she didn't ask for or agree with? yup. that would be me. and i had to cancel a bunch of my own plans to do it.
now, there is the backing my spouse, and yes, it does suck to be the parent when you have to hand out consequences that also affect you - but it still needs to be done.
however. that whole thing just sucked big green donkey balls, and there was much discussion with hubby over how the Biohazard never, ever has the right to dictate how the parenting happens in our house. ever. i stated flat out that the next time i wasn't included in the loop, i wouldn't be party to the punishment. ground him again without talking to me, and then leave him with me for the weekend? fuck you. we're going to the beach and out for ice cream, and you can kiss my Irish ass.
and some days, a good 'guy with guitar' song makes it all better.
this is one of those songs that i love hearing on the radio (WERS, and thank god for them and their commercial-free oasis of musical goodness) - will blast the shit out of it, windows down, driving along the road to work, drinking my tea and looking at the trees and sun, and digging Ryan and his six string.
fact: over 1300 new stepfamilies are formed every day.
fact: it is easier to find a Mother's Day card from the cat than to find one for a stepmother.
fact: right now, i have a Big Bucket of Fuck You for American GreetingCard MegaCorp.
there are Mother's Day cards for moms, mothers, grandmothers, grammies, nanas, aunts, sisters, mother-in-laws, nieces, godmothers, like a mother, for a special person, for any mother (my especial favorite), from the cat, from the dog, from all of us, from your little guy, from your daughter, to your friend, for the wife. hell, if you're a Spanish-speaking woman of color, there are lots of cards for you!
not a damn fucking card for stepmothers. no love for the stepmoms this year.
and that just reinforces the bitter little pill that many people think that stepmothers aren't real moms. the number of times i've gotten 'oh, you're the stepmother' in that very special tone of voice - i've lost count. society seems to think that if you didn't pop out the little bugger, you don't count. not at school, not at the doctor's office, not at the ball games, not at playgroups, not when it comes to insurance. nowhere.
yes, i'm insanely fucking bitter right now. because you know what? i've mopped up vomit, taken him to the ER, nursed him thru colds and stomachaches, gone to the PTO meetings, gone to bat for him at school, talked to him about why it's not good to pick on Johnny, listened when he needed to talk about how Johnny was being mean to him, given him his allowance and helped him set up a bank account, made him clean his room, packed his lunch for school, taken him to games, been there when he has nightmares, put him in line when he needs it, praised him when he's done well, organized my schedule around him, gone to the zoo, the pool, the playground, the parades, the birthday parties, made popcorn and rented movies for family movie night, taught him to play backgammon, gotten my ass kicked at Parchesi and Othello, learned to let him make his own mistakes, talked to his teacher about grades and gotten him tutoring, showed up for talent shows...
i *dare* you to tell me i'm not a mom. *glares*
fucking card companies. they can shove it up their ass sideways.
eta: Hallmark ecards? nothing. nada, bupkiss for stepmoms. American Greeting? one phenomonally lame one that doesn't even have the word stepmom on it. go fuck yourselves, all of you moronic card writers. thanks for ignoring over half the mom population. way to go. assholes.
sunday night, late, goofing on the computer, you know the drill.
sadly, each time i use the phrase 'you know the drill', it makes me think of SailorBoy, who was (and likely is) a bit of a tool. i'm hoping to reclaim the phrase just by using it often.
question: does drinking cheap fake beer out of a can make me fake white trash?
listening to NPR this afternoon, as well as several other local noncommercial stations... NPR is a constant source of both news and amusement. for example, did you know that you can actually get Hello Kitty condoms? as adam said on wait, wait, 'gives a whole new meaning to hellloooo, kitty.' also, apparently voter registration in FL requires you to check a box stating that you're sane. forgetting to check the box is tacit admission of non compos mentos, it would seem, which led to all sorts of commentary from the wait, wait folks.
MedSmall is getting his braces on soon, so i'm planning lots of corn on the cob this week, as well as allowing him as much sticky candy and bubble gum as he can cram in his face. next two years, no crunchy/sticky, so he gets to live it up now.
i've been working on a serious sleep deficit lately, as you may have gathered from the fragmentary nature of the post so far. ;) hubby not only won't admit the severity of the snoring/sleep apnea issue, he has gone so far as to say he doesn't have a problem. see, here's the thing: it *is* an issue, and not just his. when i'm too tired to look after my kid, get to work on time, or even drive down the street? it's an issue. conversation doesn't really seem to be an option on this one, and i'm sure he won't talk to his doctor, which of course precludes going for a sleep study or getting treatment. so in the meantime, i've got a very empty bed, because hubby, when told to find a solution, has chosen the couch. >:/ i'm getting sleep, a bit, but... in the long run, that's just not gonna work.
there is so very much a reason they use sleep deprivation as a form of torture. as, apparently, is repeated playing of the Barney theme song. no joke. the military, fine upstanding organization that it is, decided to co-opt the Barney song to torture detainees.
of to dork around with gtalk, and twitter, and blogshares... because that's my downtime. :)