The Pink Elephant

There has been a pink elephant that has drifted in and out of my life ever since Lena was born and lately he has been poking his head out from whatever rock he repeatedly crawls under. He makes an appearance every now and again and upsets the whole apple cart of calm that tends to settle in when he's not in the picture.  This pink elephant has been on parade the last few weeks and it makes my skin crawl every single time he's mentioned. The pink elephant is her dad.

Lena has not physically seen him since she was in 1st grade (almost 5 years now), however sometimes out of the blue he decides to call or send her text messages for a little while before fading off into the circus again for undetermined amounts of time. It seems as everything starts to settle from the last blip of less than adequate contact, he suddenly appears again as if some tiny little bell rang in his head signaling him that his absence was no longer making her miserable and that he better renew that ache she feels so she doesn't forget him.

I refuse to say anything negative about him to Lena and my answer has always been "He's just not grown up enough." I know it's not a sufficient answer, but it's the only one I have that doesn't include an endless string of swear words or graphically depicting the amount of bodily harm I'd like to inflict on him. So, it will have to do.

She called me at work yesterday and asked for our home number. She's never needed it before so this immediately sent off red warning flares in my head and it forced me to ask the question of why does she need this. Her first response was "just because." I know my daughter, that was an evasive answer because she didn't really want to tell me why she needed it. So I had to press a little harder and ask who she was planning on giving the number to exactly. Thankfully, my daughter is still honest with me. I think guilt would eat her alive if she actually tried to lie and conceal something from me. In the end, she knows I'd find out anyway. She admitted she wanted to give it to her dad.

Her dad has my cell phone number and her text plus number if he wants to communicate with her. Mean as it may sound, I do not want this man to have my home line. Ultimately, he is a stranger. If she has to use my cell phone to talk to him, then I'm home and able to monitor all communications between them. If they're texting on her Kindle, I can go back and read the messages he sent. Psychotic, maybe a little... However, several months back, he told her that he would be moving back from Georgia soon, but that he wanted to fly her down to Disney World with him, his wife, and his step-kids. The wife that told him she was uncomfortable with having Lena and I be a part of his life now that they're married (hence why he hasn't seen her since). Since Lena is old enough to be home alone for a couple hours after school until James or I get home (plus my sister is just down the street), it makes me terribly uncomfortable to think of them talking in a way that's impossible for me to monitor.

It broke my heart to tell her no, she can't call him from the house phone. It broke my heart to tell her that she would have to wait until I got home to talk to him. A girl should be able to talk to her dad without restrictions. But since we don't really know him anymore, I just can't let that happen. I have to be careful when and how much contact I allow because he fills her with promises and dreams that he never delivers on. I would never deny her the right to talk to her dad or see her dad (if he ever decided she was important enough to see again), but it has to be on my terms. I can't protect her from him breaking her heart over and over and over again, but I can hopefully lessen the damage by not allowing him free reign to tear her to pieces when I'm not around to hold her while she cries.

Dear Teenagers

Dear Teenagers:

I'm not entirely certain what caused you to yell to me and several other motorists on my trek home from work today. Upon seeing your license plate as you pulled up to harass the next vehicle in line it occurred to me that you are mostly likely seriously misguided. The definition of Ghetto is as follows: a part of a city, especially a slum area, occupied by a minority group or groups. Seeing as how you were four white kids, driving around in a car most likely purchased by Mr. Fabulous' parents since I highly doubt a job flipping burgers somewhere could pay for that, in Schererville (which certainly doesn't meet the requirements of a slum)... I think it's pretty safe to say that someone has misplaced their dictionary. I highly recommend that you pick up a book prior to sending in for personalized license plates when you don't actually know the meaning of the word. It is no way cool or trendy to stamp I'm an uneducated moron on the back of your vehicle for all to see. 

And I'm sorry, but I do have to ask, what parent allows their child to get such plates on the back of the car they're obviously paying for? It may be just me, but this somehow makes think that mom and dad may need a brief English lesson as well.

Some Days Hunnie, I Want to Wrap You Completely in Duct Tape

My schedule this week is all sorts of messed up. See, we're hosting a Women's Car Car Clinic on Saturday at one of our locations that I'll be working the check in table for. Since my boss is anti even one minute of overtime we have to compensate for those extra hours during the work week. He's also anti giving me and the other 2 girls working it a half day each to eliminate the time easily (and actually enjoy it). Instead, we have to distribute the four hours over several days. We've been robbed with granted a couple mornings in a little late and one day out a little early. Plus I have to compensate for the hours that I'm attending the monthly sales meeting Thursday night too. Fun!

This morning is one of my late mornings. I could have taken advantage of it, put Lena on the bus, and enjoyed my extra hour quietly in my pajamas with my coffee. Instead I let her sleep in a little late and I'm going to be driving her to school. I used to drive her in every morning when I managed the restaurant. None of my vendors delivered until around 10 am so I had a good portion of the mornings to do things like that. All it cost me was my soul and my sanity for almost 3 years.

But I digress... James was down right crabby last night. He was doing everything possible to push my buttons. Sometimes, I wish it wasn't illegal to wrap people up in duct tape and stick them in a closet. He's been avoiding getting his Indiana License for a year now. He has a CDL and it's a major pain in the ass to meet all of the requirements to get one. However, if he wants to plate his car in December he can't avoid it much longer. Since he gets an annual physical through work he didn't want to pay extra (don't blame him) to get one for his license. Indiana provided him with the proper forms that they require, which he informed me yesterday the doctor promptly tossed in the garbage. He works in Illinois so the doctor told him that the form he was filling out would be sufficient for Indiana too. Evidently this doctor has never dealt with trying to get something done with the Indiana BMV. Their rules are not flexible and I already know this is going to cause me a headache. Since he was born abroad it was hell getting the proper documentation to appease them, but James doesn't understand that because I did it all for him. All I said was "Oh, great!" when he told me what the doctor did and he immediately flipped his switch. "The doctor knows what he's doing," "Indiana isn't allowed to require something different, I've met the federal requirements." Blah, blah, blah. 

Listen up genius, the state has the right to require whatever the hell forms they want and now, I'm going to have to deal with trying to get it even though you were right there! He really is a wonderful man, but sometimes he just doesn't think it through. It never even occurred to him that now I was going to have to jump through a bunch of hoops to track down this doctor and get that form filled out anyway. James is kind, dedicated, hard working, a great father, and sometimes a bit of an oaf. Some days I just want to scream at him, if you're going to treat me like a stay at home mom with time to do this crap, then make me one! I think some days he forgets that I work too.

When he gets home from work, he thinks he's just done for the day. I still have to tackle dinner, homework, the laundry, the pets, etc. Him, well he plays iPad. I have to twist his arm to help get things done sometimes. Most days I'm okay with it, because it's all just habit for me and I was doing it all for years as a single mom. Outside having extra laundry, it hasn't really added anything to my daily routines. He really is more help than hinder, but more-so on weekends than weekdays. But there are days, like last night, it makes me furious and I just want to chuck the iPad out of the window and run it over with the car. I know that would get his attention.