A Mother's Musings and Mumblings

Two weeks of vacation flew by as fast as an airplane over the north Atlantic. I’m home and have been for a couple of days now. No, I haven’t forgotten to update y’all on the trip – that entry is being drafted/crafted slowly. But there’s something else on my mind today that needs to get out of my head.

When traveling, Pagan Queens and others should remember to take their medications as directed. A six hour time shift really messes with that and when you’re dealing with a drug that causes fatigue when the dose is adjusted then it can be tricky. The end result of this exercise in mental mathematics is that I’m off on my Diamox dose and have been for at least a week. My head is KILLING me. Throw in some jet lag, a little PMS and eye of newt and I don’t think my current mood requires much explanation. So take that as the backdrop for the little drama that unfolds in the rest of this post.

I’m still getting settled into the routine of being home. Thing 1 leaves this week for a month so I have her for less than a week – and that’s after not having seen her for a month. She’s grown. Seriously. And I hate that I missed it. Thing 2 has oral surgery tomorrow. My baby has four teeth that will be coming out including one that is impacted. I’m scared for her and I keep acting like this is no big deal just so that she’ll not freak out. We’re going shopping today for mushy foods and ice cream. I don’t know which one of us is going to feel worse!

Of course, drama started before we ever got home. We were in the airport still when we found out that Iggy’s girls weren’t sure they wanted to be here for all of their scheduled visitation.  So Iggy’s mood isn’t all that great either. The difference between how he’s taking it and how I’m taking it is that I blame Stepford for this. She didn’t want Iggy to have this much time with his daughters to begin with and so here we are with the girls telling him that they don’t think they can stand to be away from Stepford that long. Coincidence?

We’ve now put the scenery on the stage. Let’s add the action.

There’s a family wedding in Iggy’s family next weekend that we’re supposed to attend. “We” in this case being defined as Iggy and his girls, me and Thing 2. We’re driving 16 hours up and 16 hours back and going to the wedding on the day in between. Why might this be less than fun?

1. It’s a wedding. Weddings and I have a long history given that I’ve had a few. The trouble is that in recent years my feelings toward weddings has become rather, well, fractured. On the one hand, I look at the happy couple and want to scream “RUN” at the top of my lungs. On the other hand, I look at the happy couple and see two people who are happy and content and will have the kind of life that I will never have. The kind of life that I apparently don’t deserve. So I cry at weddings.
2. This isn’t just any wedding. The wedding will have me dealing with Iggy’s family. They’re a good bunch – big, close Midwestern family. With pictures of Stepford up all over the place. Iggy and Stepford’s wedding, Iggy and Stepford dating, Stepford all decked out for a night out. The photos of Stepford and their girls I understand. But the others, I don’t get for so many reasons. Why has Iggy never had a problem with these? If my family had photos of WF and I up, I’d have asked them to take them down before I was even dating again. But Iggy doesn’t care. His love life with Stepford is documented on the walls for all to see and he’s fine with that.
3. They’re a Midwestern Family. Some of you know that I’m from one of those. One that is within an hour of Iggy’s family. I’ve asked Iggy before for details of the wedding weekend and haven’t gotten them. I’ve asked Iggy for details of when his girls are here this summer and haven’t gotten those either. This makes it hard for me to plan anything that I’d like to do – say, see my sister after a 16 hours drive.

But at the end of it all, what had me crying myself to sleep is something my mother said years ago when I was divorcing Chuckles. She pointed out that he “doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink and doesn’t beat you” so she didn’t understand the need for a divorce. At the time, that seemed silly. Death threats aside, I was young and wanted to believe that there was more to life and relationships that not being beaten by a sober guy with clean breath.

Times have changed. I’m 42 years old. I’m not getting any younger. Or prettier. Insert a refrain from “That Girl” and you’ve got my mood. I’m not the girl that anyone has ever looked at and said “I see forever in your eyes” – at least not and still meant it the next morning. At this point in my life, no one is ever going to have my wedding pictures hanging in their home to remind them of how happy their son had been. I have no realistic chance of ever being first in anyone’s life other than my own. So when looking for a partner, maybe the bar I’ve set is a bit too high. And maybe, just maybe, I’m holding myself to a higher standard than I need to as well.

Or maybe this is all just a really bad headache with overtones of PMS and I just need a little TLC once in a while.