Rooferman tried to weasel me out of more time last night. He called 30 minutes before I was to pick up LB, saying they were at a restaurant and they just barely got their food, so it would be really nice if we could keep her a little longer. Just barely? It was 7:00 pm. I could see another long night ahead of me.
The Assclown was making me into the mean mommy again, stealing the poor child away from the good daddy. I would swoop in like a vulture and pry the food out of our cherub’s mouth, dragging her away to the dungeon of single mommyhood.
I could fabricate every vindictive idea in my mind as to why he waited till the END of his visitation to take his family out to dinner, but I’m making an honest attempt to erradicate my life of anger and spitefulness. I’m trying NOT to buy into the war fantasy I’ve so adeptly inserted into my subconscious.
I didn’t give him a yes or no answer. I told him I would call him when I was on my way to the restaurant, and he could meet me outside. I let myself watch an extra 10 minutes of the Jets/Patriots game and headed into town. 5 minutes later, I was waiting outside of Appplebee’s. LB emerged with the whole family, her face smeared in chocolate.
Blondie’s offspring ran right up to me and shouted gleefully, “LB ate LOTS of ice cream!”
Great. No sleep for me tonight.
I handed Rooferman the schedule for the Love & Logic parenting class we are required to take next week. Its actually a 5-week session, but I doubt he will keep showing up. He told me he had to go back to court next week, so his schedule was a little tight. I told him I would see him next Tuesday. I received the look of death from Blondie (oh right, its parent/teacher conference night…*snicker).
LB replayed her Tuesday routine, walking her feet up the wall as I tried to tuck her in. She asked met to sing her a lullaby, and proceeded to drown me out, singing the same lyrics at maximum volume. I finally sat down at 10:00 pm to update my Netflix queue. Behind me, I could hear the feetsie pajamas shuffling up to my chair. LB, wide-eyed and bushy tailed grinned at me.
“Mommy Hanna you get on compoodor? Mommy Hanna you come back? Mommy Hanna you take shower? Mommy Hanna you go nite nite?”
Nothing quite so picturesque as a 2.5-year-old Gemini hopped up on sugar at 10:00 pm with the full moon blaring down on her her rug-rat hair.
And for some reason, It didn’t bother me last night. There was no mommy meltdown. Even as she crawled into bed with me at 4 am. Even as her tiny fist slugged me in the eye around dawn. My heart stayed at a exhausted, yet steady pace.