Hell Weekend Do-Over

I'm a glutton for punishment. It's the only logical explanation. You recall hell weekend, right? I've agreed to a do-over.

Shaking my head in disbelief.

Tomorrow morning we will load beach chairs and sand toys, suitcases and duffle bags into my new car (yup, I finally got the new car. Another post, another day.) I will drive us nearly three hours to attempt to have a relaxing few days.

I used to be a faithful Oprah viewer and I can still hear her, "When you know better, you do better." I'm not sure if this exactly falls under that quote, but I know better than to expect the next few days to be a breeze. In order to fully embrace realism, I give to you my expectations for the next few days.

• I expect Alice to force herself to stay awake on the ride to the beach. We will leave home at nap time and do everything under the sun to provide optimal sleeping conditions. She still will not sleep. Hatta and I will threaten severe punishment if she doesn't allow her body to fall asleep. No nap will be taken by Alice. She will start our "vacation" tired and irritable. Hatta and I will start our "vacation" stressed and on edge.
• Alice will not eat for two and a half days. Food will be prepared for her that isn't identical in color, texture, and consistency to the foods I prepare for her at home. Family members will beg Alice to eat, convincing her that she is running the show and calling the shots. I will spend double the days when we return home reminding Alice that she is in fact NOT in charge.
• Sleep will be lost. Alice will stay up too late and wake up too early. Unfortunately, the same will be true for Hatta and I. Sleep deprived Alice will become grumpier and bossier as the days pass. I will spend an equal number of days trying to help her catch up on sleep when we return home.

Oh friends, I think I'm having my very own Aha! moment right this second. Pertaining to this trip, I think I fully understand the quote. I know better than to expect this trip to go smoothly, so I won't. I will not stress about it. I know how it's going to shake down, why do I get upset when it goes exactly how I predicted?

So let me try again, now that I'm all enlightened and shit. My expectations for the next few days...

• I will enjoy the long drive in my new car. I will caress the new leather and learn the feel of all the buttons. I will provide Alice with hours of video to watch in hopes of not hearing a peep out of her.
• I will eat well. Screw everyone else!
• I will sunbath on the beach and allow everyone else to ensure Alice's safety.
• I will drink good beer and wine. No Coors light and Ménage a Trois Red for me.
• I will drink good beer and wine often.
• I will drink a lot of good beer and wine.

Wish me luck!

Think Again Before You Offer Judgment

I couldn't decide what I wanted to write about today. Two topics are in the forefront of my mind. One where I ask the Judgey McJudgerson's to kindly back away and come back another day, so I can tell my tale. Or the other one where I talk to them personally.

I'm opting for the latter. This post is for those who judge. Nay, since judging is human, this is for those who feel compelled to voice their judgment.

As my loyal readers know, Alice has recently challenged me as a parent concerning her pink medicine. We (Hatta and I) have received various forms of criticism from friends and family on our parenting skills, or lack there of, because we couldn't make our daughter take her medicine. I have a few things that I would like to get off my chest.

How dare you criticize my parenting! I'm a damn good mom and I know my daughter and what is best for her. I know her temperament. I have learned her strengths. I was the one that learned her needy cues when she was a newborn. I was the one that learned the exact floor board to stand and bounce on that gave just the right amount of give and squeak to calm her insistent crying. I learned to read her face to know just how much stranger anxiety she could handle before I had to intervene. It's been my job for over four years to keep my daughter happy and safe and now you're going to tell me how to do my job. I DON'T THINK SO!!

I don't care one iota how your father used to parent you. I don't give a flying fuck what you used to do when your kids were little! All I care about is my daughter and her physical and mental well being.

Do you think we didn't try to force Alice to take her medicine? What do you think we said, "Hey Alice, if it wouldn't be too much trouble do you think you could possibly, maybe take your medicine honey baby?" Of course when our attempts at reason didn't do the trick we tried what worked in the past when she was little. I'm not sure what amount of power and force you are okay using on a 35lb child, but my goal as a mom is not to teach Alice that I am bigger and stronger than her. I do not enjoy using my body against hers. So when after several attempts at forcing medicine down her throat didn't work, I stopped trying.

Funny thing, when I called the pediatrician, who by the way has been in countless medical publications and has won numerous awards, he never once suggested I hold Alice down and use force to get her to take her medicine. No. That wasn't what he said at all. Instead, he, the medical expert on children, suggested something else entirely. Something more civil.

So the next time you feel like offering your opinions on how I should raise my daughter, I suggest you just don't. Find something else to do with your time that you actually know something about. Cause, trust me, you don't have a clue about how best to parent my daughter.

We Eloped aka Taking the Easy Way Out

Here's a fun tidbit about me you probably didn't know...Hatta and I eloped to Vegas to get married. Not like yesterday or anything. This is old, but pertinent information for today's post.

Let's travel back in time, shall we. The year is 2006. Hatta proposed to me and I, for one wild reason or another, agreed to be his bride. I started an account on The Knot. We registered at Macy's and Crate and Barrel. I went wedding dress shopping. All normal things for a newly engaged couple to do. Then, the crazy took over. Not me, I wasn't like Bridezilla or anything. The family. Oh, the family. Everyone's two cents were constantly being thrown at us. But, let me be clear, when I say two cents that's completely metaphorical. No one was actually offering us money. The wedding would be paid for on our dime. Back to the unsolicited advice...Who we should invite. Who we shouldn't invite. Don't forget to invite these family members you have never even met. Where it should be. Where it shouldn't be. It must be in a church. You can't get married not in a church! Hatta and I, sensing the mounting tension surrounding our upcoming nuptials, contemplated a destination wedding. Jamaica was mentioned. Cue the family. You can't expect people to pay that much money to come to your wedding! If you get married out of the country *insert names here* won't be able to come. It's just selfish, that's what it is! Hatta, fearing for his raised catholic life, dismissed the destination wedding idea. Back on track for a traditional-ish wedding, we set a date and continued planning. I bought a book or two and started a binder. I contacted countless caterers, florist, musicians, wedding sites...the list goes on. Meanwhile, the growing strain of planning our wedding and trying to make everyone happy was taking a toll on us as a couple. Instead of sticking it out and problem solving our asses out of the situation, we took the easy was out.

That is what today's post is about.

We had a vacation scheduled to Vegas for a kick ass Halloween music festival. While we were there, we told no one in advance, and were married at The Little White Wedding Chapel by Reverend Keith Love. Not Elvis, much to Hatta's dismay. I loved our wedding. Truly. My mother had recently died and I couldn't imagine walking down the isle without my mom there. The way I saw it, for a brief moment all was right with the world. Hatta and I did it our way, putting the emphasis on our love not everyone else's happiness. And, my mother was the only guest there. Well, aside from the group of Italian tourist that flocked to watch as we said our vows outdoors.

Here lies the problem we never solved...family. Had we solved the family problem all those years ago we would know how to navigate them when they arise now. And boy do they arise. We took the easy way out, living in a dream world where no one else mattered but us. The honeymoon period, where that is concerned, is over. I assure you.

I honestly feel that we skipped a step in joining our two lives. Not because I needed the fairy tale wedding, I did not. As a little girl, you wouldn't have found me with a pillowcase on my head as a makeshift veil. I didn't fantasize about my wedding, having it all planned out well before I found a groom. The wedding didn't matter much to me. But successfully planning it, would have exposed Hatta and I to the complications family impose on a couple. In real life, you don't only marry your partner you also marry his (or her) entire family.

A fact I was made very aware of last weekend. The weekend forever known to me as hell weekend. I will not go into details, but suffice it to say that my in-laws greatly overstepped boundaries regarding the parenting of my daughter. The event as a whole made me so sad. Sad for me. Sad for Alice. But mostly sad for my husband. He is a good father and he deserves respect. Maybe, possibly, these most recent events will force Hatta and I to finally problem solve our asses out of the situation.

Interlude

Ever have the kind of experience that makes your head spin in so many ways you can't distinguish which direction is up?

That's the best description I can give for the past few days. We attempted a nice four day beach vacation to my hometown. It was absolutely, hands down, without a doubt anything but nice. So much not niceness happened I can not delve into it in this post. My head is still swimming, literally...from what the doctor described as a rip-roaring inner ear infection. I need to take a day or two, try to process the illnesses that proved insurmountable, the doctor and pharmacy visits, the insistent refusal to consume medicines, the power struggle between grandparent and parent, the hurt feelings, and mostly, the disappointment. If I were to write now, I would blubber on in a whiney, sobbing fashion surely telling the wrong story in entirely the wrong way.

I will take a deep breath, sleep on it and...in the word's of my husband, "revisit it when cooler heads prevail." Trust me, with all the fever up in here we could certainly use cooler heads.

Dear Ole Dad In-law

Happy to report, I might just have a stalker. Relax, no need to be jealous quite yet. No one is hiding in the bushes with high tech photographic equipment taking pictures of me undressing. I haven't even received any cool hate mail, constructed entirely of hand cut magazine letters and blood.

I believe it's just my in-laws.

Pray tell, you ask, why are your in-laws tracking you down?

Easy. My old blog was crack to them. A highly addictive fix that got them through the day. I was their dealer, yet, I had no idea until their supply was cut off. I always suspected they were using, but never could be certain. They lurked in the shadows, enjoying my words, reading my thoughts aloud, never commenting, never saying a thing.

Until their son heavily tread on my free speech and I ended it all. Then, out of deranged withdrawal, they came forward. But not to me, mind you. Just to my husband. Wanting my intoxicating tales of their granddaughter.

A few days ago, my husband warned me, "My dad may or may not have a twitter account now."

"Okay. So? What's that even mean...he may or may not?"

"He does. My dad's on twitter. And he asked about your blog, if you were still blogging."

"Okay. Whatever."

Here's the thing. I'm easily found. I may be hiding out here as Nelly, but it wouldn't take long if someone really wanted to locate me. My old blog is still online. Many of the same people that commented then, comment now. And I like to return the favor to my few readers. My old twitter account is still in use, with many of the same followers. Connecting the dots is just a few clicks away. I'm okay with that. I don't need the anonymity. What I do need is for my cover not to be blown. I enjoy blogging. It's like therapy, only free and I don't have to cordinate appointments around sitter availability.

Dear dad-in-law...if you're reading this, please play by my rules. If you blow my cover, I'll have no choice but to blog privately. This time, don't let it be known that you lurk, certainly not to my husband. Don't quote directly from my posts in normal conversation. Read my blog secretly, just you and mom. Remember, inebriated family members tend to talk with loose lips. If you follow the code, things with be just fine. So, please, just try and be cool.

Issues

Quite a few years ago, Hatta and I lived with his grandmother. Her husband had recently died and she had developed lameness of some sort. The cause, knee surgery...broken hip, escapes me at the moment. Regardless, it wasn't safe for her to be living alone, so we moved in temporarily. Before moving in, we attemped to convert the upstairs into "our space." We cleaned. We painted. We tried to make it feel like home. But, it didn't change things. We never settled in at her house. We left the vast majority of our belongings boxed up, only unpacking necessities. We never felt at home there.

Meanwhile, life kept turning during the brief time we lived there. I changed careers and even though it was what I wanted to do, it was emotionally hard. My mother's illness became much more prominent. I vividly remember having a phone conversation trying to convince her of the severity of her illness. Previously, we had been living in the city and loved it. Moving in with Hatta's grandmother meant us moving to the county, and not an area of the county we usually frequented. We became homesick, in a sense. I developed county allergies. Literally. I guess my system wasn't used to the trees, grass, and pollen because that spring I had asthmatic allergies like I've never had since.

Those few months were hard, but we made it thought them. When his grandmother was well again, Hatta and I moved back to the city, into the same house we had lived in before, only this time the larger first floor apartment was vacant. So, really, it all did work out for the best.




I shared this story with you to help explain where I'm at right now...blog speaking. I used to write elsewhere. And even though I know A Tea Tray in the Sky is not temporary, it doesn't feel like my home. I'm having a hard time getting settled in. My belongings are still boxed up. I haven't even picked out paint colors. I'm terribly homesick. Meanwhile, the trials and tribulations of life are still spinning around, making this whole settling in process even harder. But, like before, I will make it through and come out for the better on the other side. Please bear with me as I try to get adjusted here. Possibly my feng shui is off. Maybe my colors aren't projecting the right energy or I should just add a mirror.

What Was that Noise?

For a moment, let me state the obvious. It's the year 2012 and communication methods are extremely different for my generation than my grandparents.

We don't own a house phone, nor do any of my friends. I actually took 3 year old Alice to Best Buy, like it was a museum, so she could see phones with cords. It was a thrilling field trip. She knew what an old fashioned phone looked like, but that's where her knowledge ended. She was not privy to the sound.

You can imagine her surprise when at my grandparents house on Easter, the phone rang. We were sitting in the living room, Alice, my niece, my sister and her girlfriend, my husband and I, playing quietly when it rang out. Damn was it shrill. Alice jumped half a foot in the air, screaming "what's that?" Every adult in the room burst into laughter. The idea that such a simple and once essential piece of technology is now so foreign to this generation was rather amusing to all of us. In her daily life, she never hears a phone ring. Our cell phones are always set to vibrate.

After the laughter died down, we had a conversation on kids and today's technology. Things my grandmother is clueless about but my daughter expects, like touch screen. Alice assume all phones should be touch screen. Hell, so do I. When I have to use Hatta's blackberry, my initial reaction is to pinch to zoom. Alice will likely always have a digital camera. She isn't even aware of film. Instant gratification. My grandmother asked me for a recipe and I went to my bag and found my phone. She asked, "don't you keep anything on paper anymore?" And really, when I sat and thought about it, I keep very little on paper. This way of living is lost on my 80 year of grandmother, but Alice will grow up knowing no other way.

Tell me, do you find yourself thinking of how different the younger generations will be due to the technology they are growing up with? It's inevitable, really. In some ways it will be amazing, in others a little sad.