In case you haven't noticed, I have two kids. Yes, I was married to a man (for seven years). That's not the point of this post. (Although I will say, we all get along just fine...no drama there. Sorry.)
It's awkward, at the beginning of a new relationship (hetero or homo, I don't think it matters) when one partner has children from a previous relationship. There are boundaries to establish, relationships to build--and not just with the kids.
So far, we're good. The kids have only slipped up and called The GF "daddy" once (who could blame the Short One--he's five...and she IS kinda butch).
It was hilarious though. We were at Wal-Mart, in the checkout line. The Short One spotted a Batman Pez set and ran to grab it. He held it up in front of his face and turned toward The GF...and said, "Daddy! Can you buy me this?"
He quickly corrected himself, but it was adorable. Mostly because of the look on The GF's face when he said it. She still talks about it (and always gets that dazed look on her face when it comes up.)
Which brings me to the point of this post. After The GF and I made our relationship official (read: we were together all the time--that's another post), the kids went through a phase where the phrase "you're not my mom/dad" came out of their wee mouths with every other sentence. It was disturbing--to all of us.
So, what does a lesbian mom (who has only recently come out and embraced her identity) tell her preschool-elementary aged children about...well, The GF? Though the boys and I have discussed the relationship, the GF, the Ex and I are not entirely sure they "get" it. At their ages, it doesn't surprise me.
Our solution? Patience. The GF took the boys on their first fishing trip (the Ex has never been interested in such things) and they loved it. It gave them a chance to spend time with her, doing something they all enjoyed. She took them with her to pick up my "special surprise birthday present" back in April. They love surprises. They also love building things, which turned out to be a bonus to the trip since they went to pick up the new entertainment cabinet we'd been eying.
They still have moments when they tune her out--maybe all the "playtime" with her (The GF and the boys share a love of video games and cartoons) skews their image of her and makes it difficult for them to see her as another adult in the family. Then again, sometimes she's THE adult they want--especially if they're looking for a move...or a snack.
Today is the Big One's birthday. He's seven.
And I feel old.
He was perturbed this morning because, though today is his birthday, his party isn't until tomorrow. I suppose it's difficult for a seven year old to understand that people work, some are travelling to his party, etc., and so it's easier to have the party on Saturday than try to get everyone together Friday night.
So we compromised. I called the local radio station and had his grandparents turn the station on so he could hear. The radio DJ wished the kid a happy birthday and played a tune by his favorite country artist--Johnny Cash.
His reaction?
"It was great! It was just like a birthday party, but on the radio!"
Five seconds later: "Mom, can I have a new guitar?"
Sigh.
I like my car. I like the Girlfriend's car.
Er...I did, until this week. See...they both decided to EFFING DIE. Well, not completely dead, but dead enough to leave the GF and I with two options: stay home or take the Nike Express. (Well, for her. For me it's more like...the Madden Express, but still.)
Oh, alright...it's not all that bad. The GF's 'rentals bailed us out big time by lending us The Dad's truck 'til our stuff gets fixed. Only bad thing there is the truck has no air conditioning and it's OHMYGAWDSOHOTWEMIGHTDIE.
It's summertime in the South, ya'll, and it's a gazillion degrees in the shade.
Normally, I wouldn't be freaking out. Between the two of us, our friends, my ex...we can fix pretty much anything. What bothers me is that BOTH cars died while I was driving. And left me stranded. Inside a week.
C'mon, really? SERIOUSLY?
Anyway, my car needs a fuel pump--and it'll get it. Her car...her car was a MAJOR PAIN IN THE BUTT. I knew the serpentine belt needed to be replaced. She knew it. Did we replace it? No. Well, it's been replaced NOW, but that's not the point. When the car died on me, in the middle of no-freaking-where, I figured, hey...I call the GF, she brings the belt...no big thing. Not bloody likely.
The belt DID break. Bad thing is, it took the crank pulley with it. (FYI, these things I speak of are the "turny things" and the corresponding belt that make required engine paraphernalia function...the water pump, the AIR CONDITIONER, the power steering, etc.)
It didn't just pop off while I was at a stop sign...or somewhere I could easily pull off the road. Nope. It died in the middle of a turn lane on a semi-busy highway. And it couldn't just die. That would be too easy. I seriously thought it exploded or something. There was smoke. The engine began over-heating. The steering was out. It was horrible. (But I lived, thanks for asking.)
PS. The GF's car is fixed--after many issues finding and installing the offending parts (and buying the wrong stupid belt, thanks, O'Reilly's!). My fuel pump is sitting on the coffee table, awaiting installation. Or the heat to go away long enough for a person to be outside for an hour without dying. :)
I wonder if heterosexual couples who a) cannot have children, b) do not want children, c) have chosen, for whatever reason, to adopt children would agree that the "central purpose of marriage in virtually all societies at all times" has been to "channel potentially procreative relationships...into stable unions."
I'm willing to bet they might say one or two things about that. Yanno, regardless of the stance a person takes on gay marriage, there is something seriously lacking in the mores of a society that can see fit to define something sacred and PERSONAL like marriage and equate or somehow justify it by sex and/or procreation.
Yeah, I'm not buying it...not at all.
The Gerbil, over and OUT. ;)
fingertips dipped
in invisible ink
trace swirled patterns
of chemical connections;
lips, tongues, teeth
press images onto cave walls
incorporating newly emblazoned
symbols with those previously
painted--overlapping, partially
obscuring, pointing out imperfections.
words wound around air,
left to hang
between faces pressed
like favorite flowers
in a freshly penned book
for safe-keeping--
wet ink stamps unspoken poetry
on exposed cheeks
as the covers come together.
The Gerbil 2010
Since when does Botox=beauty? What are we doing wrong as a society that women feel the need to go to drastic surgical measures to make themselves feel beautiful? Oh right. Everything. I'm listening to the radio while I'm stuck in traffic on my lunch break (I was 25 minutes late getting back to the office. Yay. Pfft.) and I hear this advertisement that says if you come to this book signing for Dr. Masters...you get 10 free shots of Botox. LOL, wut? It's like pretty-cookies. Party favors. Grrrrrr. End of rant.
...even if it was hot as Hades in Southern Oklahoma today. My grandpa's blue and white Ford Fairlane didn't win any prizes--but the boys liked being able to climb in and check out a "super-cool hot rod." There was even a truck designed to look (pretty much) exactly like Mater from the movie Cars. It was kind of neat, really. (And it kept The Short One from whining for...oh, about five minutes.) After the car show was over and pretty much everyone had left, we moseyed on over to Sonic--where they were doing karaoke. Fun, right? Sing a song, get a free drink. Not a bad deal, considering EVERYONE in the Gerbil-Girlfriend family is a) musically inclined; b) a total ham; c) into getting free drinks. I sang: Gunpowder and Lead by Miranda Lambert and That's How You Know It's Love by Deanna Carter. The Short One sang: the Baby Bumblebee song (super cute). And The Big One sang: Peaches by the Presidents of the USA and (all three of us chimed in...) Free and Easy Down the Road I Go by Dierks Bentley. (Whose name spellchecks to "Jerks." hehe.) If only they'd had The Duck Song.
...if you know what show this photo alludes to. If you don't know, I swear you're not a real lesbian. Yep.
Oh. My. [insert deity here].
The Short One has an obsession with scissors. I swear he's got some kind of spiritual connection with the things. It doesn't matter where I hide them, he still finds them. After this incident I may consider encasing all the scissors in the house in concrete and sinking them in the pond at the park. (Probably still wouldn't help.)
Anyway...a few weeks ago, the child cut a hole in a blanket...because his "foot got hot." I get it. Ventilation. Still not okay. We had a "discussion," and I thought he got it that time. No more cutting things up.
Apparently I was wrong.
Tonight, while cleaning house, I discovered my craft scissors sitting on the kitchen counter. My first thought: Mayday! Mayday! Child has destroyed something.
I looked around the immediate area. Nothing.
I looked around the rest of the house. Nothing.
I looked for the child, who was with The Big One watching a movie on Netflix for Wii (I'll tell ya'll later how awesome that is later.) I asked him point blank if he'd had the scissors.
He turned to look at me.
And then I saw it.
He had cut a huge (HUGE!) chunk of hair off, right up front. It isn't even all the way across. Just on the left side.
His reasoning for this mutilation of his adorable sun-bleached blonde hair?
It was "itching in his eyes."
His hair was nowhere near his eyes. (Sigh.) Not the first time the kid's had two haircuts in one week.
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