Five days without internet makes one…weak? Suicidal? Lost? Oh, that’s right. My arm was cut off and I bled profusely until I could make my escape and check my email at the first avaliable rest stop because they have free Wi-Fi.
I stayed with my parents again this trip. My brother and his wife jumped my claim on my sister’s basement so I had to deal with my mom being all crazy. My parents are also among the, what is it now, 14% of American’s who *don’t* have internet access. At all. They are afraid of it. They had internet (dialup) about 5 years ago but instantly got some sort of virus that erased the business databases and they’ve never gone back. Nobody asked me but I think it’s because the second my dad got online, he got onto playboy.com and surfed from there. And, who knows what STD his computer caught from there. So, really, he only has his own horny self to blame. Wait? Am I really talking about my dad? Yes I am.
He pissed me off. He’s such a dude I can’t hardly stand it. He’s probably a negative on the Kinsey scale, he’s such a dude. He makes the run of the mill homophobe look like drag queen. We had family pics taken on Saturday morning. We were meeting the photographer at a sweet little hidden park in midtown Omaha. Seriously, I lived there for 10 years and didn’t know it was there. I probably drove right by it a dozen times. We were late leaving the house and I was gathering children and their things. My makeup was right, my clothing was adequate, the girls looked cute as buttons. My dad says to me, as we are putting on shoes, “So, you didn’t have enough time to do your hair?”
Let that sink in for a minute.
First of all. I *did* do my hair. And I *thought* I did a good job.
I didn’t say anything but I could feel my chin quivering so I turned tail and went into the bathroom. On my way there he says “Oh, don’t be so sensitive…I was just asking.”
Stop. Talking. We are already late and now I have to fix my makeup. Asshat.
I never really recovered from that moment. And maybe I am too sensitive. Maybe a few layers are cracked and I’m not as tough as I should be. But the rest of the weekend went downhill. With the notable exception of shopping with my sister and sister in law. We shopped, dropped a ton of cash on cute outfits for the Anniversary party (where I did not write or give a speech), had sushi and drinks and spent time away from the littles. So it was a small highlight but, honestly, the only one. And even then, my sister in law (at Banana Republic where I never, ever shop) picked up a skirt and says to my sister (a size 6) and me (a size *cough* not-at-Banana-Republic *cough) “I really like this skirt but it doesn’t come in a size 0.”
Let that sink in.
And let’s talk about how I’m one biscuit away from being the same weight as I was before Stephen got sick. And I liked myself then. He said I looked good. We still had a rockin’ life in the sack. All was well. And now? I’m the sad-sack, picked last on the team, hey wait for the fat kid you’re running too fast, odd one out. Did I mention that my parents, siblings and their spouses all went out for drinks after the anniversary party? And left me home with the kids?
So there’s that.
I’m glad to be home. Again. I did field a call from my dad after we got home. He spent 5 minutes trying to goad me into moving “home.” I mmm-hmmm-ed for a while and then told him that I had to go because Ella was peeing on a tree. That part was true. But I could have dealt with it while he talked if I had wanted to. I was just done with family for a while.
On the upside, I will get to meet Jen Lancaster on June 19th when she is in Minneapolis. Or, should I say, I will get to sit and oogle her from afar and then stammer incoherently while she signs my books. Either way, it will be the highlight of my summer.