I cringe and freeze as my keys clatter across the table next to the front door. My mom-ears try to hone in on any sounds from upstairs that may have resulted from my noisy mistake.
Around here, bedtime is a very delicate process. If one thing goes awry, all bets are off and there’s no guarantee if or when anyone will sleep again. I know everyone says that. But until they’ve stayed up past two every night for a week because of impromptu dance parties breaking out in my children’s bedrooms, they really don’t have any idea.
Fortunately, it seems no one is stirring upstairs. “I got lucky,” I mumble to myself while practically tiptoeing to the den to greet the babysitter, also known as my mom.
Rounding the corner, I roll my eyes at her choice in television show. “Really, Ma?” I chide as I flop down on the couch next to her. “The Kardashians?”
“Don’t judge me.” She smacks me on the thigh with one hand and picks up the remote with the other, turning the volume down. “Watching their family makes me feel better about my own.”
“Pretty sure that’s why most people watch it, Ma. Although I think we have our own brand of crazy around here.”
“Doesn’t everyone. But this,” she points her finger at the television, “this is something else.”
“Yeah, as much as you and I butted heads when I was growing up, I’m thankful I didn’t end up with Kris Jenner for a mother.”
I absentmindedly brush invisible lint off my burnt orange couch. Yes, burnt orange. When my mother first pitched the color idea to me, I thought for sure it was the weirdest color choice. Turns out, it goes great with the slate floors in this room. Really draws out the similar specs of color in the tiles. Go figure. I didn’t even realize there was orange in the floor at all until she pointed it out. Visual design is not my strong suit.
“I feel bad for poor Bruce Jenner.” She shakes her head and sighs. “It’s no wonder that poor man had to become a woman.”
“What?” I ask with a laugh. My mother is always spouting off random shit.
“If you had your choice of being married to that woman or wearing a dress for the rest of your life, I’d choose the pantyhose, too.”
A laugh barks out of me before I can stop it. “I hope you don’t say stuff like that in public.”
“Of course not. I may not be politically correct, but I am a lady.”
My mother didn’t just grow up in a different era. She grew up with a really uppity stepmother. While my mom is one of the least judgmental people I know, and I have literally seen her give someone in need the coat off her back, she’s not terribly couth. She subscribes to the belief that because she doesn’t offend easily, no one else should either. And she calls it like she sees it.
Behind closed doors.
In public, she’s prim and proper and demure.
I guess that’s where I get my ability to smile on the outside, even if I’m dying on the inside.
“Well, then,” I redirect, “how were the kids tonight? Good for you?”
Her face lights up as she starts telling me about her night as babysitter. Turns out, the same little shits that run me ragged at bedtime were perfect angels for her. They’re no dummies. They know who buys all the presents.
“Did Fiona get all her homework done?”
“She did. Oh! And did you sign her up for gymnastics yet? She asked me about it again.”
I rub my eyes and groan. “I keep forgetting. It’s on my list.”
“Elena. You are crushing that poor girl’s soul every time you tell her you haven’t made it a priority.”
“Really, mother,” I deadpan. “I crush her soul? Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”
She smiles at me playfully and shrugs. “I’m the grandmother. I’m allowed to be dramatic.” She taps her finger to her lips like she’s thinking. “I may need to sign her up myself.”
She knows she’s got me now. “Please don’t do that,” I beg. “You’ll sign her up for the wrong day and time, and it’ll screw up our whole schedule.”
“Well then I guess you better make it a priority.”
“You’re right. When I take Max to the mommy-and-me class tomorrow, I’ll ask about it. I don’t think they have classes for her age since they focus on the younger kids. I may have to take her somewhere else. I don’t know.”
She nods once. Apparently, my answer is acceptable. “Did you have fun with Callie? Did you buy anything?”
“I did. I bought a sundress that I think I’m going to wear to the birthday party.”
“You’re not dressing up for that jackhole, right?”
“Mother!”
My mother, who has never said a naughty word in her life, has been known to throw around a few cusswords here and there since my divorce. It’s a bit jarring since I literally had never heard one dirty word grace her lips until I was thirty-seven years old. But to say she doesn’t like James anymore would be the understatement of the year.
“Don’t ‘mother’ me. That’s what he is and you know it.”
“I know, but can you at least not say it when you’re around the kids?”
She waves her hand around like she’s presenting the room. “Do you see the kids anywhere? They’re asleep.”
I sigh and give up. “Ok, fine. He’s a jackhole. And no, I didn’t buy the dress for him. I bought it for me. I’m tired of feeling frumpy. I want to feel pretty for the party.”
“You’re pretty all the time.”
“You have to say that. You’re my mother.”
“Regardless. Don’t dress up for him.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t dress up for her.”
And there it is. She nails it.
I didn’t use to care about how I look. And for the most part, I guess I still don’t unless his new wife Keri is around. She’s young. She’s tiny. She’s beautiful. And next to her, I just feel… less. So when I know we’re going to be in the same room together, it helps to have something new to wear. It boosts my confidence a tiny bit.
Not that I have anything to really worry about. She already took what she wanted (my husband and his paycheck) and left the rest for me. “The rest” turned out to be a significant amount.
When we first started the divorce process, James was adamant that I didn’t deserve anything more than child support. He argued that I hadn’t worked once the girls were born, and I had no financial right over any of our assets. At first, I was worried I’d end up with nothing and we’d have to move in with my mom.
Then he started bringing Keri to all the hearings. And Keri doesn’t know how to sit quietly with things that aren’t her business. The mediator finally got fed up with her butting her nose into everything and making her opinion known. He threatened to go to the judge with his own recommendations if they didn’t shut up and sign off on a more-than-fair split.
I got the house so the kids wouldn’t be homeless, the legal amount of child support every month, and half of all the accounts. Checking, savings, retirement… you name it, I got half. James got the other half and a raging Keri who was pissed off that those accounts she was eyeing suddenly shed a little bit of weight.
Fortunately, it’s enough money that if I stick to my budget, I have at least a few years to stay home and figure out what I want to do with my life. Because I have no idea. I quit college before I graduated to become a flight attendant, which I loved, but jet setting around the world isn’t a good career for a single mom of littles. Now I’m stuck trying to figure out what skills I have that can translate into the work force, while trying to raise a seven-year old, five-year-old, and almost three-year-old. It’s one more thing I’m trying to figure out, and I’m not making much progress.
“I’m not dressing up for her, Ma,” I finally respond. “I’m dressing up for me. It’s time I take more care of myself.”
She pats my arm and turns back to the TV. “You and the kids come first in this house. You and the kids. Even if that little wench is in your home.”
“Speaking of, the party starts at three. Think you can come early to help me set up? Maybe at about two?”
“Sure yeah. I’ll be here at two.” She doesn’t look away from the TV, so I know she has no idea what she just responded to.
“Ma.”
“Shhhh.” She waves me off. “Look, there’s Bruce as a man.”
I roll my eyes and get up from the couch. “I’ll let you enjoy watching Bruce Jenner. I’m going to get ready for bed.”
“Ok, babe. I’ll let myself out.”
I’ve got to hand it to my mother. She may have very strong opinions, but they never distract her from a good Kardashian plot twist.