The Total Femme

Because whenever she sees one of the myriad of anorexic female models she without fail mutters about how “that girl needs a sandwich.”

Because she likes the Lane Bryant catalogue and is very satisfied to see those girls who really don’t need a sandwich (perhaps you have guessed that yours truly also doesn’t need a sandwich).

Because in the latest Lane Bryant catalogue, there was a whole section on that evil Spanx thing, with girls bound up in the devil elastic and she said rather mournfully, “What happens when they want to try and get busy?”

http://www.lanebryant.com/pagebuilder/mercado_search?keyword=spanx&pagesize=99999

Yesterday my ex and I had what my Beau refers to as THE LAWYER SMACKDOWN. This involved all four of us – me and my lawyer, Sarah and her lawyer – sitting in a small room with a big whiteboard (“Feel free to use this,” said Sarah’s lawyer generously; no one did), a plate of blueberry scones which my lawyer enjoyed, and no windows. We sat there over 3 hours, and me and my lawyer tried, with some success, to make Sarah realize that if she doesn’t shape up and cop to certain adult responsibilities, I will sue her for custody. Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with details, but let me say that I was so grateful to have my lawyer there, who was so calmly yet firmly cut through the bullshit Sarah attempted to throw all over the place. At one point she said winsomely, “Oh, but we’re a two-mom family, and two-mom families are different!” as if somehow because we’re two gals we don’t need to get embroiled in all that crazy court and lawyer stuff the wacky straight folks are always running off and doing. What crap!

Several days before the SMACKDOWN, I had a dream about zombies. They were very well dressed, and in fact, well-spoken and friendly – even to the point of taking their turns cleaning the hotel we were all staying in – as long as me and the few other people who weren’t zombies would keep singing this song, “Little Horses.” It was tedious singing “Little Horses” all the time, so sometimes me and the other people would stop and try and figure out if we could record it and play it on the radio so the zombies would stay tame and not try to eat us, but nothing worked except for us to sing it ourselves. If we stopped for very long, the zombies would stop being well-spoken and friendly and would start to make that scary zombie noise that they make right before they start trying to take a bite out of your arm, you know, MMMMMRRRRRRRRRMMMMMRRRRRRMMMMMMRRR. Like that.

For the six years my ex and I have been divorced in all but legal papers, I feel like I’ve been singing “Little Horses” at the top of my lungs, trying to pacify her and get her to act like a normal person instead of a zombie bully. Her narcissism, her completely inappropriate anger, her wounded psyche, her entitlement, all combinded together (as the boys used to say) to become a very potent weapon against us being able to work together as co-parents to give the boys a happy, healthy childhood. Against all my natural instincts, I finally had to take this step of involving lawyers, so that the boys will be protected and we will at last have some clarity in our co-parenting relationship. Our post-divorce relationship. What a drag, what a heartbreak, what a wallet-emptier, but what a relief to finally be getting her attention and seeing some movement.

She and her lawyer have a week to get back to us on our main demands having to do with enforcing more sanity and clarity in our custodial arrangements. If they say no, we start proceedings to sue for custody, which my lawyer says we probably won’t get, but it will be another way to let Sarah know I’m not backing down on what I know to be the best for the boys. My Beau says I have to get mean, meaner than I’m ever really inclined to be. I’m usually more inclined to give in to bullying and then bitch about it and feel awful. There was a book in the lawyer’s office called Spiritual Divorce: Divorce as a Catalyst for an Extraordinary Life by Debbie Ford. Just the title was inspiring, because I do feel that I’ve become truer to myself since having to fight so hard to protect the boys. I just don’t have any time for self-indulgent bullshit, since that won’t get me where I need to be, and more importantly, won’t be any good for the guys. I watched Sarah cry and get red in the face and angry and try to throw up smoke screen after smoke screen as we sat together in that little room yesterday. It made me sad, and I do have compassion for her, but the time for talking about feelings is over. We’re the adults, and the fact is that of course both of us are heartbroken and neither of us started out our relationship thinking we’d get a divorce after having kids. But we did, and now we have to deal with it. As adults, so the kids can keep being kids.

However, when you’re driving the FEMMEMOBILE home from the SMACKDOWN, you can remember that you have “Easter” and you can fucking CRANK “Privilege” and godDAMN but Patty Smith hits the spot sometime. GODAMN GODAMN GODAMN HERE I AM!!!!!!

Here is the story Owen told me at dinner tonight:

“Mom, in class, I flicked a little piece of glue towards the trash can but it didn’t make it and it stuck on a poster hanging on one of the cabinets.”

He obviously found this fascinating and quite noteworthy, a fine topic for dinner conversation. I asked him if the glue was still there and he said he thought it was. Earlier, he came over to show me 5 math problems from his homework that he had completed using a teeny piece of pencil lead, less than an inch long.

One thing about Owen is that he really knows how to keep himself amused.

Today when I was driving the boys over to their other mom’s house, we saw a couple of young women come out of a store together with their arms around each other.

“Lesbos,” Seth remarked.

“So what?” I asked. I’d actually assumed they were sisters because they looked so alike.

“It’s not often that you can see lesbians in their natural habitat,” continued Seth, in a Mutual of Omaha voice.

I laughed. “You do!” I chortled. “You LIVE in a DEN of lesbians!”

“Sucks!” he mumbled as I continued to cackle.

Then that hey hey my my song came on the radio. When Seth is in the car, we have to listen to stations like THE RIVER instead of my beloved college radio stations. I started lecturing on Neil Young, how famous he is and how he has such a distinctive voice, blah, blah, blah. After that, “Layla” came on.

“What artist is this?” I asked the boys. They didn’t know, so I started razzing Seth a little the way he always does to Owen, “What?! You don’t know who this is? You call yourself a rock and roller?” He was grinning, but Owen, Mr. Sensitive, told me to stop playing.

“Ok, here’s a hint!” I said. We were now in front of Sarah’s house. I put the car in park and started clapping. The boys still didn’t get it. “Ok, here’s another clue: the first name is the name of one of your old babysitters, and the last name has this in it!” I clapped again, very perky.

“Eric Clapton?” guessed Seth, beginning to open the door.

“Yes! Wasn’t that a good hint?”

Seth was still opening the door. “It was a gay hint,” he said.

I cracked up. I was having such a good time! “That’s because I’m SO GAY!” I shouted happily.

Alas: “Screw you!” mumbled Seth, flushed and horrified, escaping at last. I mean, all the empty space in the entire parking lot heard me yelling! All the empty houses did, too! Once again, he had to weather the intense disappointment and frustration of having been dealt a mom like me. He didn’t even say goodbye and I’m not going to see him again until Saturday. Dang.

When Owen dutifully trudged over to the window to hug me goodbye, I said, “I made Seth mad – don’t let him take it out on you, ok?” I also told him I loved him.

Driving away, I was shaking my head at myself. Why do I have to be such a freak? I just can’t help it! And I think I’m so damn cute! I stopped at the library before going home and discovered a nest of graphic novels in the children’s room and checked some out for Seth. Owen isn’t in to them, but Seth has been liking stuff like Bone lately. Then I went to the bathroom and discovered my fly was GAPING open. Plus, my hair looked ratty, I wasn’t wearing lipstick, and I left the house in such a hurry this morning that I was wearing the same shirt I wore yesterday.

Here’s my question for you: WHAT ADOLESCENT IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULDN’T WANT ME FOR THEIR MOM???!!!

Oh, and hey man. Rock and roll will never die.