You know, the more I try to plan out my life, the more I end up looking like that animal with one limb in the trap with crappy choices: either chew my bloody foot off or lay there waiting for a PETA activist to find me.
This weekend, Dallas's two children moved in with us. Now, I'd like to tell you that it was a smooth transition, with no drama and that we were the model of a blended family but had that actually been the case, we'd all be licking Fudgsicles in hell.
It started last week when his ex-wife decided she needed to drive off to Virginia to meet up with her spiritual adviser and help him conduct "classes" on energy manipulation. Listen, I am all for exploring your oneness with the universe.
(insert lotus position here)
And yes, I have been known to chant like a Buddhist monk for an open spot in the Wal-Mart parking lot but in traversing that difficult path to enlightenment, I can't say that I've ever forgotten to pay my light bill or put food on the table for my children. Astral travel? Fabulous! Just don't forget to tell the earthbound body to vacuum every once in a while and perhaps take out the trash. Such is not the case for ex-wife. Obsessed. Consumed. Sporadically in touch with reality.
Friday, ex-wife packed up her magic carpet and took off. Teenage daughter could not be left unsupervised (she of the aversion to birth control and school) so we stuffed her 20,000 spaghetti strapped tops into a bag and moved her in. Teenage son came over later and asked if he too, could get a permanent spot in our house. We were thrilled. Although adding two more adult bodies to the household put a serious dent in the square footage per person, we felt pretty good about being able to provide food, hot water and electricity for his kids.
(insert self congratulatory pat on back here)
Saturday, I left with the teenagers to go shopping for a bedroom set for girl. Boy tagged along because he wanted to badger me, until my ears bled, about the acquisition of a new vehicle for him. I said no problem but asked him if he wouldn't mind first plucking the low hanging fruit from the money tree in the back yard. Oh, and could he pick an extra several thousand for the open bar at the wedding? My brother has been known to throw back a few pints and we are slightly concerned that he alone may bankrupt us. Have you seen Kiwi's drink?!!
Anyway, we completed the shopping trip without incident and I really believed that everyone was adjusting to the new living arrangements with relative ease.
(insert big, fat, Bob Marley doobie here)
And then there was Sunday.
The morning started normal enough with a lovely breakfast, buckets of coffee and delicious calm. Late morning, Dallas and I took off on our bikes and met friends for a great ride. The weather was beautiful and to be back on my Harley again was like eating the perfect dark chocolate truffle and losing ten pounds. When we arrived home to cook dinner, the day had been damn near perfect and I couldn't help but feel like we had crested a milestone. Oh yes, I was hearing the Brady Bunch theme playing in my head. And we were all going to hold hands and sing Kum Ba Ya.
Shortly after dinner, Dallas had the kids sit down at the table. It was his plan to detail our house rules which included reasonable curfews and a few chores. Well, you would have thought that Dallas had asked teenage daughter to turn tricks on the corner. How dare he require her to put her dirty clothes in the laundry or, I don't know...bathe!
So the situation disintegrated, voices were raised, tears shed and finally, it all culminated with the teenagers on our bed and the parental units disabusing them of the notion that their welfare was a democratic issue up for debate. Ex-wife threw in her worthless drivel two cents the next morning (from a sweat lodge) which boiled down to this: THE CHILDREN MUST BE HAPPY AT ALL COSTS!!! Apparently, they were not to be held accountable and we ought to go down to the bad part of town and get them some heroin right now to ensure hours of uninterrupted bliss.
Silly cow.
Today, we are back in the groove and the teenagers seem to be on an even keel but then again, I don't appear to have a reliable sense of the storm that is girl's personality. One thing is for certain. In the big picture, these next couple of years are just a ripple in the fabric of our lives. What's two years, really? Besides, after stepdaughter one and now, future stepdaughter, I feel like I have been baptized in molten lava. By the time Olivia enters puberty with horns bared, my skin should be as thick and leathery as an old woman on a Florida beach.
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