Category Archives: Franny

Franny and the ROUS

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Franny came upstairs while I was getting some gluten-free hot cereal cooking for the girls.

“Mom, something happened last night!” she said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I woke up at like four a.m. and Chewie was in my room playing with something, I thought it was my clip. And I woke up again a little bit later and there was a RAT ON MY PILLOW!”

“Urgh, really?” I said.

“YES.”

“What did you do?”

“I said ‘UGH’ and flicked it off my pillow!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?” I asked, whisking the bubbling cereal.

“It was real! It’s eyes were open! But it’s gone now!”

“Well, okay, next time can you please wake me up so I can properly dispose of the corpse? Also, maybe you should consider closing your door at night.”

After that, of course, she went back to sleep until I saw her in the kitchen, since no one loves her sleep more than Franny. I thought it was a funny story, if slightly hard to believe. Where had the rat come from? All the cats were in last night and everything was closed up. There is a cat door on our deck, but the deck is pretty isolated from trees and far from the ground, and the cat door itself would be very hard for a rat to open since it’s magnetized. Could Chewie have killed a rat on the deck and then brought it in? Was it in the house?

I decided there was no real harm in believing her story, even though it seemed implausible and there was no proof. She’s not really known for wild yarns or seeking out attention in that way. I hated it when I was a kid and the first thing out of an adults’ mouth was something to the tune of, “IT SOUNDS LIKE A DREAM, STUPIDPANTS.”

This afternoon, Franny was ransacking her room for something nice to wear on her fieldtrip tomorrow to a place that requires slightly more formal attire. She saw her nice skirt where she had left it in a heap on the floor.

“I suppose I could wash this….AUGH!”

“What?” I said.

“THERE IT IS!”

And there it was, hidden under her skirt for later.

Update: Sad news, Chewie was hit by a car tonight and was put to sleep shortly after. He was a really good one. I hope that he was out ratting. I feel so sad for my sister. I should also say that the first commenters commented before this update, and are not being rudely flippant. Thanks, as always for reading and commenting.

My Own Personal Wampeter

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“Love is where you find it. I think it is foolish to go looking for it, and I think it can often be poisonous.” –Kurt Vonnegut

Yesterday I was asked if it was ever a poor idea to send a condolences letter. I thought about it, and it was apt, because we were in Portland visiting family before the memorial service next month.

“Well,” I said. “I think if the presence of the condolences would insert an unpleasant person into your thoughts, if it’s really someone who’s not wanted, then it’s best not to express your condolences.”

The real question is, of which I was blissfully unaware at the time and therefore free to just make smug pronouncements, do unpleasant people know when they are not wanted? Of course not, because this is a very important facet of being unpleasant.

We arrived home from the store this morning and I looked in the mailbox. I had not checked it yesterday since we were traveling and out of town all day. There was a letter to Strudel’s father in there in disturbingly familiar handwriting. I thought for a minute.

Click…click…click…DING. Aw fux, it was my mother. PRESTO! What could be more timely or topical. It was like out of the Emily Post Casebook.

“I bet I know what this is,” I said, handing it over to him.

“This probably does not even need to come into the house,” he said, standing near the recycling bin. He ripped it open. “Yep.” He sighed and opened the bin’s lid, sending it off to its destiny to become toilet paper or something.

“Condolences? From the woman who is leaving me $100 in her will?”

“Yes,” he said.

What can you do with people who are so unpleasant they estrange others who could, if the situation and attitudes were only slightly different, cleave to them? I report, joylessly, that I sense some desperate scrabbling now that my mother has alienated her other daughter as well. Franny is really her last hope and since she’s got her hooks in via SeaFed’s insistence that she should know her grandmother, no matter how toxic, unpleasant, or undeserving she might be. No matter that no one else in the family will come within spitting distance. Based on past decisions, sometimes I think that SeaFed’s motivation in any given situation is simply to do the opposite of what I would do.

There is another thing, too–my mother has just been diagnosed with Graves’ Disease. Treatable, and manageable, and not my concern besides. Sadly the text she sent my sister informing her of this also said that she “might have cancer.” What is this crap? Who does this without knowing anything for certain and via TEXT? I might have cancer. We all “might” have cancer. I am also pre-med, as it turns out. Fuck me if I ever update my girls on serious health conditions via multiple texts. “LOL hernia TTYL”

I get into sharp disagreements with people who believe that family members are entitled to access by virtue of being blood relatives. How preposterous. Family needs to earn the right to be present in a person’s life, just like everyone else in the world. And I have a stronger opinion now than I did yesterday–political condolences are disgusting and helpful to no one.

In other news I’m kind of enjoying this super quick call and response thing I have going with the universe lately. It’s good for the diligent life-examiner on the go.

HEAD DESK Head desk head deeesk

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I am in the process of watching Franny’s dad not listen to or consult with her, and it is twisting me. He’s telling me he’s going to take her to see my mother on Friday. She doesn’t want to go. I’m not opposed to her having a functional, respectful relationship with her father. I don’t really understand the idea of him forcing her to see people she doesn’t want to see who no one else in her family sees either. He got really mad when I told him she’s an alcoholic. Being confronted with other people’s habits or problems can be like looking into a mirror. I have experienced this myself in other ways.

I don’t have much to say about this. I think I just need to express my disbelief that it’s happening again. It happened for spring break. He emails me, tell me what’s going to happen as if he is asking my permission. It’s contrary to whatever she wants. I feel like he wants collusion, but I cannot sell her out like that. I feel cheap, man! Like I could say yes to something and not know they’ve already talked about it and she’s expressed her opinion. She’s old enough to decide where she wants to spend her spring break. I’m not going to tell him how to parent her, either.

Being her advocate is exhausting and never-ending…and totally what I signed up for. However, sometimes I can relate to this asshole.

And the cloud that took the form

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This morning the daffodils are tilting forward gently, like they do right before their heads pop open. I like it–I have this vision of some fancy old timey lady with a lot of costume jewelry and a cigarette on a looong holder.

But before that! I dreamt I was having sex. Something was in my mouth and I could barely breathe…was it a paper napkin? (I suspect I was snoring.) No matter! I was having sex! Then I woke up. OH, SAD. But WAIT! I just dreamt I woke up, because then my alarm went off for real. I keep waking up at about 3:30, gripped with anxiety and all my dreams for the rest of the night are pretty much bad ones.

This weekend was busy busy busy moving sorting cleaning things. Goodwill runs! Changes are afoot, I will tell you in a few days. Nothing bad, I swear. I also moved the Todds into their own Todderdome. Now the hens are on their own with three spare Todds. They are getting VERY LARGE already and running around like whirling dervishes with their feathers growing in. I cannot believe how fast it happens.

Otherwise, it is quiet here. I am doing little crafty projects that were laying around like loose ends. I hung some pictures I had been neglecting since I moved in August. I was trying to avoid the cluttery feeling of my old too-small place, but I think there is room for a few more things around. I hung family pics on the wall in one of the staircases, not too straight. P. was helping. “Wabi-sabi,” he commented.

I am always wabi-sabi. I am putting up another mirror soon that I had ignored because the label was covering a crack in it, and I was insta-cross when I brought it home, but now I have reconsidered. It’s okay hang a cracked mirror, I guess. I don’t understand why these things change sometimes.

Also, it would not be a weekend without a stupid argument with my babydaddy that I actually LIKE. This is sport.

“I’m going to hang up that poster of clouds that I’ve had forever,” P. said, as I was doing some dishes.

This is where it immediately goes off the rails and some people (not me) are sorry they opened their mouth at all.

“Really, why?” I said.

“So I can see what the weather will be like.”

“SEE? WHAT THE WEATHER WILL BE LIKE?” Suddenly I was Gordon Ramsey on goofballs. “It’s GREY, you stick your head outside and it’s ALL GREY!”

“That’s not true at all,” he said. “There’s lots of different weather patterns here and you can tell if it’s going to rain and–”

“OF COURSE IT’S GOING TO RAIN, IT IS THE PNW! Save your poster, here is the only chart you need.”

I drew a chart for him on the fridge where the grocery list normally resides.

“Now in the Midwest there are actual cloud patterns besides grey–” I began.

“I don’t want to HEAR about the MIDWEST,” he said. “At least I know how to spell ‘G-R-A-Y.”

“GASP!” I gasped. He walked off. Where would either of us be without our weekly pointless bickering? The girls basically pass the salt over us when this happens now.

I also spent a little solo time with Franny, who needed a skirt for a field trip to the Symphony. I already mentioned this on the Twittergraph, but I was holding up not-pink things, because she does not dig the girlie pink stuff, and she was also insisting, “BLACK, ONLY BLACK CLOTHES.”

I teared up, for real. You can kind of tell we’ve been watching a LOT of Drag Race right now. Franny thinks of these types of shoes in a fabulous man context so we had to have a little breakdown about the clear stripper shoes. “Ladies wear these too, hmm,” she said.

Your Poultry Has Shipped

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I guess I can wrap this chapter up for now, though these things are never really truly wrapped up, are they? After Morgan and I spoke to our mother on Saturday night, I called SeaFed to check in with him, and told him the deed was done. Of course I was shunted straight to voicemail, because as I discovered on Sunday, my mother immediately called him to discuss how awful I was being.

And when he finally called me back on Sunday afternoon, I heard her words again coming out of his mouth. “You don’t even know her anymore,” he said. “You haven’t spoken to her for years.” I felt myself being crushed somewhat under the weight of everything he had to say. He was talking over me, rambling, that way he has of filling the space without really saying anything useful or helpful.

“Yes,” I said, trying to flatten myself out on the quicksand. “It’s always been the same, though. She’s up, she’s down, she pours all the booze out and then caves and starts again.”

“I guess I remember that from when we lived with her,” he conceded. “But a lot of people drink.” His voice sounded slightly hollow.

Suddenly this seemed like it was less about my mother and me than I thought.

“I told her that we agreed to supervised visits for the time being,” I said, “sooo–”

“I never said that, I said I heard you about that and I wanted to speak to your mother and your sister about this. I’ve spoken to all of you and now I don’t think there’s a problem.”

“Uh. Okay. Can we agree to no overnights for now, because I really think that–”

“I will spend time with her the next time I see her, and I will decide. I’m not going to agree to anything with you about this. Franny needs her grandmother in her life, warts and all.”

“Well, I disagree in this case, because I made the choice to pull myself and the girls out of her toxic thing that she’s in.”

“I’ve known REAL addicts, SJ, and they need support. None of this was a problem until you brought this up recently. The last time I saw Franny she burst into tears right away. I can’t tell you how to run your house, but maybe this stuff needs to be private, and Franny doesn’t really need to know about your problems with your mother. You’re upsetting her and there was never a problem before. This is the first time she said she doesn’t want to spend the night at her grandma’s house.”

Remember this.

He also told me he was pleased I had offered to supervise visits, because it sounded like my mother would be happy to see me. I have no idea if that’s true or not. I tend to doubt it–I suspect it’s just more of his weird fantasy world inferences that he cannot seem to help, like the notion that my sister needed him to tell our mother that Morgan had a problem with her, which she said several times she did not, and it was about Franny. The idea that my mother would be pleased to see me as a result of all this increased dysfunction made my stomach churn. I would not be happy to see me. I was always at my worst around her, really, not matter how hard I tried. I certainly wouldn’t be happy to see her. I don’t want Franny to see her. I felt ill when she came over inappropriately to drop something off.

With him it’s always a sucking black hole where the sky is orange and nothing really makes any sense. I can’t really say that it’s any different than when we were married. I have that feeling every time I hang up that everything I know is wrong and I am a bad person. It seems like these conversations always happen when Franny is gone, which doesn’t help. I can’t and won’t turn to her for support and venting like I would a friend, but having her out of my sight makes me wonder…have I done everything wrong? Is she scared to tell me how she feels?

We talked when Franny came back, because I knew there was a lot unsaid and probably going through her mind. I tried to be very gentle with her and I try not to lead her or feed her anything–I just try to keep it safe for her. She made a point to tell me that she asks her dad not to have to have sleepovers at her grandma’s house.

“Before all this happened?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, I just want to see him. I tell him I want just a day visit and he tells me to ‘pack my bag.”

“Have you tried telling your stepmother at all? Maybe get another adult on your side?”

“She doesn’t say anything when I say I don’t want to go.”

I worry that her stepmother wants her to go. Around Thanksgiving she accused Franny of hurting the baby and I know Franny does not really feel wanted or welcome around there, which pains me. Franny doesn’t want to push things too hard, because she’s scared of him, especially when he’s mad. She still remembers him making a hole in the wall of my apartment when she was four, which surprised me to hear.

I told her that none of this is her fault or her problem, over and over, and that I want her to be happy. I think she is, most of the time. I checked in to see if she wanted to know what was happening, if I was telling her too much, as her dad said, and she said she wanted to know. I also told her something new.

“You’re getting older now,” I reminded her. “You are allowed to make more decisions for yourself. If you feel like you are unsafe or not being respected, you can get on the bus after school and come home and I will be here. You can call me and I will pick you up from wherever, okay?”

Franny talks about how her little sister screams for things, like a doughnut, or some candy, or the right backpack, and how she gets them and it makes her crazy to see.

“Maybe you need to start screaming for your doughnut over there,” I said, and she smiled a little.

“He’s making this all worse, I know he is,” she said. I tried to keep the surprise off my face. She said she felt better after we talked. I feel really proud of how level-headed and sharp she is sometimes. I feel so lucky that this one was given the gift of really high emotional intelligence and sensitivity. I think it has and will save her.

I feel fairly boxed in at this point. I have a child who is telling me she is unhappy and not being heard over there, and her father, who will not agree to or concede to anything…so, I can’t work with him to keep things healthy with my mother. And my mother, who has SeaFed in her pocket and feels entitled to see Franny despite my wishes and requests. People are suggesting court and restraining orders. I worry I am being negligent for not doing so. I have this feeling like no matter what I choose, everything rests on me. I am putting out one more email to say, I don’t like this, I don’t want this, I don’t agree with this, and then…things will change eventually. I hope my mother cannot do too much damage before then.

And next time you see me, I will have brand new chickies and I am going to keep it light for a while. Thanks for the nice comments lately.

Pastry Injustice

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A couple of weeks ago Strudel came home with a SAAAD tale of how her reading buddy came along as she was minding her own gosh darn business, grabbed her backpack, and pushed her DOWN. Well, did you ever? No, never.

I asked Franny about it, since he is in her class.

“What do you think about this kid, is he on the up-and-up or what?”

“Yeah, he’s nice, Mom. It seems really weird to me that he would push her down,” she said.

“Will you look into it?”

“WHAT? Really, Mom?”

“Yes,” I said. “You’re the big sister. You have to let him know he cannot perpetrate turkey actions onto YOUR little sister like that. Just ask some questions, and tell him that if he messes with her again, he’ll have you to deal with, see?”

“What does that even mean, Mom?”

“Nothing, it’s called an ’empty threat,’ sweetheart.”

Some time later we were rolling around shopping for shoes, Franny and I, and I asked her what happened with the reading buddy.

“Oh, HIM,” Franny said.

“Yes, WHAT?”

“I talked to him. He said Strudel slipped and started falling, so he grabbed her by the backpack to help catch her, and she turned around and started kicking at him and cussing him out.”

“Oh dear. Did you threaten him first?” I asked.

“No, because I was pretty sure if anything happened, it wasn’t his fault.”

Franny is getting very good at making audible italics.

NO BUTT TOUCHING

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I dozed off this morning after my alarm. Do you know what that gets you? That gets you in the middle squished like a sardine where the very flexible man will TOUCH YOUR BUTT. D:

Last night Strudel had the Kindergarten Singalong. She started off dancing like an elephant.

Then there was some singing. And some nose picking, at the top of the risers, in front of everyone. I get to have the kindergartner mining for magic nose goblins. I stage momed her and made the motion of STOP PICKING YOUR NOSE DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE EVEN but it probably just looked like a bee flew into my nostril.

At Burgermaster we discovered that it would be better if it was called “Lambmaster” and that some people cannot pronounce the word “synonym.”

As far as my DNA news goes, it’s new news. My sister did the swabbing to see our maternal ancestry and told me yesterday. She showed me a bunch of cool stuff on her phone while we were out, and I will get a copy of the paperwork soon. Woot.

Weasels Gonna WEASEL.

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Franny’s father, our infamous SeaFed, has decided not to broach matters with my mother at all. Not AT ALL. Words that were used were basically to the effect of “You need to talk to Morgan because she has a problem with you right now ok.”

Naturally, this makes me insane, because he wants to have it both ways. He wants someone to dump Franny on so he doesn’t have to make the commute to her school on Monday mornings when he has her, but doesn’t want to face the reality of any problems there may be with his choice of child care. The reason I continue to be a click removed is because I am removed from her. I’ve made myself clear that I don’t want to see her and I don’t want my girls around her.

So I get a frantic call from my sister today after she got the message from SeaFed. “I’ve already had this fight with Mom, I don’t want to do it again.” What’s that sound? Click click click, I am being pulled in closer. Clean up crew gets to come in and say all the mean shit. I don’t blame my sister; Franny’s not her kid.

I have asked Seafed to make any time with my mother supervised and alcohol-free, but I feel like I am leaving important decisions regarding my child to a donkey with portions of its frontal lobe missing and a carny with extreme short-term memory problems and the attendant decision-making skills.

I offered to have a conversation with my sister present via speakphone with my mother and to say all the ugly shit. My sister and I are hashing it out, trying to form a plan. I keep telling her she did the right thing by not hiding what is happening. My sister is terrified that my mother will turn on her now for ratting. I predict what will happen is that things will get hideous, it will strain my sister’s relationship with my mother, and that my mother and SeaFed will get together and talk about how unreasonable I am and things will go on as before, because that will show my control freak ass. That’s my pessimism talking, but it’s also been par for the course. Family trumps all, any problem can be glossed over, and I am unreasonable.

And if anything happens to Franny as a result of how “unreasonable” I am, I am going to SNAP.

Stan Sakai Ceiling Bunnies

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Today I had a very inspiring (barf I hate that word) talk about doubting your work with a friend who has kindly offered to draw a banner for the ten year anniversary of this trash heap. Everyone sane has doubts and fear, I guess. We are talking about things to put on the banner. I get my portrait done, woo woo. Chickens, jawbreakers. Thinking about asking him to draw my portrait with goatse as a frame. How gauche! I keep thinking of the jumbles that Frida Kahlo used to paint with all the banners and fruit and lines and blood. I am thinking the text should be gangsta font. What do you think should be on a ten-year I, Asshole banner?

Today Franny was in an adaptation of The Ring of the Nibelung. She was a cute bird.

You Are Sleeping You Do Not Want To Believe

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Did SeaFed call my sister on Friday as he said he would? No, he did not. There’s been absolute radio silence on this matter from all parties. I hate silence.

He did text me to ask if he could pick Franny up on Thursday, since Friday is a holiday. “Fine, and my sister is waiting for your call btw,” I said. “Ok thanks!” was the reply. In the world of SeaFed, that is the fuck you of “I do what I wont my damn self.” This can mean that he was agreeing with me on the phone when I called him to communicate my distress about my mother’s further slide, and then blew it off and will disregard me, since, as always, I am, you know, me, or he’s sticking his head in the sand about it and maybe will stop returning her calls? I don’t care about her hurt feelings.

I am sad to say he has zero coping skills for actually facing problems. People in his extended family used to disappear for a while during divorces or stints in rehab and then reappear thinner, with a haunted look or a new spouse. When I would get upset about things, or made a decision that would reflect poorly on him in “public”, or tried to create boundaries for people in my life who were not good for me, it was always my problem, I was the one who was the troublemaker and needed to sit down and be quiet. NO! I WON’T! I spent many years being quiet and doing as I was told instead of what was best for me, and boy has that fucking ship sailed.

It sailed as soon as I had children. “Hey, you can’t treat my child like this,” and a little voice in the back of my head, growing louder all the time, kept saying, “And you should not be treated like this either.” Say, that’s true, annoying dawning realization. It’s sad that we are willing to take nothing for ourselves sometimes.

I am over that realization, though. The only remaining struggle is balance. I still err on the side of being unnecessarily loyal and agonize over ending situations and relationships that are making me miserable. Sometimes I go the other way and feel like the top of my head is going to pop off over something related to the girls, until a few minutes later, when I realize that not everything needs to be a federal case.

But I am thinking about it. Ignoring this situation with my mother, or asking her opinion about how under control she thinks her drinking and behavior is would be fruitless, which was SeaFed’s plan, to talk to her. Addicts lie. I don’t care about her feelings being hurt like he does. I think he knows talking to my sister, who he has a cordial, if not close, relationship with may force him into action, because then the “crazy” would not just be coming from me.

I also need a new doctor for the girls. We got stood up for Strudel’s TB test results. That’s right, stood up. It was not a miscommunication. The doctor apologized for it last week. Then she almost ran me down at Greenlake this morning (probably unrelated). About two months ago she told me to bring Strudel back for shots in December, and when we came, the nurse looked at her chart, told us it was too soon and sent us away again. I’m done!

I’ve got a pot roast in my fake Le Crueset and that is my happy thought for today. Well, I’ve got more than one. But today, goddam diary, I feel like fruitlessly shaking my pathetic fist at the universe.