One: Don’t Hate. Micturate. Over a Grate.

Today I took Strudel to the new play structure at the Zoo, so she could expel excess ya-yas before naptime. Plus the ground is wet, so I thought it would be good for her to play indoors. The Zoo opens a half-hour before the new building, so we waited outside for a few minutes. So much for trying to keep her dry– she found the nearest pile of mulch and did a bellyflop into it. When she got up she looked like she had been tossed around in a giant bag of Shake-n-Bake (Baby flavor).

We went in and she hoarded all the stuffed animals she could find. One of those frumpy, dowdy PNW moms who are my age but look like a middle-aged librarian* pointed me out and told her equally dowdyish mom-friend that she “used to have hair like that.” “Why did you quit?” said her friend. “Oh, it was too high-maintenance,” she replied snottily.

Bitch, don’t hate. I am not your slideshow illustrating how you used to be fabulous. Look way down inside yourself. Seriously. Way down. Past your stomach. Travel through your legs, and out your feet, where you will realize you are wearing the most hideous clogs I have ever seen. YALL JUST JELUS.

So that’s firstly. Secondly is that if you do colored hair right, it’s not high maintenance. It doesn’t have to be worse than maintaining blonde or “natural” red.

Thirdly, what is up with clog chic? One of my BFFs wears clogs, nice black ones, but I swear that nowhere else in the country are there clogs like the clogs I see here. It’s like people think…they look cool or something. I thought they were just things you wear you want to be comfortable? Or want to look like you should have your finger stuck in a dike? No? Whatevs.

* I can say that because I am one. I am reclaiming “librarian-looking” the same way homosexuals have taken back “queer.”

Two: Go! Fight! Win…Give Up. Take a Damn Nap.

So I have given up on the Franny kindergarten issue. When I first contacted the principal she agreed whole-heartedly that Franny should indeed be in the first grade. Now after speaking to the enrollment center and discovering there is no room to move her to first grade, she has (supposedly) told Sea-Fed that she will be plenty challenged in kindergarten again.

Sea-Fed also claims that (despite the fact he was all for testing her into the first grade) he called me months ago and told me he had enrolled her in kindergarten. I distinctly remember that phone call. He left me a message saying that he had enrolled Franny “in school.” I have not replied to his last email.

I mean this in the unsnarkiest way possible: I cannot work with someone who’s never wrong. It’s pointless for us to go back and forth, because the kindergarten thing is a done deal, and he either doesn’t remember that he didn’t tell me, or is denying it. During that same phone message he said he would send me a copy of the completed enrollment forms and then claimed in his last email that I never confirmed that I wanted them. I have this (maybe not-so-weird) feeling that he gave me as little information as possible to funnel her back into public school because it’s free.

It’s a mess, and again I take responsibility for this, because I didn’t double check and kick up a fuss about her grade placement in January, when there was time to do something. I am just trying to let it go now. There is a small possibility that they will move her to the correct grade in October. I am so sad that rather than pay to keep her in the right grade at her current school, he is okay with her going through kindergarten again. And we can’t pay all the tuition ourselves, and he might not even agree to that anyway.

Three: I Don’t Have a Rallying Cry for Three

In related news, I had my first meeting with Sea-Fed’s girlfriend. I think they’re going to do fine, because she’s the opposite of me. She’s nice, and by nice I mean amiable, but also one of those people who kind of smoothes things over and is polite and doesn’t really want to talk about hard stuff. I can see how she’d fit in really well with Sea-Fed’s family, who often found my need to do things my own way vexing. Also, she is delighted with Sea-Fed’s father’s deep pockets. She has already learned how to work the system to get him to buy play tickets, etc, and I give her props for that. And, possibly most importantly, she is willing to be the heavy with Franny as far as discipline goes.

I felt like I made her uncomfortable a few times. She mentioned what a relief it was to have her future father-in-law helping out financially, and that Sea-Fed was unwilling to take the money at first. (I can’t believe he’s still bothering with that charade.)

I said, “Well, maybe I am just imposing my personality on Sea-Fed, but I always felt like he did his best when we were supporting ourselves, and had to struggle a little.”

“He was hesitant to take the money,” she replied. “I had to talk him into it.”

“He always hesitates,” I said. “And he always takes it.”

I don’t know. It’s good to talk with someone in Franny’s life who doesn’t make my flesh crawl. Maybe she can see me as just a normal mom who is protective of her kid, rather than some fire-spitting she-devil. In court there was a lot of lip service on his side paid to “I just want what’s best for Franny.” I meant it; I left him in part because what is best for Franny is me not coming home and finding her covered in her own shit.

Looks like we’re getting together again on Friday. Franny was growing up learning how to play her dad and me off each other, because he would overrule and contradict me in front of her. I don’t want that with Sea-Fed’s girlfriend, either, so I am going to have to be careful here.