*Alright, if you’re tired of SeaFed drama, just skip to Other News. You have been warned.

Franny slipped and fell down a couple of stairs while she was walking down to the basement on Sunday. She hit her back and has a bruisy line on part of her spine now. This would be pretty normal, except for the fact that when she started crying a disturbing story tumbled out of her.

She told me that recently when she asked her dad if she could spend Thanksgiving over at my house this year, her got really angry and sent her to her room for even asking. After she came out she was made to apologize to both him and her stepmother for asking.

“What was your stepmom doing?” I said.

“She looked mad, too,” Franny replied.

It kills me that the classic behavior that his family constantly perpetrated while we were married is now being passed on to Franny. I told Franny the Reader’s Digest version of Auntie Jaguar’s wedding, how I DARED to DEFY her by not wanting to participate in her ceremony, and how that turned out. I told her that while I like her grandfather very much, I saw similar stuff from him. Seattle Federline is teaching her that if he doesn’t want to discuss certain subjects, she will be shut down, and that her opinions are bad. She is afraid now to bring up any extra time with me.

Basically, Franny asked me if she could spend Thanksgiving over here, and I told her she would have to talk to her dad, since it’s his Thanksgiving this year. I figured he would just say “no” and that would be the end of it. Much to my surprise, she came back and told me he said she could stay, as long as she could go to his house for the day before. She wasn’t totally clear, so I made a note to get in touch with him to clear it up.

The top of his head blew off a little bit. He told me that holidays are “cut and dry” and that Franny is too young to decide what she wants to do. He didn’t know when she would be able to decide for herself, but he would know when that time came in the future. He also said he was sorry that I had “led her on” about Thanksgiving. (I don’t think he was really sorry, but I could be reading too much into that. Ho ho.) In his next (email) breath he requested that we change her residential schedule, and alternate it every year.

To make the throw-down complete, he told me he was going to CALL THE SCHOOL and let them know that he was going to pick her up so I can’t perpetrate any of my devilish meddling that I’m not planning to do at all. I warned them at her school that his panties are bunched and that they might be getting an angry phone call. Hellooo? If things deviate from the parenting plan, you call the cops, not the school. What are they going to do, anyway? I told the school when I had a restraining order out against him (the good old days, snif), but they can’t really do anything now. I’m just saying.

I defended myself a little bit by saying that I didn’t lead her on, and wondered if this implied that he thought she had no preferences of her own. He replied again, but I just couldn’t look at another email from him. I have recently created a filter to keep him out of my inbox, and it cheers me to see his emails showing up in my “Cocksucka!” folder.

So, for those who are preparing for the test, holidays are set in stone, but the residential schedule should be changed for a long list of reasons, though we’ve been following the current one harmoniously for the last year-and-a-half. He asked me twice and I told him I wasn’t interested in discussing it further.

I had a conference with Franny’s teacher yesterday, the last one before she moves on to the next level, and I asked her teacher if Franny was having trouble with the transitions. The teacher replied that she absolutely was not, and that Franny seemed to look forward to spending time at both houses. I asked Franny if she wanted to change the schedule. She said that she would like to spend more time at my house right now, but there’s no way she’s going to ask her dad about that. I would be surprised if she admitted it if he came out and asked her.

When Strudel was teeny, Franny was super into her dad. Lots of girls around three and four are. He tried to smear me in court with this, claiming that she was “daddy’s little girl” as a reason he should have custody. Oh, that and all the dog-fucking and Satanism I was up to in my spare time.

The summer after Strudel was born, I let Franny spend more time at his house, because she really wanted to be with him. Being rejected sucks, but I told myself it was probably temporary. So I thought maybe she could spend more time over here right now, since she’s into me for the next two weeks or six months or year. No dice.

I wish him luck with the whole controlling her and suppressing her feelings thing. That always turns out well, doesn’t it?

Why stir the pot now? No schedule’s perfect. This is going well. I am praying that That Poor Woman will get pregnant again to take any focus of me. This summer she said she wanted to have another baby (because what’s another sardine in the can if you’re living in the daddy welfare state anyway?). Last I heard she was nannying for some of SeaFed’s rich friends, so now’s the time. In fact, now and every two years until Franny turns eighteen would be PERFECT.

In Other News

But none of that other crap is bothering me much.

I am looking forward to Thanksgiving. I am going to cook my face off and have some fun perps over. I am actually doing a little bit today, and I will do more tomorrow. It sounds insane, but this way it’s leisurely and not OMG sixteen hours of cooking. I am really enjoying myself.

Today I am cleaning the oven (PU) and making Quince Syrup (thank you Martha) to glaze the turkey with. Later I will probably have Franny help me chop veggies for the stocks and brine I’m making. Yes, I’m brining my turkey this year. Yes, I am out of control. Last year’s turkey turned out really well, so I’m going to try the cheesecloth/wine/butter method again.

Last night we made hand turkeys (last year’s) and today we are working on yogurt cheese for Franny’s sharing bag turn. One of my mom-friends, Wonder Woman, thought up this cool idea: instead of the show-and-tell clusterfuck, which is usually some beheaded nakers Barbie doll, each kid takes turns by passing along a special bag with a book. The kids or their parents log what is significant about the object in the book. And the criteria for the objects have to be that it’s from a foreign place, nature, or something you made. Last year we got the bag over at our house once, and we made a colored macaroni necklace. Now we are making the yogurt cheese. I figure I can use this as an opportunity to do something easy and crafty with her. She was amazed. Yogurt can become CHEESE? Holy crap.

Oh, and J.B.: I haven’t forgotten your panettone recipe–I am just slow and LAME. Hee.

And now it is flipping pouring and I don’t want to leave my house to fetch my kid from school. One to beam up, mon.