Franny was tired and in a snit after her summer camp today and looking how I feel pretty much every day after work. Sometimes I lose it and lay on the couch and eat Chinese food, but most nights I have to smile while I hear that I paid so my kid could have a bad day and that she did not bring enough money to go on the outing, which meant that she had to put it back in her bag, which was rifled, and the money was stolen. Some days she gets shoved, or someone says something mean to her and she cries.

It made me think of a story an old friend told me once about how he got cut and was bleeding everywhere and did not notice, but his sister saw the wound a little later and the dried blood. They were both amazed: how could he not notice? I used to feel like Franny did, every day. When do you stop noticing the bleeding?

Strudel was in better shape but seems to have forgotten how to eat. Seriously. I presented her with a slice of pizza tonight and she turned it on its end and tried to shove it into her mouth toppings-side up. I thought children were supposed to have the whole spacial/3-D understanding of how the world works by the time they are at least a year old, but it’s like she regressed. She also smacks loudly with her mouth open and wipes her fingers in her hair, leaving her napkin untouched. Who are you and what planet do you come from that you do not know what to do with pizza?

This all led up to World War 3 here, in which Franny decided to smack her sister and I caught her. I got the full watery-eye treatment, the sad, imploring, “You NEVER believe me!” Yes, because I SEE you hitting her. She was cranking up into a little pre-teen tanty when I told her that she needed to get in the shower. “I HATE THE SHOWER!” she wailed. “MY LIFE IS HORRIBLE.” Oh, cry me a RIVER. Your life is summer camp and time with me and her sister on the evenings and weekends, and horse camp FFS when she goes back to her dad’s house next month. The only thing horrible about her life is that I caught her in the act.

Tomorrow we are flying out of the country, which I am slightly nervous about because of a recent chain of events. We can let the viewer decide…well, whatever they want.

I have passports and birth certificate, of course. What I do not have is signed permission letter from her father. Of course there is a history and a backstory here, and, holy cow, it makes me realize that SeaFed has been married for like three whole years already. BOY was I histrionic in that episode. You can practically feel the heat coming off the screen. But you know what? I would call the cops all over again. That shit is not any less illegal today. So we have that under our belts.

We also have me saying “no” to him three times in the past week or so about stupid shit, like a tax law that he didn’t look up and yet demanded some unowed moneys from me anyway. I can sense from afar that he is in a temper, or at least less of a stupor, than usual.

So me trying two weeks out to get a signed travel permission letter? Not going to happen. Emails go ignored. Dates go conveniently forgotten. Half-assed attempts are made to schedule a notary meeting several miles and a ferry ride from my house in the middle of a workday. “Thanks for your efforts anyway,” I finally texted him sarcasmically.

But I am going, and I think we have a fine shot. We have all the documents and the same last name. The letter would have been icing on the cake. And we are going to have a fantastic weekend in a hotel that is more like an apartment with a pool and fine friends. I will throw pics up and travelogue all about it when I return. MONKEYCHOW OUT.