sight isn’t always necessary

I just can’t seem to get enough of venting lately.  It’s like I’m a pressure cooker gone way past the pressure it can stand, and at any moment I’m going to totally explode.  To vent on this blog is to save my sanity, so I write.

We went for a little trip on a train today.  It was originally thought up as a “treat” for Connor for not freaking out all the time, but that was scrapped when we went to the doctor for his stomach issues.  We still decided to go on the train trip though, and just have a good time traveling via a method we usually don’t get much of around here.  Michiganders love their cars!  Anyway, we took the train into Royal Oak, and because Craig’s parents live close by they came out to dinner with us before we caught out train back.  The train trip was fun, though Connor forgot his backpack (or I forgot it, but it’s easier to blame it on Connor) and was bored the majority of the time, and walking around town for the first 20 minutes or so was fun as well.  Then we had to meet Craig’s idiot parents.  At first I could cope; I just bit my tongue a lot, nibbled at it a bit, holding back little curses from exploding out of my mouth.  By the end I was full-out choking on the profanity vomit that I wanted to let fall out of my head.  I think I did a good job of looking like a sane functioning person, but inside I was going wacko.

Katelyn, when you had a crush on Craig in the beginning, you really did yourself a favor by introducing him to me.  Believe me, this shit with his mother is a serious curse.  I’m thinking Tom probably was a better choice for me, at least as far as mother-in-laws go.  Your mom likes me.  Maybe I still have a chance…  Shoot.  Who put this ring on my finger!?!

Anyway.  Ok, so first Craig’s mom stresses that the day is “Connor’s big boy day” and it’s all going to be about celebrating him.  I guess way back when we mentioned a train, Craig said it would maybe be a prize for having a month of good days, not freaking out at night about having a stomachache.  He never told his mom that the plan changed, so I guess I’ll give her the benefit of doubt.

*slight irritation*

Then we find a restaurant – Monterrey’s – and go inside.  Elly was asleep in her stroller, the first time she had been sleeping for the entire day, less the 15 minute nap she took driving from our house to Ann Arbor.  I guess there’s a rule at that restaurant that no strollers are allowed at any table, and whereas I can understand the usefulness of that rule, I did not want to wake Elly up for a stupid meal.  The hostess looked down at Elly and noted, “Oh, her eyes are open, I think she’s awake.”  Ugh.  So I picked her up and she immediately lay her head on my shoulder, obviously still very sleepy.  Craig’s mom came up and yelled (because she has but one volume), “Who’s my sweet little baby?”  Then Craig’s dad came up and shook her hand and said something else asinine and loud, and I had a little tiny flip out.

*more irritation*

“Papa!  She’s still sleepy, I was hoping I could keep her calm for a little while longer before we sit down?”  They both looked shocked (all the while they were both totally ignoring Connor), and I explained that she hadn’t slept much, and though it’s fun to do those things with her, her exhaustion will eventually creep up and I’ll be the only one to be able to calm her… nothing gets through though.  Bah.  By this time her head was up, she was spitting out her pacifier, so I gave up.  I handed her to Munga.  I called Papa back over (he walked away looking depressed) and told him it was okay.

*feeling like crawling out of body for a while*

We sat down.  Craig’s mom told a charming story about how some place they walked by down in Royal Oak was “full of homeless people”.  Then she told another charming story about how all of their idiot friends are gone so (and this was a funny joke, I guess) they were considering calling up some other douchebag friends they used to associate with years ago, but had a falling out with.  She mentioned about six times that they are going camping tomorrow and suggested an additional six times that we should visit them while they are camping.  I briefly interjected that it’s supposed to storm all day tomorrow, and rather than reply to me, she just talked in a baby voice to Connor about how “we’ll just snuggle up in the camper then!”  Fuck no.  “Our doggies, you guys, your doggie, it’ll be so much fun!”  Fuck, fuck, fuck no.  Then she mentioned that one of our old teachers’ granddaughter (Mrs. Falucca) fell out of her crib and broke her leg.  It was all very stimulating conversation, really.

*chewing violently at inside of cheek, hoping the pain will distract me enough*

Then the food came.  Connor ordered a children’s Mexican pizza, which was about six inches across.  We always have been pretty firm about getting him to eat some good food during every meal, but with Craig’s parents I’m willing to make an exception, because it’s easier to allow Connor to eat a crappy meal than to deal with their looks and comments about it.  They act like I’m some kind of fucking nutcase (which I am, but for different reasons) for wanting my child to eat a vegetable.  Anyway, his mom really stepped on my authority right away, because she told Connor that he only had to eat a QUARTER of it.  That is literally ONE BITE for Craig, maybe two bites for me.  Tiny.  A snack.  That stupid fucking bitch.   Uggggghhhhhhh.

*chewing my face now more than I’m chewing my food*

Finally I had enough.  I got up to take Elly to the bathroom to feed her, and Connor needed to go to the restroom too so he and Craig stood up to go with me.  They got back to the table well before Elly and I did, and I guess Craig did tell his mother and Connor that he had to eat more food than just a quarter of the little pizza.  His mom is so fucking passive aggressive though, so she’s making these little comments to Connor the whole time like, “Okay baby, only these two little more bites, and I know you don’t want to but it’s just a tiny bit, sorry baby boy!”  Like he’s suffering.  It’s a fucking pizza, bitch.

*trying to find a happy place*

We got up to leave finally, and I was a few paces behind everyone exiting the restaurant.  When I caught up, Connor help up a huge handful of after-dinner mints, exclaiming, “Look what Munga gave me, mom!”  It was about as many pieces of candy as he had bites of dinner.  Did anyone know that Connor has been having stomach issues lately?  Because I thought it was pretty clear.  And the last I heard, a buttload of candy was not the remedy for stomach pain.  Craig’s mom thinks that eating only 3/4 of her humungous sour cream burrito (barf) was “taking it easy” though.  And they didn’t take Craig to the doctor when he was 13 for his Crohn’s until he was shitting blood (sorry, it’s just true).

*can’t find mental happy place, so considering going to Noir Leather because I know they won’t follow me in*

My venting is almost making me feel better.  One last thing.  When we went back to the train station, Connor was acting up.  I’m sure it was because he was exhausted, but I had to make him sit down to prevent him from hurting himself or Elly; he was just acting crazy.  Craig’s mother is just SOOOOO passive aggressive – the SECOND I had to discipline him, she says to Craig, “Why don’t you let us take him for the night?”  Oh yes!  Please, take our first-born son!  He doesn’t need a carseat.  All he needs is candy, and your amazing “Munga-love” that you talk so much about!  Oh, and scary movies!  Please, take him, so that you can let him watch movies like Ghostbusters and Freddie Got Fingered, which are the most child-friendly movies of all time!

(Don’t even ask about Freddie Got Fingered; luckily it doesn’t actually involve Connor… yet.)

*puked in my mouth a little, swallowed it back down*

Craig firmly said, “Mom, we don’t have a carseat.”  End of story.

I write all of this down, with a little twinge of humor, because I’m trying as hard as I can to cope with my life, but when exposed to those people I have a real problem with everything.  I can’t talk about it with Craig because he really just sits there and randomly changes the subject, not ever acknowledging that I have done a good job of putting up with that shit again.  I can’t call my mom and complain because she takes Ann’s side, or at least is WAY too sympathetic with Ann, 95% of the time.  Nobody else listens long enough.  I don’t usually talk a ton, but I need some serious decompression time when I deal with my in-laws.  This blog is all I’ve got.