Parenting Fail #2,098

I know I've mentioned it before, but I grew up with quirky parents as evidenced here, here, and potentially coming soon in book form.

Every Saturday when I was growing up, my brothers and I would have to wash the family cars. Rain, snow, sleet, hail, my brothers and I would be out washing the cars on Saturday morning. It wasn't as though we were washing Lamborghinis, my dad, an engineer by trade, doesn't believe in buying "depreciating assets".  Our cars were always American made and nothing fancy.   I hated washing the car, loathed the chore, and still vividly remember having chilled, purple fingers that tingled when I washed the car in the winter months. (We lived in Southern California, so no need to cue the violins, I had a pretty posh childhood.)   While I am a big fan of giving kids regular chores, as soon as I moved out, I vowed to never wash a car again. 

 I really have no idea what I am doing when it comes to raising my children.  Truth be told, sometimes most of the time, I'm just guessing at what the right thing is to do.   I'm trying really hard to raise good and humble citizens with a work ethic. In today's world of instant gratification, this is not an easy task.   

Somewhere along the line, I got the idea if my kids aren't going to be responsible for washing the cars, they had to at least put in the time by sitting at the car wash.  So, they come with me and we sit and watch the car get washed.  Over the years, it has became a tradition to walk across the street and get Slurpees while we wait.   

Last week we waited until AK got home from dance to go, because it was "important everyone put in their time at the car wash."   While we sat waiting for our car to be done, Mr. Boy asked me, "Mom, why did we wait all day to bring AK with us to the car wash? Why didn't we just go while she was at dance? Why does everyone have to go to the car wash?"  

I stammered.... because I wanted to say, "This was my chore when I was little, and you have to at least put in the time we would have spent."  But then I realized, my thinking was not quite right.  What was I really teaching my kids?   "Hey Kids, your job is to sit and watch someone else do a chore you could easily do!"  or "Hey Kids, when you grow up pay someone else to do the things you don't like to do!" 

Truth is, once I thought about it, I really didn't know what lesson I was trying to teach or if there was actually a lesson to teach.   So, I made something up, because that is what I do best.  

"Mr. Boy, when I was little I hated washing the car, we had to do it every Saturday instead of watching cartoons.  It made my fingers numb in the winter, and since I was the youngest, my pesky older brothers always sprayed me with water.   If I wasn't careful, they would dump a bucket of water on my head.   So, I got good grades, stayed away from drugs, went to college, and have a successful career.  All my hard work has paid of because instead of doing something I hate, I can afford to use a service to do it.   The best part of all this, I get to drink Slurpees and hang out with two of my favorite human beings."  

That seemed to satisfy Mr. Boy until he asked, "Mom, if I pay the car wash man $5 will he dump a bucket of water on your head?"  

My Family, version 2.0

 

One year and two days after my mom passed away, my father called me to let me know that he was engaged to be married.   I knew this was coming, he had been dating like a madman starting three weeks after my mom's passing. My hope was that she would be nice and that she would make my dad happy. 

My dad wanted me to meet his fiance in Febraury, and so I agreed.   I would pick them up at the train station and spend an hour with them.  Mr. Boy wanted to meet her, AK wanted nothing to do with it.  As I drove to the train station, my heart started pounding and the familiar phrase of, "I don't want to do this." repeated in my head.   As I neared the station, I saw my dad with his arm around a petite lady, who was not my mom.   It all seemed wrong, and I hit the gas and drove right on by the train station leaving them standing there on the curb.  Mr. Boy kept pestering me, "Mom, why did you drive right by Grandpa?"   I just needed a moment to think this through.   I summoned all my courage, made a U turn and headed back to the train station.   I picked them up and spent the next hour with them.  

I spent 34 years of my life seeing my mom and dad together. It seemed so weird to see him with someone else.  I know he is incredibly lonely, I know he needs a companion, I know he deserves happiness... I know, I know, I know, but my heart still longs to reverse the clock and go back to the "Before".   Before there was cancer, before there was heartache, hospice, death, and a funeral.  He is ready to move forward, I am not.

"Steplady" as she was called in our house, because Stepmom didn't quite seem right, turned out to be lovelier than lovely.  Kind, endearing, warm, and friendly, she is impossible to dislike.  

This past weekend my brother, who has been with me through it all,  met me in Dallas to fly out to Tennessee for the wedding.  When I got to the crowded gate at the airport and couldn't find him in the crowd, I stifled the urge to call out "Marco?"  When we were little, we spent hours in the pool playing Marco Polo, and used that same game to find each other in crowds our whole childhood. 

I arrived in Tennessee with an emotional gameplan.  I simply wouldn't have feelings.   I would stifle them, smile, and go into auto pilot.   I brushed up on Tennessee football trivia, funny anecdotes, and interesting news topics to chat with the "New Family" about. I would be charming, but emotionally distant. 

I spent the last few months building up walls, that southern hospitality knocked down within the first few minutes.  Steplady's adult children were kind, welcoming, and endearing.   They embraced us and celebrated the new family.   I was caught off guard and it was impossible not to like them.   I felt guilty for wanting to keep them at arms length. They were compassionate and knew things were hard for my brother and I.  They wanted me to know, my mother was honored. We had things in common and I couldn't help but instantly fall in love.  I had always wanted a big family, and now I had a large family with lots of siblings.    

My dad and his new wife were married on Saturday.  During the ceremony, I found a spot inside the temple where they were married to focus my attention. I had a multitude of emotions, happy, sad, good, weird, and excited.  The excitement between my dad and his new wife was contagious, and they were beyond overjoyed during the ceremony.  

   

I had been unprepared to hear people call the Steplady by my dad's last name.  I hadn't even thought that she would be called, "Mrs. X", yet after the ceremony people were calling her that in a celebratory manner.    In my world, Mrs. X was my mom, for 49 years she had owned that name and built the reputation it carried with it.  That was the hardest part of the whole thing, and I felt that familiar stab of grief as people congratulated her by calling her by her new last name.   I could hear my mother's voice, "Don't you dare let people see you upset.  This is your Dad's day."  Appearances were important to her, so I quietly slipped away to pull myself together.   Do you ever really stop grieving?  

Pictures and an intimate lunch for close friends and family completed the celebration.   When it came time to leave, I was sad to bid my new siblings goodbye. I am positive there will be multiple visits in the next few years. I never thought that when I wished at the age of ten for a big family, that it would come true 15 years later.  Now when people say, "Do you come from a big family?"   I can answer, "Yes! There are 6 kids, 2 girls, 4 boys."  And maybe I can get away with having a little southern drawl when I say it.  I've always wanted an accent.  Life is funny how that works out. 

Lessons from my Dad: Never pass up a good deal

Junior High was not my favorite age.  It was extra awkward, and I wasn't exactly Miss Popular.

During my eighth grade year, my father retired and stayed at home full time. Parents are already mortifying enough at that age, and now my dad had forty extra hours a week to embarrass me.

Somehow I ended up in Band during Jr. High, I didn't like it, and I was terrible at it.  My brothers were in band in junior high and I think it was just one of those things we did in our family.  Band didn't make me more popular... are you shocked?  Even worse, since I was terrible at band, the band nerds shunned me.  This video reminds me of my band talent... except I didn't have the jazzy dance steps or the sparkly outfit.

My dad decided to take up new hobbies all of which mortified me at some point during my eighth grade year, but perhaps the worst offense was becoming a bargain hunter.  It's a noble and admirable hobby, but combine that with my dad's engineer brain to make all things more efficient, it would encroach on my life.

One day, my dad was scheduled to pick me up from school which was a special treat, since I rode the bus.  My dad had just found the mother of all deals on Toilet Paper and had stocked up.  Our Buick Skylark was loaded down with 24 packs of Charmin.  The trunk was bursting, the backseat was packed, and the luggage rack was loaded up with TP.  My dad pulls up in front of the school in his Toilet-Paper-Mobile with Dionne Warwick blasting from the stereo.  My dad honks and waves madly at me, while I try to disappear into thin air.

(I tried to recreate the scene with my crazy awesome photoshop skills.  This is the actual car from this harrowing experience.  She later became my car when I turned 16, I preferred to drive her around town sans Toilet Paper.)

Everyone is staring and I start to climb into the front seat of the Buick, only to have my dad says, "Oh... no we have to pick up your brother you'll have to sit in the backseat."  He opens the back door, pulls out giant packs of toilet paper, I get in, and then he proceeds to stack toilet paper on my lap. I am squished between a wall of toilet paper and the car window and as I look out the car window there is a sea of gaping mouths belonging to my peers.  It is at that moment I knew popularity was forever going to be just out of my grasp.

Lessons learned from my father: Mortification

My dad. *sigh* I can’t even say the word dad these days without sighing.  It’s a reflux.  At some point, I need to write it all down, vent… share… laugh so that my future generations can be like, “SHUT UP, our great great grandfather made my great grandma drive his trash in the passenger seat of her car all the way home, because his trash day was still three days away.  That doesn’t make sense!  I know future posterity, I know. Save yourself a fortune in therapy and just don’t try to make sense of it all.

 My Dad went from grieving widow to single man on the prowl in about 60 seconds (or six weeks).  It threw me for a loop, a big one, I mean… a really, really big one.  Now, after some time, therapy, lots of tears and laughter, I get it.  I mean, I don’t like it, I don't approve, but I understand to a degree.  In his engineer brain, he is like, “Problem:  No spouse and excess loneliness.  Solution: Find new Spouse on Internet.  If you don’t at first succeed, try try again. “ 

And as for “Try Try Again” my Dad is trying really hard to get married, the problem is he is good looking, financially stable, and has all his hair.  In other words, the more mature crowd finds my dad to be a catch.  The craziest of the ladies seem to be the most aggressive and eager to get the golden ring.   It’s a roller coaster and every lady seems to have a need of some sort.  For example: A green card, money to pay off a mountain of debt, a place to live. 

Unfortunately, his marriage obsession has made our relationship a little bit rocky.  I didn’t expect he would be ready to get his dance card punched six weeks after my mom’s passing.  We are working on this, but essentially my dad keeps referring to my “mental state!”.  “I’m very concerned about your mental state!”  “What does Mr. Man think of your mental state!?”  “You are in a mental state! I have never heard you so upset.”

Whew.. all this is leading up to something, but wow, I just had to let that all out.  Now for the lesson I learned from my dad. 

 My dad was obsessed with Dr. Laura, and when her radio show went off the air, he was devastated.  Thanks to Oprah and daytime television, now my dad has found a new replacement for his devotion in the form of Dr. Oz.  Now Dr. Oz, is nice and all, but his ratings are in the tank, which means his topics are meant to sensationalize and draw in the mostly female TV audience.  Dr. Oz is always talking about Women’s health, couple that with my mental state! And it results in my dad obsessing about my health. 

The other day, my brother, dad, and I were sitting in an attorney’s office discussing my mother’s estate. This is not an attorney that knows our family beyond a few phone calls.  Mr. Attorney turned to type up some notes in his computer, and there is silence.

My dad turns to me and says, “Wendy, who is monitoring your health?  Is it your OB/GYN? Does he monitor your health monthly, annually? And is he aware of your mental state?  You aren’t taking any of those synthetic hormones, are you?  Dr. Oz says those will make you crazy.” 

At this point, I turned beet red and wonder if Dr. Oz ever did a show about people who actually died of embarrassment.  The attorney graciously ignores my dad’s outburst of concern for my health and carries on.  Since when has my dad been so concerned with woman’s health, especially my health?  It’s something we haven’t ever discussed.  This is the moment I learn you are never too old to be humiliated by your parents.