Yesterday was S's birthday party, which we had at a skating rink. There was quite a good turnout, and everyone seemed to have a really great time.
J's always complaining that he doesn't get invited to many birthday parties, with the unspoken reasoning that we shouldn't invite kids to his, either. And it's true, he doesn't, but if we didn't invite the kids who don't invite him to theirs, who the hell would come to his party? It's not because kids don't like him, though...it's because no one HAS birthday parties anymore. Not around here, anyway. If you ask the kids in S's class what they do to celebrate their birthday - and I have - they'll tell you that they go out to a restaurant and get a present from their parents.
I understand this because, let's face it, kids' birthday parties are expensive and a pain in the ass, and I'm glad I only have to do it once a year. But I can't see NOT doing it. S is not spoiled by any means, and he's such a good boy. I think I can handle throwing a party for him once a year.
I just can't believe he's 7 already. It seems like there's such a huge gap between 6 and 7. Like the easy part is over, and the real growing-up part is coming. On the way home from his party, a song came on the radio that I used to sing to him when he was a baby if he was hurt or upset. It would quiet him right down. He still calls it "The Hurting Song," but he never lets me sing it to him anymore. I already can't really pick him up and carry him, and I know the day will come soon when he'll be entirely too cool to let me hold him in my lap or snuggle with him anymore. I'm about to cry just thinking about it.
J's mother goes back home tomorrow. Is it evil of me not to be all that broken up over it? For one thing, the whole thing where she clues me in to little nuggets such as "J likes spicy foods," like we've only been together for a month, is getting a bit old. We had a couple of friends over to watch a movie last night, and apparently she decided that she needed to teach us (read: me) a thing or two about hostessing. Now mind you, we offered T and D something to eat or drink, but they're also good enough friends that we're fine with them just rummaging around and finding something if they want it, which D did when he got a beer or two out of the fridge. We don't drink it, so it's there solely for guests, and he knows that. I got up to get a glass of wine, and I did ask T if she wanted some, but she said no, she was fine, so I got myself a glass. J's mom saw me coming back to my seat with it and very pointedly offered T some wine. She IS hard of hearing and probably didn't know I'd already asked, but you know what? Me...a full-fledged grownup. Bills, boobs, wisdom teeth, motherhood, the whole shebang. House...mine. Even if she did think I wasn't taking care of our friends, it wasn't for her to say anything. And then after that, she apparently decided that to make up for our horrible rudeness by offering them stuff we didn't even have.
Her: Would you guys like some cookies?
Me: Um, we don't have any cookies.
Her: Crackers? Cake?
Me: We don't have any cake, either (the dog had somehow managed to get to the leftover birthday cake while we were out to eat, which she knew perfectly well. He almost didn't live through the weekend for that one...it was REALLY GOOD cake).
Her: Well, can we get you guys anything?
As I grit my teeth and think, "there's no 'we.' Not your house, not your guests, and we whose house and guests they ARE already asked. Watch. The. Movie. Quit offering people stuff when you don't even know what we have, when they've very obviously been going back and forth to the kitchen on their own and we've very obviously been fine with that, and when they already said they DON'T WANT ANYTHING!"
It's a small thing, I know. And I probably wouldn't have been near as annoyed by it if she hadn't already been treating me like I was a mentally challenged 12-year old since she set foot in the house. Honestly, I don't remember it being this bad the other couple of times she's visited. I guess she's decided that by the 3rd visit or so, I should be comfortable enough with her to be grateful for her sage instruction, or something, but you know what? No.
Just no.
I don't mean to laugh...I'm cracking up here, though. You have good 'MIL' stories.
God, that shit would have gotten on my nerves, too. I don't get why we hear/read over and over about mothers (of men) who want to undermine everything the son's girlfriend/wife/whatever does.
Seriously, lady, cut the friggin cord already. lol. Now you know how NOT to act when Spencer is grown up. Not that you needed it, though :) I can't see you being that way at all.
Posted by: reese | 03/05/2007 at 08:15 PM
"Bills, boobs, wisdom teeth, motherhood, the whole shebang."
I like this definition of grownup. Does this mean I'm not a grownup until I get me some boobs? I haven't achieved motherhood yet, but I've heard several students refer to me and mutter about being a mother...something. I figure that's close enough.
The kid parties can be a pain in the neck and since they tend to escalate a little bit each time, we save them for the odd-numbered years. I guess that'll change come Sweet Sixteen, but I've got awhile to worry about that. But you're right in that they don't seem to happen often.
Posted by: Claude | 03/04/2007 at 09:02 AM
PS
I may have been off in my understanding of your post as I was assuming that your mother-in-law was the guest from HEll. Was I correct?
Posted by: Gary Davies | 03/04/2007 at 07:46 AM
My mother, who fortunately left this world 3 years ago this coming summer at the nasty age of 93, almost destroyed me as well as the relationship I have with my wife and kids. My wife's mother, who also is in Neverland, iced up our marriage while she was alive: two mothers with two different and destructive influences on their children's lives.
I swear that if I ever become as toxic as the aforementioned women, I'll slit my wrists (vertically) and have a friend bury me behind a Seven Eleven.
Posted by: Gary Davies | 03/04/2007 at 07:40 AM