Taking it up the arse on a trip to town

This is an old story, but one that really defies belief and must be shared if we step parents are to unravel the mysteries of step parenting and god-dam-it, support each other!!! 

One of my stepson’s mates had recently had a birthday party which my stepson couldn’t attend as we were away that weekend. So one Saturday arvo we grabbed this mate and headed to Hastings; destination - the golden arches of course...I know, I know...but it’s all about the playground! Have you ever slithered around in those glowing tunnels - it’s the closest us humans will ever get to being a red blood cell...

Anyway, great excitement was had by the two brats as they ordered their Crappy Meals and selected seating close to the entrance of the artery-like playground. Much debate followed about whether to consume their French fries before heading off to the primary-coloured wonderland, or whether to disembowel their cheese burgers first...I fled to the urbane ‘wing’ of the establishment and ordered my third flat white for the day...desperately looking forward to the drive home when I could swing by a liquor store and grab a medicinal Gordons!

Now I must point out that excitement and anticipation were already off the scale during the trip up to town; remember that the nutritional content of what we had fueled these kids on was hovering somewhere between the goodness obtained from a bag of sugar and a cardboard box; remember that my stepson is loud, bossy, controlling, dominating, excitable, inappropriate and rude...(as I write this I can read the collective minds of you all...why would we take him to such an establishment...read on...NEVER AGAIN...)

Sitting opposite us, just beside the entrance to the playground, was a gracious-looking middle-aged lady with a sweet little girl who I presumed was her grand-daughter. The lady seemed very protective and doting of the wee girl, and there was a sadness emanating from them that put me of a mind that perhaps some tragedy had befallen the family, maybe the child had recently been orphaned...

The disquieting backdrop to this stirring scene was the antics of my stepson and his mate through the non-sound-proof glass wall. Their booming volume and thoughtless clowning around caused the eyes of all our fellow diners to flicker in a disturbed manner between the playground high jinks and our food-slathered table where my partner and I sat like lambs to the slaughter.

I was overwhelmed with the urge to declare loudly that the child’s defective gene pool was nothing to with me but decided against it in order to support my partner and experience that delicious solidarity that couples madly in love are swathed in...

My partner promptly announced that he was heading outside for a cigarette, won’t be long darling. 10 minutes stretched to 20 - and I know damn well that a fag takes 8 minutes to smoke! The devil-spawn and his mate were now harassing the lovely lady and the girl - trying to get the lass to ‘play’ with them.  My appeals to ‘shhhhhh’, and ‘don’t do that’ and ‘come here’ (or I will fucking wring your neck...), were to no avail. These brats had gained so much momentum they weren’t going to be allayed by my feigned calmness and authority. I was well out of my depth. Where the hell was my partner???

With the boys clearly approaching the zenith of their high-jinks, I finally had had enough. The humiliation was coursing through my veins and threatening to blow my mind. Not only had I had too much caffeine I was also battling that blend of rage and panic you experience when you are wondering where someone is, but unsure if some ill-fate has befallen them. Surely lung cancer doesn’t strike that fast???

I nervously gathered up the brats and their uneaten crap and headed out to the car park where I found my partner mucking about in the boot of the car wrapping a parcel that we were to drop at the couriers. Through clenched teeth I inquired as to what the beep beeping beepity beebing beeb he was doing. Oh god, he replied. I was so embarrassed by the childrens behavior in there; I just had to get away from it, and couldn’t come back in...

Thank god for Gordons...

Making assumptions

So, God help me, I made an assumption yesterday! 

It was relatively minor, but none-the-less my skewed perception of things was enough to kill any passion that night...and got me a lecture of sorts about putting two and two together and getting 55. 

I don’t know if it is just because we live so remotely and have minimal human contact, but my partner and I do seem to have a very intense relationship; we both want to be the boss, and well, as everyone knows – there is only space for one at the top... 

My partner is traditional, ‘old school’; the man wears the pants and the Mrs (yeah me and Madonna have had to bear this title...) does what she is told... meanwhile I am an independent career woman, who only had one child for very valid reasons. I prefer to have a cleaning lady rather than change my disheveled interior decorating expertise and I most certainly have never been subservient. 

So this is all gets quite interesting when I start dissecting the series of incidents and thought processes that led to my assumption-making faux pas. As I started exploring the ins and outs of assumption-making I came across a very wise chap, thanks to the internet, by the name of Don Miguel Ruiz – and I must say that I found great comfort in the fact that it seems pretty much everybody is guilty of these fantastical imaginings. Ruiz say’s and I quote “Don’t make assumptions - Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want. Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness and drama. With just this one agreement, you can completely transform your life.” Ruiz puts forward that one of the reasons we make assumptions is because we are fearful of asking questions. 

I like his philosophy, and it further got me thinking about what has possibly happened to me here in the country. Have I become an apprehensive shadow of my former self? Could I now list acquiescence as one of my foremost personality traits? Or was this merely a justifiable case of the speed-wobbles as I attempt to morph into someone’s Mrs...?

More words from Ruiz – “If you don’t understand something, it is better for you to ask and be clear, instead of making an assumption.  The day you stop making assumptions you will communicate cleanly and clearly, free of emotional poison.  Without making assumptions your word becomes impeccable.”

Eeeeew - emotional poison. Sounds toxic, but does kind of ring true eh? I do find myself squirming uncomfortably (as I am sure many of you are too) while I expose this blatant flaw in my character. To think that what goes through my mind and eventually comes out of my mouth has its origins in 40-something years of emotional poison is enough to send me fleeing to the comfort and warmth of my bed to pull the covers over my head in order to really think things through.  

My mind commenced a frantic whirling sequence as I realised that this assumption-making characteristic is also intertwined with the Rose-coloured glasses trend, the Vulcan tendencies of the step-parent, and the necessity for me to ‘take it up the arse.’ Confronting ones propensity to assumption-making means being conscious every second of every day to the fact that other people just don’t see the world as we do. Ruiz’ advice to ask questions when we are unsure suddenly sounded like a wearisome and limitless commission. My stepson asks why, why, why a million times daily, and it sure as hell wasn’t helping us ‘avoid misunderstandings, sadness and drama.’

Indeed this an interesting topic, and one I do need to gain some clarity about if I am to get a cuddle tonight. I think I shall make like a Carmelite for now – quietly contemplate my emotional poison and keep my gob shut!

Oh and cling to this pearl of wisdom...’the only correct assumption, is that your initial assumption may be incorrect’.  Love it!