August 4, 2010
Last evening Stephen and I went to a movie.
For most couples this is not a monumental event. For us it is. There is almost nothing Stephen would rather avoid more than seeing a movie. He can't stand crowds and he is loath to sit still.
I still don't know why he agreed to go, but I was glad. I love the movies. The week he was in Montreal, I went to the movies five nights in a row. I teach a film class. I know more about movies than I do my own mother. (Only because she won't tell me anything.)
Of course, having two children who work at the theaters and therefore can take their Mama to the movies for free doesn't hurt.
We wanted to see Inception but it was sold out. . .5.99 movie tickets prices on Tuesdays really draw a crowd. We settled for The Sorcerer's Apprentice, which I had already watched, but knew Stephen would like it.
He did. We had a nice evening. After all of the chaos we've been dealing with in the last week a nice evening is a rare thing indeed.
Nothing lasts forever.
4.45 am Stephen is shaking me awake from a deep and most deserved slumber to tell me that Meredyth is not home. Did I know that?
Well, I did now.
Does she not know that she has her first-day-on-the-new-job at 9.30 am, and that she is not really doing anything to establish a trusting relationship with us?????
I don't know. I'll have to ask her.
Stephen always wants me to do things I cannot do and exert a control I do not have.
And he often violates my own personal motto: don't tell me something is a problem unless you have a solution.
He is fabulous at pointing out the problems. Less fabulous with coming up with solutions.
In fairness, when Stephen and I met he was a 42 year old bachelor, living in an obsessively neat two bedroom apartment, looking after himself and himself only.
I was a 36 year old single parent of three children, one dog, four cats, teaching part-time at the university and working on my PhD.
Culture shock knockin' at the door for Stephen.
Most of the time we make it work, in part because of lots and lots and lots of counselling. Our biggest issue: parenting styles. Mine: the seat of my pants. His: reproducing the rigid Eastern European parenting style of his own parents. The "over-parenting" approach. The you-will-do-what-I-say approach.
This approach worked very well with Stephen; too well if you ask me. Less so with his younger sister. She Who Is Very Similar To Meredyth.
At 5.00 am a car pulls into the driveway and Meredyth emerges. Stephen, being Stephen, wanted me to address this situation RIGHT NOW, and tell Mer that this behaviour WON'T BE TOLERATED.
Thing is, the girl is almost 21, she has lived on her own (well, with the Evil Ex) for a year and Keith has spent the odd night or two out away from home.
How was I going to possibly tell this child that she can't stay out when its okay for Keith?
Hello, double standard.
Needless to say my early morning attempt at trying to get Mer to see Stephen's side of things, and vice versa didn't go very well, at all.
Stephen wasn't willing to back down. He'd been up all night waiting for her to get home. Cranky, out-of-sorts, and unwilling to even consider that she may have a point.
Mer, equally stubborn, with the I-have-lived-on-my-own-and-am-almost-21-years-old argument.
Me: caught in the middle. As usual.
I kept them separate. Finally, around 6.00 am Stephen went to sleep.
When Stephen sleeps, you would dynamite the bed and he wouldn't wake up, so I knew that, for at least the moment, things would be calm.
Action Item: Tonight's counselling appointment. All players will be present and accounted for. Things are going to get messy. I just know it.
Too, too soon, the alarm went off.
8.00 am alarm. Trevor Doyle talking about depleting water tables and how we should be happy for the rain.
I stumbled out of bed at 9.00 am. Mer and Em, ready to go. Me, threw my clothes on, and left without so much as a sniff of coffee. At least I brushed my teeth, but, I missed the big spot of dried dog drool in my shirt. Hello, yes I am a doctor who wants to rent an apartment for my daughter and its just accidental that I look like I slept in my clothes, covered with large dogs, and just crawled out of bed.
But, Mer made it to work.
Em and I went to Great Canadian Bagel. Weak coffee, but enough to get me through looking at even more apartments.
There is a subtle panic pushing forward this apartment search . . .the students-are-returning-to-university-in-the-next-couple-of-weeks-and-there-will not-be-an-apartment-anywhere panic.
The first apartment, a one bedroom. Not in this lifetime. Just because the outside of a building looks nice, you can't assume the inside will be the same.
The second and third apartments, bachelors, reasonably priced, being painted, a possibility.
Across the street is a graveyard, but are we really in a position to be picky??????
Right now, at this very moment, yes. We can afford to be picky.
We are waiting to hear about THE apartment we want. A bachelor, new, click-laminate flooring, balcony, lots of natural light, secure building with a pool, mini-theater, gym, etc. This is the one . . . the Holy Grail of apartments.
But they're taking their sweet time getting back to us.
Why?
Because they can.
When you're the Holy Grail of apartments, you can do whatever you want.
Tomorrow, maybe not so picky.
Title lyrics: Independence Day by Martina McBride
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