November 10, 2010
Meredyth has secured another job.
Two jobs, now.
Hallellujah!
Harsh measures and tough love were the companions, the catalysts, the bouncers that, in part, lead to this glorious event.
The real question is how were harsh measures and tough love called into battle?
Their arrival was the result of a conversation between me and Mer's money tree.
AKA Grandma.
A lenghty conversation on a Sunday evening concluded with the shared acceptance that we were, perhaps, enabling our lovely, talented, spirited Mer.
Loving her as we do, and believe me we do, we were encouraging financial dependence.
Instead of teaching our little butterfly to fly on her own.
Mer, being a smart, intelligent young woman ascertained quickly the repercussions of the severe trimming of the money tree.
Her inital reaction to the sound of the chainsaw cutting down the cash laden branches was anger.
At me.
Because Grandma would never have even thought of, or considered inflicting such henious cruelty as refusing a request for a donation to Meredyth.
Really, that child could be her own registered charity.
Such cruelty, brutality, coldheartedness, savagery and persecution could only have occured at the behest of a third party.
The wheels in Mer's mind turned and twisted until she deduced, came to the only logical conclusion about the identity of the malicious third party.
Resulting in a phone call one morning.
I am in my office, clutching my "Good Morning" tea in my hands, hoping for some sort of herbal tea inspired jab to wake me up enough to teach my first class, when I am interrupted by the wretched ring of my office telephone.
Stunned, because the ringer is usually turned off, I reached my hand to answer it, knowing that whoever was calling this early in the morning, it wasn't because they wanted to remind me how much I was loved and adored.
Got that in one.
Mer, because she is who she is and because my DNA courses through her veins, let me know in short order how she felt about the dismembering of the money tree.
She then said I would see her no more at my table breaking bread.
The familial thread that bound us was effectively cut.
I would see her no more.
Two days later she is sitting across from me during dinner.
One week later she had her second job.
Mission accomplished!
My little bird is learning to spread her wings.
There will be more bumps, falls, cataclysmic events that shake her faith in herself.
But she is much stronger than she gives herself credit for, a gift she possess, that when used for good instead of evil results in a force of nature that can move mountains, shake trees (especially money trees) and take her mother head on.
Its the good instead of evil part we're struggling with.
Good Mer.
Good = sandals.
What capitalist empire is now the proud owner of my oldest child's labour power?
Exploiting her and her personality, her skills, her hair whipping alacrity for their own benefit?
Empire Theaters.
And for all you smart cookies out there who have been keeping up, you know that means that all three of my lovely children are now the serfs at the mercy of the feudal Empire Theaters.
While not on the schedule as of yet, she did attend her first Saturday morning 8 am staff meeting last weekend.
And when the new people were being introduced, the manager of the theater looked at her and said,
"Aren't you another Van Every??"
To which my astute daughter replied,
"Yes. And we are taking over."
Keith is lovingly referring to the three of them as the "Van Clan."
I can't wait until the first time Keith, in his role as supervisor, has both Mer and Em as his underlings.
Really.
I am going to park myself on one of those high stools not fit for anyone under eight feet tall for the duration of their shift and delight in the angst, anger, frustration, annoyance that will flit across Mer's face when her little brother is telling her what to do.
Because no one tells Mer what to do.
Em is the same, except, Em possesses this little voice in her head that reminds her that they are not at home, and whatever revenge she wishes to bestow upon her brother can wait until he is sleeping.
Mer has no voice in her head.
She silenced it a long time ago.
And that's assuming it ever had the opportunity to voice an opinion in the first place.
Nor has Mer ever understood that revenge is a dish best served cold, meaning, waiting is sometimes a good thing.
No.
My Mer is an on-the-spot dealer of all things unpleasant.
But, as she has been told by me, her brother and her sister, this is going to be a learning experience for her.
Because if her brother sends her into the backroom to wash dishes, that is what she will do.
Whether she likes it or not.
Whether Keith has to sleep with one eye open for the rest of his life.
Whether Emily has to change her name and get plastic surgery to distance herself from her familial association with Mer.
It will be done.
I'm sure Mer will be fine.
Because there is only one force stronger enough to counter Mer's on-the-spot reactions.
A very powerful, daunting, life affirming force.
The only force powerful enough to compensate for the missing little voice in Mer's head.
Her love of money.
Cash.
A debit card that, when swiped, results in "approved."
And not "insufficient funds."
Mer and money.
A sometimes loving but mostly volatile relationship that energizes her to suck it up when the situation calls for sucking it up.
Still, their first shift together, I. Am. There.
Because I love entertainment.
And what are movie theaters for if not entertainment?
Not all the entertainment has to be on screen.
In lobby is sometimes far more enjoyable.
And blog worthy.
Em has been trained in a new field of expertise at the theater.
Usher.
Wanting a change of scenery from the yelling in her Bunny voice, "I CAN HELP THE NEXT GUEST!" she requested, begged, pleaded for the opportunity to expand her Empire horizons.
Thus, she spent her last two shifts being trained as an usher.
Ticket taker and 3-D glasses giver.
That person who walks into the theater, down the aisle, across the front of the screen, and up the other aisle, checking for tenacious teenagers with thier feet on the seats, to silence gaggles of giggling girls tittering over the hunk of the hour gracing the screen, to make the requisite check marks on the small peice of paper in the theater.
She is that girl.
But the most exciting part of being usher?
Cleaning up the most obvious and disgusting messes between the movies.
Staff don't clean clean the theaters.
There is a dedicated crew of underemployed cleaners who come and do all the real grimy stuff, like swabbing bathrooms, etc.
The Empire ushers merely collect the refuse that would impede the next hoard of viewers from enjoying their film in an optimal environment.
And Em, because she has flawless timing, was awarded usher status on the weekend Megamind was released.
Children's movies make for exciting viewing.
I love sitting in the audience with children oooohhhing and ahhhhing over the lastest Disney/Pixar creation.
Or any other production company kid concoction.
Their wonder, energy, excitement, is catching.
Like my children in the lobby, children in the audience of a children's movie are just as entertaining.
The one exception were the three children sitting behind me during the Broadway show The Sound of Music.
They just wouldn't stop talking.
Parents oblivious.
Ushers called to intervene.
But in the movies, the noise is usually enough to drown most of the background cacophany.
So Em, in her role as usher, had to clean up the chaos resulting from small children's encounter with Megamind.
When she came home Saturday evening, having just come off a 6 hour usher shift during a Saturday afternoon, prime kid movie watching time, she looked like she has been hit by a car driven by five year olds.
Several of them.
Cars and five year olds.
With two feet and two hands and who lacked the appopriate motor capabilities to put popcorn to mouth, or soda straw to lips.
She spent the evening on the couch, ensconsed tightly in her Snuggie and all other blankets she could get her hands on, Reilley nestled in the crook of her knees.
The only movement I could discern was the blinking of eyes and the pushing of remote buttons.
When she came out of her kid-induced-exhausted haze, she looked at me and uttered the only words she said to me that evening,
"Kids are messy."
Yes, Bunny, they are.
Title Lyric: In the Club by Messy Marv
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