The Mother’s Day Shit Show: A Prelude

First, an update: I guess Paul and I aren’t taking a break, at least for now. He’s made an effort to look for apartments and while I’m still concerned he’ll kind of stall out–and I’m not going to sit and prod him because that’s a big part of the problem–he is doing things like contacting people and packing up stuff he doesn’t need right now, like winter clothes. The problem is he hasn’t actually scheduled any tours, so we’ll see what happens in the next few weeks.

The good/bad news is that Mother’s Day was a huge fucking mess, and as stressful as it was, it had him in hardcore “I need to move out mode” and me pointing and saying, “This entire day is why our relationship can’t work while you’re living at home.” But first…

I went home Friday night because the national tour of Hair was making a very surprising stop in little old Uniontown. I’d heard about it back when the State Theatre announced their theater season and put off getting tickets because I didn’t expect Hair to be a sellout in a relatively conservative area, and then the weekend snuck up on me. But I wrote all about that already over here. I gave Paul a free pass because I figured he wouldn’t be a fan, so I was third wheel for Brandon and Kelly. And in short, the show not only sold really well but was quite warmly received. And we ran into an older woman we used to go to church with as we were leaving, so I guess Fayette County secretly has far more hippies than I thought.

Saturday night, the original plan was to go to Lynn’s. Paul and I hung out a little bit during the day. My mom had some last-minute Mother’s Day shopping to do for godmothers–and she said something really depressing about how since Grandma died, she forgets the godmothers until the last minute because she ends up focusing more on not having her mom anymore–and Paul hadn’t even started his shopping, plus he had the double-whammy of Julie’s birthday falling on Mother’s Day, too, and being unsure of what to get anyone. And holidays that involve shopping for his mom ale involve lots of agonizing over what to get her because, as I’ve heard plenty, she has no hobbies, doesn’t do anything, and doesn’t collect anything. And I can’t remember if I posted about this–a quick searched turned up nothing–but there was a whole catastrophe over her birthday when he bought her a gift card because he was out of ideas, his dad told him not to give it to her because she complained that that’s what lots of other friends and family did and it was too impersonal, so he didn’t and then she threw a fit over not getting anything at all. My mom and I tried to help this time around, and I’m not sure how much help we actually were, but he did leave with presents, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Lynn’s got scrapped because Stephanie ended up sending a group text wanting to hang out, so he and I met up with her and her husband Garrett, plus Meri and Marissa, and we had a really nice night of dinner and drinks and lots of talking. And sitting in Meri’s family room and hearing a very drunk priest leave her parents a voicemail and freaking ourselves out talking about ghosts and shit.

But there were also a lot of very adult conversations, like careers, moving, weddings, babies, and just general life things. I mean, we talked and hung out for hours. Now, Paul and I originally weren’t gonna be out too long, partly because we’re getting old and boring and we’re both used to going to bed early to be up for work early. We ended up out till like 2, and here’s where I think the Mother’s Day Shit Show started to creep its way in.

I crash at my parents’ house when I come in so I’m not driving an hour and back, especially on nights like that where I drink and stay out late. My parents don’t mind, and I wouldn’t say I’m on the level of a guest in that house, but I definitely don’t want to act like I still live there and can do as I please, and staying out that late is generally rare. Now, when I did still live there, my mom used to wait up for me. Gradually, that got downgraded to my dad waiting up, which got downgraded to Brandon, who I think cheats and doesn’t do it and now I just wake up Duke, who has to come sit with me before we both go to bed. My trick has always been–especially when it’s getting really late but I’m not ready to leave–is just to stretch whoever’s waiting to annoyance but not anger. You know, like I’m not back yet but I lie a little and say I’ve just left when I really haven’t–it’s more like I use the “Are you on your way home?” texts as my cue to go rather than being more responsible and considerate and leaving before I get them.

Now, Paul had originally told his dad he’d be back by midnight, which was fine until we all got to talking. But his dad–and no one else in the house–ever sent the typical parental “Where are you?” text, and like I said, we ended up being out until 2. Turns out his parents were waiting up for him and were pretty pissed, and I do feel bad that we ended up out that late, especially since they waited up, but I have some annoyances, too, which to an extent play into the issue of independence and moving out.

First, while I understand wanting to make sure he got home safe and I’ve even experienced parents waiting up, I do think it’s a little ridiculous that for as pissed as his parents apparently were, they didn’t bother to text either of us until a solid two hours after he said he’d be back. My mom’s on that shit within a half hour. I’m not saying it’s their responsibility to check up on him, but I am saying that I think it’s silly to freak out without bothering to try to make contact.

But the biggest issue for me here is the freaking out in the first place. Between leaving Bud’s and getting to Meri’s, we were a solid few minutes behind because Paul had to sit and text his dad first to tell him what we were doing, so there was a point where he wasn’t around when I made an annoyed comment because of this about how he needs to move out. Because a quick update is one thing, but it’s a little ridiculous to be out with a bunch of 20-somethings–including a married couple–and be talking about very adult things and essentially being on your own…except for one, who has to report back to mommy and daddy and be home to mommy and daddy. It’s a frustrating juxtaposition, and I think it was something little that was in part a catalyst for a hellish Mother’s Day.


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