Is It Next Wednesday Yet?

So, I got online briefly this evening in an attempt to get my e-mail and catch up on my millions of blogs. Which would have been just fine, except that Mama Jo had gone upstairs to escape from the Wicked Witch of the East. That left me and Turtle downstairs. He was on one couch and I was on the other. I was about five minutes away from closing up my computer and putting it away until he had gone to bed, when the Wicked Witch of the East looked over at Turtle and said, "Nobody wants to pay attention to you, huh? That's why you love Mama Jo better. She pays attention to you."

*cue my head whipping around so I can glare menacingly at the Wicked Witch*

Dude. Just call me a terrible mother and get it over with. Really. It's what you mean, anyway. Why mince words? Save us all some time, and just look me square in the eye and tell me that I'm a horrible mom and my kid is going to grow up hating me because I ignore him all the time. I'll actually respect you more.

So MOU called --

You know what? Before I go on, I think it's fair to tell you that I'm drunk again. I really am not a big drinker AT ALL. I'm certainly not at all prone to using alcohol as a means of coping. But I swear to God, if not for my friend the wine glass tonight, I'd be in the Wicked Witch's room, holding a pillow over her face. So bear with me. If I start rambling, it's the wine talking. It also explains why my segues are just not there tonight.

ANYWAY, MOU called to talk to the Wicked Witch tonight. I could hear her on my way back upstairs, giving him the laundry list of our offenses. I actually found that rather amusing, given that she wasn't in the room for ANYTHING we were doing today, so anything she was unhappy about was based on her ASSUMPTIONS of what we were doing with our time. When I came downstairs again, she passed the phone to me, so that he could set us straight about what we were and were not allowed to do. I talked to him about what we had done and why. We clarified a few things and then I told him I would pass him back to the Wicked Witch so she could continue to tell him how horrible we were. He tried to deflect and say that wasn't what she was doing at all, but I was having none of that. She was badmouthing us, so let's call a spade a spade, shall we? I'm almost 30 years old....a big girl, now. You can shoot straight with me. I can handle it.

So, we're....what?....two and a half days into this trip and I've already started wandering down the path to alcoholism (because I was sharing that damn bottle of wine with Mama Jo, but I've had two glasses and she's had one, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let the other glass of wine that's still sitting in the bottle go to waste...I'm sucking that down before bedtime) and considered smothering the Wicked Witch in her sleep. I'd say we're doing well. At least I haven't had another night of crying on the phone to Oscar, while he listens helplessly 3000 miles away and tries to figure out how he can reorganize his entire life and job schedule to come out and hold me. So...two and a half days down, five and a half days to go. Pray for me, will you?