I knew it was a horrible idea but I ignored my intuition and packed two diaper bags, a suitcase and a book bag to road trip with my mom and four month old son to my grandparents' house in Bridgeport, Texas for the annual Easter weekend celebration. I am not a Christian but I love Easter candy and the idea of finding a shitload of plastic eggs filled with dollar bills. Beyond that, my relatives have been giving me hell ("pop a Zoloft and get over that anxiety thing!") about being reluctant to get in a car with my son and take a six hour road trip. In Texas it's all about pulling yourself up by the boot straps and cowboying the hell up. Our God is greater than any problem, even social anxiety, depression, rotten teeth and no dental insurance.
So on Friday afternoon as we were loading up my mom's car for the trek up north she told me that my brother would be joining us on the trip. I asked the obvious question. "Where the hell is everything gonna fit?" My mom assured me that my brother, who at one time lived inside a tent with a dog on my mom and stepdad's ranch, traveled light. I looked at all the cds and books in my book bag and tried to remain optimistic. Anne Sexton and the Pet Shop Boys can get me through all kinds of hell. Then we pulled up to the house my brother shares with several strangers (he rents a room and bathroom) and saw that he had two bags and...a fish. "I'll keep Fishy up front with me," my brother said. He placed the little aquarium in the floorboard and as my mom struggled to fit everything inside the trunk I knew that I was doomed. I smiled at my son as I babbled like an idiot in his baby talk language thinking,"If I can survive this I can survive anything." I think that thought quite a bit.
I really knew I was fucked when I suggested to my mom and brother that we listen to the Pet Shop Boys, Lou Reed or the New York Dolls and they said they preferred to listen to my son's Precious Moments "Classical Lullabies" cd. I am willing to make all kinds of sacrifices as a mom but listening to classical lullabies for six hours in a crowded car is not one of them. There is a certain dynamic in all families that years of intensive therapy and ceasless prayers are powerless to change. In my family the dynamic is that my mom gives and gives to the point of depletion, my brother remains oblivious and I am the bitchy squeaky wheel that always spoils the picnic. So I decided to shake things up a little bit and grit my teeth in stoic silence in the backseat.
My son has been a fussy high maintenance baby since birth and this weekend was no different. When he started screaming so loud and for so long that my mom had to pull over in a church parking lot while I frantically searched for the Tylenol and teething tablets, I said,"That's it. We aren't driving all the way to Bridgeport tonight. Let's just head to the ranch." So we drove to the ranch, which until my stepdad retires and starts building his dream house is a few acres of land, a few cows, one horse and a barn that has been converted into a studio apartment with concrete floors. I was thrilled as shit to find a box of microwave popcorn and a can of Coke. I thought,"Okay, I'll make myself a snack, pop a couple of Benadryls and have sweet dreams." I told my brother I was going to pop myself a bag of popcorn and asked if he would like a bag. He said no. So I made my popcorn and put it on the table. I went to the bathroom and slipped into my pajamas. When I walked back into the
kitchen area I saw my brother eating my popcorn. Another dynamic in my family is that I am selfish to the point of being weird about food. My brother recently told my mom that he remembers how when I was in high school I would stash chips and candy bars in my room. I thought of this while watching my brother eat my popcorn but I was so tired and drained and hungry at that point that my inner bitch came out and said,"I made that popcorn for myself but go ahead and eat it." My brother said he only wanted a few pieces of popcorn. When I turned around he had stripped down to his briefs and was climbing into one of the queen size beds in the apartment. There are two queen size beds right next to each other and a denim sofa and love seat in front of the television. My mom said that she would sleep on the sofa. I said no, she could sleep in the other bed with my son and I would sleep on the sofa. While I unpacked my suitcase, got ready for bed and tended to my son I watched my
brother keep going back to the bag of popcorn and grabbing handfuls of it. I finally made another bag of popcorn and sat on the couch in a catatonic state just gobbling popcorn while everybody else went to sleep. Then I read one of my stepdad's cowboy magazines until the Benadryls kicked in and I drifted off into temporary oblivion.
Confession: I am thirty-five years old and my mommy still buys my Easter egg hunt outfit and Easter dress. A few nights before the road trip my mom took me to JcPenney's and bought me a black top and necklace for the hunt. A few nights before that she took me to Beall's and bought me an Easter dress to wear to my sister's church. When I woke up on Saturday morning I asked my mom where the black top was. She had taken the JcPenney's and Beall's bags to her house and said she would pack my Easter clothes in her suitcase. My mom thought for a few seconds and then told me that she had left the JcPenney's bag in her bedroom. I looked in my suitcase for possibilities. I had a pair of camouflage capri pants that I bought at Old Navy a few years ago, a long sleeve heinous green shirt I bought at Wal-Mart last year on a pregnancy hormone whim (it's got owls all over it and across my tits it reads Ask Me If I Give A Hoot!), a red Cookie Monster t-shirt I bought at Target several years
ago because it was on clearance and I was newly divorced and feeling rather goofy, and a couple of pairs of pajama pants. I told my mom in a bitchy voice that I would need to run into a Wal-Mart on the way to Bridgeport and buy an outfit for the Easter egg hunt. My mom tried to appease me by telling me that I could wear any of her clothes. I stood my ground, thinking of my hot shit cousins who are always dressed like "Desperate Housewives." I was also thinking of MySpace. I take a lot of self-photos for MySpace and I have delusions to entertain, such as the delusion that I am glamorous and people drool over my photos thinking,"Wow...that is one hot bitch!" So we loaded up the car and got on the highway. My mom took the exit for the nearest Wal-Mart and I told her and my brother that I am a rapid, decisive shopper and would be in and out. I strode inside Wal-Mart with a purpose. I ignored the tempting Easter cookies in the bakery and headed straight for the junior section. I
was distracted by the Hannah Montana crap but realized that as big as that little slut's smile is there is no way in hell it can disguise my beer belly. So I walked on to the women's section and searched in vain for size fourteen long (as opposed to "average" or "petite") pants or size fourteen capri pants. No luck. Then I spotted a size fourteen black and white "Desperate Housewives" kind of sundress. I grabbed it. No desperate housewife is complete without a necklace to sparkle from the cleavage so I quickly found a five dollar silver choker with silver things dangling from it. Last on my list was a pair of black tummy sucker panties. I was talking out loud at this point I was so stressed out and shell shocked. I saw a pair of black tummy sucker panties and grabbed them then looked at the price tag. "Oh hell no. I'm not paying thirty bucks for a goddamn pair of panties. Not even in Victoria's Secret. Certainly not in Wal-Mart," I said. I finally found a pair of tummy sucker
panties for three bucks. I grabbed them and dodged idiots buying last minute Easter baskets on my way to the twenty items or less line. I asked the woman at the register to remove the tags for me because I was going to change in the bathroom. "I left my Easter egg hunt clothes at home," I said with a nervous laugh. She looked at me like I was insane. I get that look quite a bit, especially from Wal-Mart employees. I took my purchases into the bathroom and locked myself in a stall. There was no place to hang my purse. I said,"Oh, fuck it!" and placed my purse on the grungy bathroom floor. I stripped and wiggled into the tummy sucker panties and dress.
As I walked out to my mom's car I felt victorious. I felt like I could handle anything, even a Texas Easter egg hunt. Then we got to my grandparents' house and I saw everyone in jeans and tennis shoes. My cousins laughed at me and told me that I would get trampled. My six months pregnant cousin told me that I would need to borrow a pair of tennis shoes (I don't know what other people call canvas shoes that you tie...running shoes? Athletic shoes? In Texas they are called tennis shoes but pronounced "tenny shoes"). I put on my grandmother's tennis shoes and grabbed a plastic Wal-Mart bag. I climbed over the fence that separates my grandparents' house from my aunt and uncle's house. My brother-in-law got a laugh out of that and possibly a glimpse of my tummy sucker panties but he was too polite to say. I followed my cousins to the pasture, where my grandparents had hid the plastic money filled eggs. I looked at the barbed wire fence and said,"Oh. Hell. No." My pregnant cousin
pointed out to me that all I had to do was walk around and open the corral gate. There had been a vote while I was putting my son in a playpen in the guest bedroom. The girls voted that we should get a thirty second head start on the boys. I thought that was some bullshit but I am pretty out of shape and pretty out of money so I kept my mouth shut. My grandmother yelled from her backyard,"On your mark...get set...go!" As I ran toward the colorful eggs I thought,"We are like the Kennedys but without the money and power and big white teeth. We know how to have fun in this family! I bet everyone thinks I look so cute dodging cow patties in my desperate house wife dress and tennis shoes!" I quickly found five eggs. And I was done. I was beat, once again. "Some of the eggs have five dollars in them," my pregnant cousin told me. I opened my eggs. One egg had two dollars in it. The others had single dollar bills. I had a flashback to November 22, 1995, when I married a guy I had
known for one week at a drive-up window in Vegas then danced topless in my Wal-Mart panties and made five dollars at the Satin Saddle. "Well, hell," I said to my pregnant cousin. "Let's go to the Dairy Queen. I've got six dollars burnin' a hole in my pocket." |
