Per Ardua indeed. Sweartagad, sometimes I think I'm schizo.
Just when I think it's okay to treat WAW like a Normal Human Being, she goes and acts like....WAW.
Tonight the Girl Child had a choir recital at the elementary school. She was out of her little 6-year-old mind with excitement. And what a Mad Dash to the finish line -- I pick Themselves up at school care, hustle them back to the house, fix them dinner, iron her new blouse, fluff up her new crinoline skirt, feed her, clean her up, help her into her tights and outfit, do her hair, get the Boy Child presentable enough for the General Public ("here, these pants only have a hole in one knee"), and skeedaddle for the school.
WAW shows up, we watch the show, no problem. Just as described above.
And then....Comes The WAW.
We go back to the house. Kid-Children are soooooo happy to see her. They can't wait to show her the Christmas tree, upon which I've hung the lights and the new tree-topper.
The kids start in with the "give us our bath, Mommy, put us to bed!" thing, so I ask -- "Do you want to do that?"
Classic. Ummm -- sheepish grin -- ah! Oh! Um, I have to, um, go. Someplace. For a...
Cue @Gypsy. "Okay -- enough said, I get it. Say goodbye to your mom, kids."
Brilliant. F*cking brilliant. Her daughter's recital night, on the calendar for 2 f*cken months, and that's the night she schedules a date?
Meanwhile, I'm left with the Girl Child, bawling her eyes out ("this was supposed to be my Greatest Night!") for 45 minutes. During which she asks the remarkably sophisticated question, "Why did she have to go? What could be more important than us kids?"
Daddy didn't have an answer. He just stroked her hair while she cried it out on his shoulder.
