Urban Dictionary defines the term Bogart as “to keep something all for oneself, thus depriving anyone else of having any.”
Usually it’s used in a drug related context like “Hey Man, quit Bogarting that joint and pass it over here.” Obviously that’s not what’s going on here, though considering my stress level of late….
Someone (he Who Shall Not be Named) tried to Bogart my Mother’s Day. Well, him and his “one true wife” (seriously, that’s what he calls her when he’s emailing me and telling me how super fantastic and really really great this woman is in comparison to me), his PIC (partner in crime), the other pea in his pod of evilness…you get the idea. They tried to steal my Mother’s Day joy.
Because, as you may or may not know, I’ve historically had some pretty fucking fantastic Mother’s Days (said very sarcastically).
This year was going to be different though. I talked to the kids ahead of time and impressed on them that they were going to do something for me then got breakfast foods that I knew they could prepare. I’ve also greatly adjusted my expectation for days like Mother’s Day…and my birthday…and Christmas. Not that it doesn’t make me a little sad when my older kids get me nothing (yup, nothing at all) for Christmas and buy their asshole dad (yeah, the one who shall not be named) a football jersey.
It’s a whole different dynamic when you’re the only parent/adult in the house. There’s no one to remind and enable the kids to get or do something for you. Their dad has his One True Wife to go on eBay and order something then collect the money from the kids so they can get him a gift. And great for him. But there’s no one like that around here. I understand and will take steps to remedy that next year (Note to self: hurry up and find a significant other so the kids will get me a freakin birthday present. Must work quickly as said birthday is next month.)
This year all I expected and really wanted was a relaxing day with my kids. Maybe I’d pick them up, take a nap (since I would be coming off a 12 hour night shift), have the brunch they prepared, and we’d watch a movie together (aka they’d watch a movie while I slept on the couch). My daughter, being a girl (and therefor inherently more considerate) and artsy in nature, would probably have made me a gift and I knew my youngest had made me something at Kindergarten. He had mentioned it the week before and was excited for my surprise.
The first fly in my honey of this day of recognition and appreciation came from the ex when I emailed to say I couldn’t pick the kids up right at nine (I get done working at 9a.m.) but I’d be there by 9:30 at the latest. This just was not acceptable to him because he and the little wife had to leave right at nine and, even though our kids are 15, 14, 12, 10, & 5, he would not leave them alone for less than half an hour. He stated that he does not trust me alone at his residence…Umm, yeah, because I really want to go in and have a look around or something. Riiight.
I assured him that I had no interest whatsoever in going in his house, I just wanted to pick up the kids, and it’s a little silly to have someone drive out to get the kids over a twenty minute time difference. No dice. Logic has no effect on that one. He and his wife had to leave precisely by 9:10 at the vary latest and if I couldn’t be there by then I was the one “not abiding by the court order” and (in his mind at least) therefore forfeiting my holiday parenting time. I don’t really think that’s how it worked but I wasn’t going to fight with him over something so stupid.
So I arranged for my parents to pick up the kids but they had to stop by my work and get my van first. Their car only seats 5. Good to go, problem solved. Though now I had no excuse for not getting my own mom a Mother’s Day gift. I relayed this information to the father of my children and he assured me they would be up since “they already had alarms set to make (Step mom) breakfast.”
At 8:55 Sunday morning (while I was still at work trying to finish up) my daughter called asking when I would be there. Seriously? Ugh. I told her grandma & grandpa were on their way and would be there shortly. I had a chance to look out the window a minute or two later and happened to notice that my van was still in the parking lot. Crap! My parents’ car (which I had seen pull in like ten minutes earlier), however, was not. Turns out my van wouldn’t start so my dad left my mom waiting in my unstarting van for me to finish my shift while he went to pick up the kids from my angry ex.
How do I know he was angry? The two kids who have cell phones had called me a total of five times in ten minutes. I answered the last of these calls at 9:06 and could hear both He Who Shall Not be Named and his One True Wife yelling and screaming about me being late (how irresponsible & selfish I am and so on and so forth). Good times right there!
My dad got to the ex’s house and picked up the kids less than a minute later. Seriously, he got there at 9:07. My kids had spent the past fifteen minutes at least with their outraged dad yelling and berating anyone and everyone over seven minutes…on Mother’s Day.
Once the kids were picked up things did start to improve. My van started and my mom and I got doughnuts and chocolate milk for everyone. My lovely daughter did indeed make me a painting but when I asked the little guy about the present he made me at school he looked downcast and said “Dad made me give it to (Step mom) because I was at his house this morning.”
What the fuck? Those bitches just Bogarted my Mother’s Day gift. The last kindergarten Mother’s Day gift I will ever get, one that was clearly made for ME…because, you know, I’m the kid’s actual mother. That’s taking asshole to a whole new level right there!
I can’t say I wasn’t more than a little upset about that one but what can you do? I’ll tell you what: take a nap, get pizza, and play Star Wars Trivial Pursuit.
Despite the best efforts of some people, I was determined to have some positive, relaxing time with my kids. I guess that’s about as good as it gets.