One Ringy Dingy, snort, snort

In another one of Mother Nature's little jests, while J. and I took in a comedy show near my office across the bridge in another state, WHAM! Another 18 inch snow fall. We emerged from the show, took in all 10 feet of visibility and went immediately to check into the hotel that hosted the comedy club. Hilarious.

The next day, looking a little less sporty than usual, we bellied up to the breakfast buffet and had a remarkably nice breakfast in spite of our hygiene and the worsening storm. Unable to fathom another day and night in the same clothes (I wasn't crazy about my outfit to begin with) we decided, against all publicly broadcast advice, to brave the weather and drive home.

And as if by divine intervention, J.'s phone rang just as I finished brushing with the the pre-pasted throw-away toothbrush I'd gotten from the front desk. It was Sheila --- looking for me. I was loathe to take her call but J., bless his heart, handed the phone right over. He motioned that he was going to clean off my car, but I motioned (OK, wildly gesticulated) that if he left the room I'd brain him with the King James Bible the Gideons were kind enough to have left.

Sheila began to recite the purpose of her call to me, in that hoarse, slow, mood-stabilizered voice she has. I offered that there was no need to explain. I understood her decision about the wedding and was not stomping my feet and holding my breath for a reversal. I was simply going to decline the invitation. I could not in good conscience get dressed up and walk out the door leaving my kids behind that night to join everyone else in the family. Mommom was babysitting them everyday. They considered J.'s girls sisters....yadda yadda yadda. I would love to be there but could not. I understood her decision, could she kindly accept mine?

She noted that she was thinking it would be nice for me...that I could get all dressed up and go out for an evening with J. without my kids. Newsflash, Sheila. I have shared custody. I can put on a dress and go out every night for 26 weeks a year. I am not looking for one more night out without kids, and if I were, it would not be to dine on prime rib and red bliss potatoes at a hotel near the local airport.

She went on to note that my invitation was an expression of inclusion, not exclusion. And now she's embarrassed because my not being there would be a glaring absence and would draw attention to her finances.

Her finances? I had never given a moment's thought to her finances (and evidently neither had Em!) but for one thing, ummmm, I was fairly certain that no one ever mistook Sheila for a New York socialite. Secondly, if I had thought about it, the excesses of Em's wedding minutia would suggest a gal bent on giving the impression that she was to the manor born, finances be damned. I would think Sheila and Tim were into 2nd mortgage territory but not "can't afford two more plates" territory. But like I'd said, I had not given a crumb of gray matter to who was paying what for whatever.

I elaborated and empathized. I told her about my wedding planning...about the brand new grown up siblings I'd picked up late in the game, and cashing my paycheck the morning of my wedding so that I could pay the florist. I was not a stranger to the experience of going bald over a wedding. I just could not make her "no kid" decision understandable to my kids. We considered us a family. This would suggest otherwise.

And then she made a grave tactical error.

She mentioned that she'd heard that I was taking my kids on a vacation with out J. and his girls. I replied that I had no Earthly idea what she was talking about. We'd been taking family vacations together for 2 years. And what, by the way was the point? She went on, providing what she thought might be proof - proof! - that we are not really a family, saying that her mother had related to her that my kids had told her while she was babysitting that the three of us were taking a trip to Florida.

Looks like Mommom was really Mrs. Kravitz. And how clever of her to use my children's words, their innocent words, as ammunition in Sheila's amateur argument with me. Pink slip time.

With that foul ball safely out of play, Sheila returned to the still lame, still indefensible, "no kids" position. "What will I say to the other parents whose kids aren't invited if yours are there?" she whined.

As if anyone would ask. Who does that? "Well, Sheila, if someone were so rude as to ask, you'd say "They are my brother's family." Could it be any simpler than that? But she hung herself with her own words.

She argued that "There are kids who are family that are not invited." Exactly. Family. And in her eyes, we were not. Didn't make the cut, but I was just supposed to show up anyway so she would not be responsible for J. looking lonely and miserable that night. How my children might feel was of minimal importance.

I flicked the phone back to J. who was ashen. "Do something with her," I said, and headed out to drive home in the blizzard.