The Girl With Something Extra

I have a few days to prepare. Perhaps this is a good first step - a public place, no home field advantage for anyone, the ability to order an emergency cocktail.

Endora's birthday falls at the end of my custody week with the kids. I make an assumption that the kids will be with Lars on the TBD day and decide to test the waters a little with them - mention the potential for a party of sorts (spell that C-A-K-E) and feel out their general interest in or resistance to the idea - and if they are game, approach Lars about a couple of hours of borrowed time. If they are not game, I have no shot.

Another drawback to custody guidelines: The kids have a ready-made excuse to avoid things they are not especially jazzed by. Like anything requiring sitting still, periods of enforced quiet, wearing a tie, or eating a meal that does not include french fries. The Ballet, non-essential religious ceremonies, and evidently, J.'s mom's birthday all qualify.

I start with the path of least resistance, my daughter. She seemed to like Endora, and was always doing sweet things for her: Bringing her books from the teachers' library, getting snacks for her when she got one for herself. Surely she'd be game.

Maybe not.

I tell her that Endora's 75th birthday is coming and we'll be celebrating with a dinner party.

"When?" she inquires, one eyebrow up.

"It's coming next week. We'll have to talk about it. The party will probably be while you are with Dad."

"Oh thank God."

"Oh! You wouldn't want me to talk to Dad to see if you could join us for a little while?"

"No way!"

Baffled, I remarked, "I thought you guys liked each other. You seemed to get along so well. Didn't you watch Ghost Hunters every day?"

"Mom. I was only nice to her so she would be nice to me!" She had the lisp going full tilt and was winding up for the final hand and head gesture. She told me that Endora had been mean to her brother for no reason, and he had just gone to his room everyday to become one with his Playstation. She was not about to miss out on Ghost Hunters so she'd played the game. Did unto others. Killed her with kindness. Commanded the clicker as a result.

I am horrified. I'd had no idea. My Mother of the Year crown was tarnishing even as we spoke.

My daughter, safely assuming there would be no pressure to attend the ticker tape parade for Endora, turned to me and asked if I'd be going.

"Yes, sweetie. I'll be there."

She took my hand, her little face so earnest. "Mom, will J. be there, right by your side? The whole entire time? In case there is any, you know, funny bithneth?"

I am stunned. (I dismiss the first panic attack that she had somehow read this blog) She clearly has absorbed much. She's drawn some frighteningly accurate conclusions. She is worried for me. I can not brush that off.

"Peanut, I understand your worries. But you should know, J. has stood by my side for much scarier things than some dumb disagreement with his mother, and of course he'll be by my side if anyone forgets their manners or gets nasty. Don't you worry."

"But Mom! What if they are sneaky and he doesn't hear it? Or it doesn't sound like it's mean but it really is? Chuck does that all the time and everyone thinks he's just being funny!"

Schoolyard politics have taught this kid a lot.

"I know that can happen, sweetie, but I don't think it will. If it does, you know I can take care of myself better than anyone, and anyone else I need to take care of too.

"I know you can, Mom. Just like Grandmomstella."

Yes, I may just have to strap on a reserve tank of my inner Estelle. Wouldn't want to get caught in a cross fire changing clips in the heat of battle.