Play Ball

I take the phone from Hil and the children stand and watch me start the latest strained conversation between me and their father.

Lars has two tactics under pressure. Come out swinging and insult you into muted disbelief or dismiss you entirely. I am always trying to have two defensive tactics in my head at all times: Something equally as heinous to say back that will pluck at the strings of his insecurities, or a breakaway run at the goal line with the jets on. It's exhausting.

After half hearted hellos, I say "What dates will you be in Florida?"

He responds with the dates, inclusive of the dates that conflict with Big Baseball Birthday Weekend in Baltimore.

"So when exactly were you going to tell me? I have a weekend trip planned to celebrate Pat's birthday and already bought tickets."

He flatly replies, "I sent you an email." No insult. No aggression. We have clearly popped our pain pills and swilled a beer or two for full affect. It is classic stoner mellowness, dude.

"No you didn't, Lars, " I begin to screech. "Back in March you sent me an email saying that you MIGHT have an opportunity to go to Florida and it MIGHT mean that you would need to keep the children a day or two on my week, but you NEVER confirmed anything. I heard about it tonight. From the children no less. Which is a crappy way for you to sneak around the issue, but par for the course where you are concerned. I don't know why I expect any better from you."

"I sent you an email," he repeats, the brain hemisphere controlling creative conversation and witty banter clearly awash in foreign chemicals.

"You didn't," I reply, but I am sensing this is going to turn into a Lisa Loopner and Todd "Yes-I-did-no-you-didn't" never-ending, infinite continuous loop. I end the conversation saying, "You may need to change your plans, and I will see to it that you do," and hang up.

I look at the kids. They are not sure what to do. And that is my fault. Mother of the Year contender that I am.

I pretend to brighten up and say to them, "I am not going to keep you from going to Disney, guys. That is not at all what I want to do. I am trying to find a way for us to do both things that we've planned so everyone can be happy."

Nice save, Mom.

I see them through their evening routines, and then see them off to bed, reassuring them that it is not the end of the world if things don't go as I'd hoped. We'll figure something out. Tomorrow is another day, Miz Scarlet.

And I genuinely think I may be able to work something out. I can't imagine that Lars actually sent an email on this topic that I missed. And if he didn't send it, those flights are going to be changed.

I pour myself a chardonnay and flip open the laptop. Game time.