I'm a mean, mean mama...and an ungracious houseguest.

Hi ho there. Dispatching from my vacation on my brother's computer.

(sigh) Can't wait for vacation to be over so I can go home and relax. I've woken up in the middle of the night every night on this trip so far.

What's up with people begging you to come see them and then acting like it's a pain in the ass to have you there? I mean, the boy and I are very considerate houseguests, are easy to please, non-demanding, and offer to chip in for groceries. Haven't gotten an hour of babysitting out of any member of my family for two weeks (OK. Mom let me sleep in a few times, and step-mom tried to take DS to a park once). And after the passive-aggressive, hope-they-volunteer approach, I actually asked. Everybody's (sigh) Just..So...TIRED after dealing with my son for ten minutes at a time (roll eyes here). Tried to steer Dad & co. into a baby-sitting, mama-gets-some-time-to-herself moment with the following exchange:

Them: Would you like to go to the Children's Museum?

**Us is thinking, "No. I want to go to the beach I haven't seen in five years. I want to go to a book store. I want to stare into space. I want to see some people I haven't seen in five years without having to wrestle an ornery pre-schooler simultaneously. I live in the epicenter of the museum culture. We've been to several already, and I'm on vacation for pete's sake."**

Us: Well, thanks for the offer, but I really would rather go to the lake or to a bookstore or something. But, you guys could take DS and I bet he'd have a blast!

Them: Oh. Well, we can do something else.

"Something else" was have some of my parent's contemporaries over (nice folks who I love and all) while I chase my kid all over the place instead of a) get him to a park to get his ya-yas out, b) get him to the lake to get his ya-yas out, or c) get him to the duck pond to get his ya-yas out, as we'd talked about...on a night that originally involved the G'parents possibly babysitting.

And here's a rant about my step-mother. It epitomizes the issue well, I think. Stuff like this happens a lot...and if my folks are reading this, well, maybe reading my blog's a bad idea if you like peace in your house.

My kid's in the tub, and I run to get something. So this means he's unsupervised while he's rubbing soap on his face. So as I'm heading back to the bathroom quickly with a determined look my face, my step-mother emerges from around the corner with fists full of lotion and begins wordlessly massaging it into my hands. I mean, what the fuck? First of all, why are you touching me without my permission? Why are you lotioning me? If I wanted lotion on my hands, I'd have put it there. And hey, by the way, my three-year-old's in the tub with soap all over his face. Bad touch! Bad touch! Gotta go, lady! Criminy.

Brother's busy this week, which I knew. He was very worried about my three year old in his apartment. The three year old has followed every house rule he laid out to the letter. And I know he's glad to see us, and he's a great brother and fabulous uncle, and we're not looking to be entertained. Totally felt like we were imposing on more than one occasion.
Um, Dude, getting the whole damn family together this summer was YOUR idea, remember? Sorry your perfect week on the calendar isn't everybody's pefect week on the calendar. So we made sure we gave him some much-needed space today...

Which leads me to why I'm a mean-ass mama.
Son and I went downtown and to the lake today, after I shook him out of a much-needed nap so we could be gone when we said we'd be. We took the train to the lakefront park, where balloon animal guys immeditiately glommed onto us, and the next thing I knew my son was in possession of a very complicated and baroque balloon sculpture of a monkey climbing a tree to get bananas. It was beautiful. It was special. Hey, we're on vacation. No problem.

Three hours later, as we drag our tired and cranky butts in the direction of the train to go home, my son is overwhelmed by a desire to take off his shoes and sit in the Crown Fountain, which while very amazing and cool looking, is surrounded by air that is too cold for a wet person to be comfortable in. As he is my son and karma is kicking my ass, he takes his shoes off anyway and gets into the water. We play awhile, I chase him when he runs too far off for a while, let him pee in the bushes (very into peeing in the bushes. Not too sure what to do about this), etc. I give the five miniute warning. I cajole, reason, encourage the application of footwear. I firmly but gently remind him of the rules. I apply the shoes. They come off repeatedly. I apply them again. And again. Finally, I tell the forty-pound ornery muscle ball that if he takes his shoes off again, we're giving the balloon back. Stares at me in horror.

Mamas,

I gave the balloon back.

I gave it away never to be seen again to the greasy man that made it, explaining that someone was being a royal stinker. My son wailed and flailed, heartbroken and agasp at this horrid betrayal. People stared. Cops gasped. The balloon guy came over and said he couldn't stand it, his feelings were hurt. I told my son he could have it back if he kept his shoes on. I then asked him if he'd keep them on. He said no.

And so we left in a deafening cloud of screams that lasted the five block walk to the station, the scuffle in the station as I added fare to my card while keeping my kid from running all the way back to the balloon guy, and through about four stops.

"Can I have it back if I listen? I'll keep my shoes on!!! When can I get the Balloooooooon Baaack???"

"No. It's too late. Never."

I felt shitty and wanted to cry, too.

ANYWAY, some good stuff's happened on vacation, too, but that's another entry.