The irony is that when things are going well, the well is dry—for writing. And when I’m writhing at the bottom of the snake pit, the only rope out is woven of words written. Right now (write now) things are good. So I am thankful, and tis the season for that anyway.
Mr. Miller and I had our umpteenth heart to heart/come to Jesus/are we in trouble/what’s-the-deal-with-our-marriage (after the past two brutal years) and we landed in a good place. I’d lost my trust that he loved me anymore after my departure from the Democrat Party and my subsequent disdain for the worldview I left in my rearview. As a subscriber to this blog, he wasn’t all that jazzed to read my fiery rantings. And how could I blame him. But we’re still here, still together, and working it through. Because we both agree that what we have underneath the rubble is worthy.
Miller Jr. is home briefly for the turkey and family and we experienced our own rockiness wherein he believed with horror and panic that I would quickly come to believe the earth is flat, since I no longer believe the marble’s days are numbered in our lifetimes. Did I ever actually believe that? The truth is I recycled (still do) and brought my own totebags to the grocery store (who doesn’t) but I was too wrapped up in gender ideology to pay that much attention. But Junior and I are (knock wood) on good terms again as well. I took him out for breakfast and Black Friday clothes shopping and we fell into our old chummy banter, sharing a closeness I missed for so long.
And Miss Miller, the seed of this entire tumultuous past two years, well, all is pretty damn excellent (knock knock knock) with her as well. Yes she’s still that dumb name and pronouns with her friends but is she/her/real name at home and with extended family—including hip, young cousins. Yes I rue the day this coming June when they call “C——” to the stage to receive “their” diploma. But I will be so happy when that high school is no longer a part of our lives.
It’s funny. When I was her age, I wished so badly to have gone to her school, where I would have gone if my parents had stayed together and my mom didn’t drag me to Chicago to live with her new gross boyfriend and his two kids. I imagined the high school to be the equivalent of the suburban high school in Sixteen Candles. Or the one in Breakfast Club. Another irony that those schools were in the Chicago suburbs, very close to where I lived, though light years away. I longed for that experience instead of the one I had, as the only Jewish girl at the all girls Sacred Heart. But I wouldn’t be the lovable weirdo I am without my particular past.
(Thanks Mom!)
So when offered the chance by fate and circumstance, I took the vicarious do-over, moved back east and sent my kids there. Never in a million, jillion years would I ever have predicted that the high school I’d romanticized would turn my life inside out, and nearly destroy my family. Maybe I’ll get a chance to make a buck in some future class action lawsuit.
A girl can dream.
So yeah. Things are good. The house is no longer burning. I am no longer screaming that the sky is falling, Mr. Miller is no longer sticking his head in the sand, Junior is no longer hissing and stink-eyeing, and little Miss lets me hug her and even sing in the car now and then.
Thank you, thank you, thank you and thank you. And thank YOU for riding along. Let’s roll down the windows and turn up the radio.
❤️
Someday she will thank you for being a loving voice of reason and reality during this time of her life.
Hooray!
My guess is that as soon as she crosses that stage & picks up her diploma she’ll dump the asinine fake name and they/them pronouns. College is a time for another reinvention, or perhaps a recursion or return to develop the genuine Miss M.
Sending prayers & much love to you and your family--