Amber finally escapes with friends, at the nick of time

Definitely best title for today. Backstory for today is this: Mom went to Steubenville for an overnighter with her two roommates from college: Debby and Debbie. She left on Wednesday with a breezy “see you all on Friday!” In other news, I awoke this morning feeling much better, because after reaching the ultimate depths of seepy-eyed despair, mom and I scheduled Monday for going to the bank and getting my money, and starting the quest for someone to finance a car loan. She also said she’d be happy to drive me to Erie to visit Dave—she likes long trips, like I do.

So, I woke up this morning feeling better. . . feeling CLEARER in thought. So maybe the hormones subsided. Anyway, I went downstairs to find I had a letter from Lakeside Property Management office (the folks handling the application for my apartment in Madison). It was a thick envelope, so I didn’t panic (bad news, at least in college applications, always arrives on one sheet of paper). So I opened it, and yes, it isn’t bad news, but it isn’t exciting. It’s forms for someone to cosign my lease. Since I don’t have any credit, I kindof figured it was coming, but I was hoping to get accepted first, and do lease-signing stuff later. But mom had already said she’d cosign anything—heck, grandpa had cosigned mom and dad’s trailer when they were 21. Yes, I said trailer.

So I walk back into the kitchen, where Dad is helping Liz fill out a state 4-H camp form, and he looks irritated already. Dad asks me what the letter says, and I explain I’ll need someone to cosign my lease for the apartment. “Well who’s going to do that?” he says. I explain that mom will. “And what if our credit isn’t any good Amber? What are you going to do then?”

“Well, I’ll get GRANDPA GARVIN to cosign (also a plan approved by mom)”

And then dad does his patented “I’m not going to argue with you, but I don’t think this will work” look. It makes me mighty peeved, because A) What the hell kindof questioning IS this? I’m trying to AVOID flipping out over the stress of this, and B) Like my brother, sometimes Dad cannot accept that he might be wrong, and he’s fantastic at mystically making you feel wrong. But then again, like me, Dad is emotional and often says stupid things that are disconcerting without intending to be. Like two years ago, when he asked why I wasn’t taking advantage of the gym at college, and I was hurt because I was already insecure about my weight. Turns out he was just upset because he didn’t have any exercise equipment, and was feeling jealous.

Anyway, I stormed off. Had to, to avoid the ineffable fights that Dad won’t let you win or walk away from.

The second half of the day was better. I researched cars and just relaxed on the porch, to cool off mentally. The beautiful thing about our family is that nobody wants to stay touchy for long, so we went off on an adventure to drop Don off at his friend Dan-who’s-always-inviting-me-to-his-LAN-parties-if-I-strip-for-them’s house. Charming. After we dropped him off, we passed through the Ben Franklin’s Parking lot, and spotted an NICE ’99 Toyota Camry for sale. I wrote down the number for now, although I’m having some issues since every review says its reliable, but utterly lacking in personality. Can’t decide if I can or can’t live without such things as personality. But oh well.

Came home, went to sister Liz’s softball game, where I saw the fastest pitcher I’ve seen this season, who of course was on the opposing team. Liz was the only one to get a hit with that pitcher, and I was proooud of her! Sometimes I wonder where all the sporty genes went in me. It was freezing at the game, especially for late June. WHERE THE HELL IS SUMMER?

Back home again, where of course I had a call from Dave K. The only night of the week I go out, and that’s when I get a call. So I call back, and we plan to pick up Steph and go to BW3’s at 9:50. I’m about to hop in the shower when a car pulls up, and mom jumps out.

This is a very special OH SHIT moment. Why? Well, because we were expecting her to come back Friday, like she said. The kitchen, after dad’s latest bean soup construction, is a true mess. I apologize to Debbie when she comes in, of course, the kitchen way, instead of the clean living room way. I say it’s my fault, thought mom was coming tomorrow. I’m not sorry, just trying to do damage control.

They have a good time, and mom seems not to mind. And then Debbie leaves.

And now, I invite you to enjoy one of the MAIN reasons I don’t like to be home. Mom is not really an obsessive cleaner. Her problem is that she always worries that if the house isn’t perfect, people will “think ill of her” or tell everyone what a dirty house she has. The house is always a “dump” full of “trash.” The worst part typically being she won’t tell anyone how to help her, but then she’ll try to do it all herself, and get exhausted. I thought by apologizing, perhaps we could avoid the replay of that old “the house is a mess. I’m so embarrassed” tape that mom tells.

Of course I was wrong. I had just gotten all showered and dressed, when I heard furious sweeping in the kitchen—and I knew it had begun. I came in, and mom was mumbling about it to Dad and Liz. And I was just fed up with it. So I tried to stop her, and tell her she didn’t have to worry, I apologized to Debbie. She stared at me, and said it didn’t matter, she was already so embarrassed. I tried to explain that she didn’t have to connect having the house perfect with what people think of her. It's not the first time I've tried to teach her this. But she was already getting the teary eyes. I told her Debbie probably didn’t even notice or care. “But it’s important to ME. When we walked in this house it was a disaster ar. ..” I just turned around and walked downstairs, with Liz in front of me. I told Liz later to ignore mom when she gets like that. In the end, it’s all you CAN do.

In the end, I just get so frustrated when I see mom break down over little things. She is such a strong woman, who’s done so much on her own, without help or even economic assistance from Dad at times. I want to respect her, but I get so mad when she cries because there are dirty dishes on the counter when her one of her best friends of 20 some years walks in the kitchen. This woman, who is a beloved and sought-after teacher in the community, with kids who don’t get into fights, get pregnant, or do badly in school, with a husband who loves her and spends every other day walking on eggshells and making sure we kids do the same. . .this woman breaks down because there is clutter in the kitchen. It scares me, because it’s really a record she plays. She goes away and her mouth starts moving and it’s all about how not good enough the house is, how not good enough our job of keeping it clean is. It happens, like my own spells of depression, just every once in awhile. And that disturbs me more.

But soon I’m downstairs, and Dave’s car is pulling up in the driveway. And all I can do is thank God I’m getting out of the house for an evening.