Mommy-In-The-Middle


I don’t know when it happened, or how it happened, but all of a sudden it’s become the “norm” in my house for people to talk through me when talking to one another. I have become the mediator, moderator, messenger and translator in my household. I don’t even like talking to these people that much. Now I’m putting in overtime.

Zohrhubby comes across as gruff and his critisms and directions sometimes seem without merit. Even I see it, so you could hardly blame my teenagers for feeling this way.  So, they’ve taken to talking to me, and over him, about almost everything. This is so frequent that he just tunes them out now when they talk.

We had the same conversation at the dinner table for about a week and a half straight, about Tween C going to the homecoming dance at her junior high school. What would she wear? Who would she go with? How late could she stay? Ten days…at least…in a row, this dominated our conversation over dinner. Three nights ago, all of a sudden, Zohrhubby caught on that something was going on.

“What’s she talking about?” he asked.

Me: “The homecoming dance.”

ZH:  “What homecoming dance?”

Me:  “Omigod. Are you serious? The same homecoming dance we’ve talked about all week. Right here. At this very table.”

ZH:  “When is the dance? How come no one asked my opinion about her going to a dance?”

Me:  “It’s next Saturday. And I’m sorry, I just assumed that since you were sitting here that you were listening. My bad–C, please tell your daddy about the dance, and ask his permission to go.”

She looked at me like I was crazy. I gave her “the look.” You know, the look that says, “Humor me…it’s a requirement that we make your father feel like he’s a part of the decision making process in this house.”

C:  “Um. Well, it’s the homecoming dance–”

ZH:  “Who’s going?”

C:  “What do you mean, dad?”

ZH:  “I mean, who’s chaperoning you?”

C:  “What? What’s he talking about, mom?”

See what I mean? “What’s she saying?” “What’s he talking about?” That’s all I ever hear. So, since we are airing our grievances over the dinner table, I take the opportunity to make a big point.

Me:  “Can I just say something right now? I’m so sick of being looked at when your daddy says something because you need some explanation as to what or why or how…and (looking at Zohrhubby now) I’m sick of you asking me what THEY are talking about when THEY are sitting right there. They can talk. They can explain. You guys talk to each other, and quit getting me involved!”

ZH:  “I don’t do that!” he said.

Me:  “Whatever. C, go on.”

C:  “Okay. Well, it’s the homecomin–”

ZH:  “What time is it?”

C:  “Um…I think it’s from 6:30 to eleven.”

Zohrhubby swings around all dramatically toward me and says quite emphatically, “ELEVEN?!”

Big E almost fell out of his chair laughing. This was exactly what Zohrhubby’d just denied ever doing.

C:  “I don’t know what time it is for sure, dad, I’ll have to find out.”

ZH:  “Yeah, you find out, and then you’ll have to buy two tickets, one for you and one for your brother.”

C:  “Wah!? Why?!”

ZH:  “Because, he can be your chaperone.”

I thought he was kidding. I swear I did. But he was dead serious. I didn’t even have time to object, Big E was all over it.

E:  “I am NOT going to a junior high dance with C! I don’t even want to go to the high school dances! And anyway, how creepy would THAT be, for this 6 foot tall 16 year old going to a dance with a 12 year old. Nevermind she’s my sister, that’s just creepy!”

ZH:  “You’ll go if we say you go.”

E:  “Oh, no I won’t. I’ll do something totally stupid and get arrested just to get out of there. I swear I will.”

Me:  “What is WRONG with you?”

ZH:  “What do you mean?  She’s not going alone.”

Me:  “She’s going with friends, and there WILL be adults there.”

ZH:  “Not anyone we know.”

Me:  ” … ”

There’s so many instances where I find it hard to put into practice that basic principle of parenthood that dictates that I should NEVER critique or disagree with Zohrhubby’s actions in front of the children.  But I try real hard.  What makes it even harder is the first person my kids look at when he says something ass-y is ME.  Dead in the face.  I have to mask my reaction and hold it until we can get out of earshot of the kids.  And that’s hard to do…my eyebrows draw together in response to BS so quickly, I think it’s become an involuntary reflex.

We haven’t taken up the rest of this conversation yet.  I’ll keep you posted as to whether you can expect a future post about bailing my soon-to-be 16 year old son out of jail.

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About zohrbak

Zohrbak is an old email username I had a while back...it's a made-up twist on two characters from Spaceghost. Zorak and Brak. I'm a geek. I am a married, working mother of 4 children, ages 4-15. I also have interests outside of my children, but I can never remember what they are.
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19 Responses to Mommy-In-The-Middle

  1. Aimee says:

    I’m not really all that sure what to say about this blog. I laughed, but it was definitely only because you write in a very humorous way.

    • zohrbak says:

      Don’t be too concerned, Aimee. I’ve been protecting my kids from this kind of crap for YEARS!!

      • Aimee says:

        I have to believe thats true. After all, all of your alphabet (A and E, and A2 and B) all seem pretty normal . lol.

        However, tell them that I, too, and willing to offer them asylum. lol. Although, they are required to do their own laundry.

      • zohrbak says:

        Who’s the other A??? It’s A, B, C, and E. (I’m allergic to D, so I skipped that letter.)

      • Aimee says:

        ….oh shit, I called C, A. Sorry C.

      • zohrbak says:

        roflmao. I know it’s a bit confusing for all of us. But take heart, we’ll fumbledick through this together. Damn! I love that word.

      • Aimee says:

        Thats funny that you were sending that message as I was correcting it. lol

        I was actually thinking you should have another named Delores or Danny.

  2. YaYa says:

    Tell the 16 year old I can hide him out at my house.

    This conversation reminds me of something out of a Molly Ringwold movie.

  3. I'm hiddin' too! says:

    Tell ZH to chill. He doesn’t have to say anything. When C’s ride shows up, ZH just needs to be seen sharpening a few knives. He needs to smile really big and just keep sharpening those knives. No words are necessary. Believe me it works. And if all the knives are sharp, well,… he can clean Big E’s shotgun. .
    You may have to remind him several times. No talking, just smile, real big…
    Done properly, this will work until C turns 30.

  4. ZOHRMOM says:

    Not to worry. ZH has already forgotten said conversation and on Saturday, when C is dressed and ready for you to drive her to the dance, ZH will look you dead in the face and say “Z-Where is C going? What’s going on?” Who’s with me? LOL

  5. YaYa says:

    Big A couldn’t help but call Big C and congratulate her on her homecoming date with her brother!

  6. Mother Hen here.
    Perfect…absolutely perfect! What a totally dead-on snapshot of what it is to live with a male who is completely out-of-touch with reality. How does MH know? Don’t get her started!
    Ms. Z, you have Mother’s sincere condolences. The bright side is that this reads like a dandy-fine sitcom. Get writing, chickie dear — fame and fortune await!
    Dramatically Yours,
    Mother Hen
    http://motherhensnest.wordpress.com

    • zohrbak says:

      Thanks, Mother Hen! It brings me immense joy to know that my dysfunctional life would, in your most reverent opinion, play out very well on a tv sitcom!

      • You’re welcome, dear!
        Just remember though, for the record, Mother was not the one who brought up the word “dysfunctional.” No, no, no…she wouldn’t dream of such a thing!
        Those who live in straw coops shouldn’t play with fire.
        Carefully yours,
        Mother Hen

  7. zohrsis says:

    Now do you see why I just leave my own zohrhubby in the dark when at all possible????
    You know–the whole “ignorance is bliss” thing…
    Their daughters are forever 5 years old.

    • zohrbak says:

      Ignorance is Bliss is RIGHT!

      Let’s call yours Zohrbrotherinlaw. Or Zohrsishubby. We don’t want people to confuse the two. Any suggestions? Zohrbro-inlaw. Zohrsishubster? I dunno.

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