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Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, anxious, in a permanent state of, as Dr Jerry so eloquently says, having just had my “guts ripped out.” And then other times, I don’t.

Today, I don’t. I feel ok. Yes, I miss Mama. But I don’t feel overwhelmed by that feeling right now. Yes, I’m sad. But I don’t feel like life isn’t worth the effort of breathing in and out. Today’s ok in a what-is-now-my-normal kind of way.

Tuesday was Ms Linda’s b-day, and she and Jennifer R (Bobby’s sister) came for dinner. Oh, funny story. We’re all sitting around the dining room table – Jen R, Bobby, Ms Linda, Sue, and I – and we look out the window, and see Daddy drive past in his little Mexi-ghetto CeilBrite van. (And just for the record, I know that the term “Mexi-ghetto” is bordering on racial inappropriateness, but there’s really no other way to describe Daddy’s van. He really did buy it from a Mexican-run operation, and all the bench seats had been removed to accommodate increased numbers of passengers… he added a couple of bean bags for his CeilBrite guys to sit on.) Anyway, I digress. Daddy drives past, puts it in reverse, and backs into our driveway. Well, Sue and I are still wearing our work clothes, which do not meet the PAC guidelines (Parent-Approved Clothing, for those of you who aren’t familiar with the oddness that is my family) – yes, we were wearing devil-britches. So in unison, Sue and I both shoot up out of our chairs, I smile at Bobby’s sister and mom who have no freaking clue what’s going on, and say “Excuse us while we act like 5-yr-olds” and we run for our bedrooms. Like actually run. We emerge a few seconds later wearing skirts just as Daddy is getting out of the van. Jen R and Ms Linda just smile politely while I launch into a hasty explanation of PAC, rattling 100 words per second about keeping PAC close by, and it’s just better for our family dynamic if we change, and it’s out of respect for Daddy, and blah, bla-blah, bla-blah. And they nod and smile and act like we’re normal and they understand, which we’re so not and they so don’t. And then Sue and I start giggling uncontrollably as Daddy comes in. Just another day in the life of a Weathers girl. So, after 5 years of marriage, I came out of the PAC closet to my MIL and SIL for the first time.

And then Wed, yesterday, I left work early for a Dr. Jerry appt. Was all disheveled – left work late, zoomed home very fast while watching diligently to avoid apprehension by law-enforcement officers, screeched into the driveway while calling Bobby’s cell and blowing the horn, and then I sit. And sit. And sit. Where the hell is he? Finally stomp into the house, and he’s on the phone. Of course. With his VIEW counterparts. Of course. Argh. Give him my best death-glare, and he hangs up and follows me back to the car, and we go zooming off to Dr Jerry’s. I’m annoyed, Bobby’s annoyed, Dr Jerry has good reason to be annoyed, and the visit is off to a simply fabulous start.

But despite the rocky launch, it was actually very productive, I think. Bobby was defensive and bothered and martyred initially, but he eventually started talking, and by the end of the visit, I was crying, Bobby was crying, and Dr Jerry was looking a little teary (which Sue confirmed – she had the appt immediately following ours, and she asked what we did to make Dr Jerry cry). I don’t think they’ll all be that emotionally draining… but Bobby’s had a lot of Mama-related stuff compiling in his head, and I haven’t allowed him to talk about it – and when it finally came out, it was wrenching for all concerned. So Bobby and I are going to start going together, and this makes me happy. I felt more connected to Bobby last night after we left than I have in months and months…

And while writing this, I think I just realized that that’s why I feel ok today. Because I had a Dr Jerry visit, and Bobby went, and Bobby talked, and I talked, and I like him more than I did yesterday (Bobby, not Dr Jerry).

AAAHHHHHH….. Epiphany. And the light shown down from the heavens.

Bobby really has to put up with a lot of crap from me. I know he does. I’m a pain in the ass. Last night, Bobby described himself as a “peacemaker who doesn’t like conflict” and Dr Jerry asked him (jokingly, sort of, not really), “So, exactly why did you marry a Weathers girl?” My therapist thinks I’m a pain in the ass too, apparently. And Sue, I believe that the “Weathers girl” reference applies to you as well. God, he hasn’t even met Jennifer… he had no idea just how bitchy we can be.