Episode 24: Mother Courage
Episode 24: Mother Courage
Mimi Schmir, one of the writers from "Grey's Anatomy"
For a long time my favorite piece of literature was this play called "Mother Courage and Her Children." I couldn't really relate to the literal story (among other things, it is about war), but I loved the name. The play was written in 1939, by the German dramatist and poet Bertholt Brecht and I always remember it around this time of the year because I think on Mother's Day it is particularly apropos. This is why.
It all started with the man in the grey suit. Actually, it started the day before, when Jeffrey the home wrecker called to remind me Mother's Day was right around the corner. Now, Mother's Day has never been a big thing in our household. Oh, the boys make me little cards with ink blots that are supposed to be butterflies and bring home painted flower pots filled with seeds that in any other home would grow and blossom. (Of course, in the polluted environment specific to my ex-husband, they just wither and die.) Over the years, I came to expect nothing more than this and the day would come and go with little fanfare or discussion. (Which was fine, considering the holiday was created sixty or seventy years ago by a bunch of Camel smoking men in a Hallmark boardroom who, I'm sure, were all cheating on their spouses and thought, "Hey, let's cash in on a day when we can buy our wives flowers and gifts to make up for treating them like shit the other three hundred sixty four days of the year.")
Nevertheless, this Mother's Day is supposed to be different. Guilt-ridden and all strung out on sex addict rehab, Jeffrey has decided to make up for what has come before. With this in mind, and with the encouragement of my children, he calls to tell me that he has made a reservation at One Pico, the restaurant at Shutters on the Beach, the celeb-favorite hotel in Santa Monica, CA. "We are going out for a family meal," he informs me. "We have to own our life circle. (I'm not kidding. He said that.) And..." he adds, like a pompous asshole, "You may not understand this yet, but the circle of life (I'm thinking, "Is this some Disney movie?") is something you should learn."
Imagine my horror. "Absolutely not," I say. (Clearly Jeffrey's definition of family is different than mine.) "Does family include cheating ex-husbands who routinely sleep with hookers?" I ask him. "I understand your pain," Jeffrey drones. "I see that it is real." (There are a number of things I could say but remarkably, I choose my words with care.) "Is she coming too?" I ask him, because this is degenerating into lunacy quickly. "If you mean Lucy," he says, "We thought it would be better if the day was about me and you." "In what universe do you and I even exist?!" I sputter and he says, "In the universe of our children," and hangs up the phone.
Now let me point out here that this decisive bullshit is not remotely my ex-husband. (Our formerly miserable sex life would often involve him asking me to play the dare I say it, "dominant" role.) I immediately call Annabelle. "Sex rehab has turned the bastard into a pod person," I tell her and then explain the whole family meal plan and what Jeffrey wants me to do. "I don't know what he thinks is going to happen," I tell her, "If anything, us sitting together pretending to be a couple is going to make me hate him even more." "Ask him to pay you for it," says Annabelle. "Huh?" I say, totally confused. "He pays for hooker time," says Annabelle. "Why the fuck shouldn't he pay for the privilege of being with you?" "Good point," I tell her. "You would make an excellent attorney." "Now that you mention it, I'm taking extension courses at UCLA," she tells me happily. "I'm pretty sure party planning litigation is in my future. Or at the very least, a fuckable lawyer."
So, not wanting to disappoint my children who haven't seen their parents together in I don't know how long, I decide I can just ignore the cheating bastard and I agree to join him. (Of course, I contemplate asking for five hundred dollars to "get me through the day," but any bribe associated with my kids just won't do.) Anyway, I am getting my period (an anomaly that happens maybe every four to five months now) so I'm naturally, not in the best of, shall we say it, moods. I am bloated, my breasts hurt and my belly feels like a family of sea turtles has taken up residence. Point being, Mother's Day or not, I am not feeling pretty. But I do my best (for the kids, please understand me) and after I manage to squeeze into the peasant skirt with the elastic waist I find at the back of my closet (La Annabelle would be horrified) I'm ready to hit the road.
Now, for a brief moment, as I'm leaving, I look at my ring finger. Obviously, I had taken off my wedding band a long time ago but instead of melting it down or smashing it to bits like I had promised myself I just left it lying in some drawer. I thought briefly about putting it on, for the kids' sake, (like this might mean something) but then I noticed that finally, the white line where my ring had been was starting to fill in with something that resembled color. This symbolized something, like, I don't know, what with everything that had happened my life was becoming whole. So I said, "Fuck the ring," and walked staunchly out the door.
Of course, One Pico, all festooned with balloons and flowers (like some kid party on acid, I think to myself) is filled with delirious Mothers and their families. Mr. Handsome and Roo, who have spent the previous night with Jeffrey, are really exited to see me. "You look beautiful, Mom!" yells Roo (gotta love a guy who loves a peasant skirt, even if he's a toddler) and Mr. Handsome says, "Yes, I totally agree." (I have trained them well.) They are both wearing clean shirts and pants with creases which, you better believe, is way better than anything they would have gotten from me. (I lean towards shorts and rocker logo t-shirts that say, "bad mom doesn't care what we wear," even when I do. I also haven't owned an iron since 1985 when mine went haywire. Let's just say Brown's Cleaners has made a fortune off me since then.) "Lucy dress you?" I mumble to Mr. Handsome but Roo hears me and starts clapping. "La La put my shoes on the wrong feet but then we fixed them!" he chortles. "Daddy kissed her three times, one, two, three!" and he plants big wet ones on my hand over and over again in case I'm possibly misunderstanding.
I sigh. This Mother's Day is exceeding even my expectations. "Uh...should we order?" says Jeffrey, not sure how to handle this miserable situation that, like all miserable situations previous, he has gotten us in to. The waiter appears. "What a handsome family," he says, looking from one of us to the other. "My mommy and daddy split up and daddy lives with La La now and Mommy lives alone!" yells Roo. "Right, Mommy?! Right MOMMY?!" He screams this as loudly as he possibly can. The people at the next table turn and stare. "I see," says the waiter, then looks at me with sympathy. "Miss, can I get you a Mimosa?" "Yes!" I am about to shout, "Make that three!" (and I should mention I love any man who calls me, "Miss" today) but before I can get the words out Jeffrey says, "No, thank-you, just coffee for her and me."
Ugh. "Her and me." Reason number nine hundred and ninety why I had to leave my husband. Bad grammar is almost worse than the multiple prostitutes and deception. "We'll order," I tell the waiter. "I'll have an egg white omelet with a side of turkey bacon," says Jeffrey and with a little giggle, pats his waist, "Gotta watch this boyish figure!" "Who is this freak?" I wonder and then realize everyone is staring at me because I've said what I'm thinking out loud. "It's Daddy," says Mr. Handsome, helpfully. "The rest of us will have pancakes, French toast and milk shakes," I tell the waiter, "Make it happen, pronto," and seeing I am really serious and we clearly have a "situation" here, he writes the order with great haste and scurries away.
That's when I notice Jeffrey staring. I am a little preoccupied because, as I mentioned, my boobs feel like water balloons and all I want to do is go home, slip out of the peasant skirt and remove my bra. But it is the Day of the Mother and so instead, I do what all mothers do on a regular basis — I endure the pain. (This is an age old Mother trick that I would advise every Mother to unlearn, immediately. It's like holding in your pee when you really have to go. Keeping stuff inside can give you an infection that travels directly to your brain and makes you crazy. Seriously. I'm not joking about this one.) "What are you staring at?" I ask Jeffrey. "That guy's suit," he mumbles. "Where the fuck did he get it? That three thousand dollar shit is MINE!"
Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, I tossed Jeffrey out before he was ever really able to pack up any of his things. Given the circumstances, I never let him in the house long enough to allow for the removal of the detritus that was him. I had considered a ritual burning, but when I realized that Jeffrey and Raoul (the handyman) were virtually the same size, (except that Raoul has muscles where Jeffrey has fat pockets) I had said to Raoul, "Take your pick, you lucky bastard," and had happily given most of the stuff away.
I peer over at Jeffrey's face. He is looking a little apoplectic. "That's my suit," he gurgles, like he's being strangled. (I guess Zen hooker rehab doesn't extend to clothes.) "It does look familiar," I say to myself, wondering if that is indeed the same Zegna that I think it is and then lo and behold, the man in the grey suit turns his head.
"Hey, Esme," he says and the kids let out a squeal. "Raoul, Raoul!" they yell and before I can stop them (not that I want to) they're scrambling out of their chairs. I look at Jeffrey out of the corner of my eye. He is turning purple. I am not sure if it is because our "circle of life" is being compromised or if he recognizes the suit and realizes what I've done. "Hello, Raoul," I say brightly and then I hear Mr. Handsome whisper, "Mom, he brought the bird."
I look over at Raoul's table. Indeed, there is a colorful beak poking out of the carrier that sits near him on the floor. "Can you excuse me for a moment?" I say to Jeffrey and before he can say, "No," (although what right he has to say that word to me I have no idea) I am hovering over Raoul. "What is he doing here?" I whisper, pointing at the bird. "And for that matter, what are you?" "Oh, we thought you might not be having so much fun," he tells me, grinning. "Who, we?" I ask him, suddenly realizing with relief that nothing about this day is going as the J-ster had planned. (And maybe not so oddly, I was suddenly on board with this whole Mother Day thing.) "Oh, just...well," Raoul says, enigmatically and that's when I see Annabelle come in wearing a hat that I can only describe as being perfect for the Kentucky Derby on a really sunny day.
"Crap, what's SHE doing here?" says Jeffrey, who, horrified, sees her making a La Annabelle appropriate grand entrance at the same time I do. "She isn't even a mother," he spits out, as though the insult means something. "And you're barely a father," I say brightly because the children are with Raoul at this point and they can't hear me. (I may know how to be mean, but unlike my ex-husband, I use discretion.) "Hey, J," says Annabelle, and sashays over. She hugs the boys who at this point are so hyped up on powdered sugar they couldn't be happier. "It's a party!" says Roo and Mr. Handsome, clearly in agreement, commence what I'm pretty sure is some R2D2 inspired dancing.
"Surprise!!" yell the boys and suddenly I realize the beautiful little liars knew this was going to happen the whole time. (That my children kept this secret from their cheating bastard of a father makes me so proud they are mine.) "Did you plan this?" I say to Annabelle who is looking with some satisfaction at the egg white that is literally on Jeffrey's face. (Like when I used to have spinach on my teeth and he ignored it, I see no need to tell him.) "I see you brought your entourage," he says meanly. "At least I have one I don't have to pay for," I say under my breath and then, more audibly, "You have egg on your face," because I realize in the moment, I just have to say it so I pull my mom card out and change my mind. Jeffrey signals the waiter. "I have to leave," he mutters, to no one in particular. "But we're giving Mom her present," says Mr. Handsome. "What present?" says Jeffrey. "This present," says Raoul (the handyman) who has been waiting patiently the whole time. He unveils the parrot. "Motherfucker," says Jeffrey. "Motherfucker," says the parrot. "Daddy said a bad word!" yells Roo, gleefully. "Yeah, sorry," mutters Jeffrey and I can see the poor bastard is outnumbered and has no idea what is going on.
Suddenly, a woman at the adjacent table sees the parrot. (It's kind of hard to miss what with its colorful feathers and all.) She stands up and screams, "They can't have a bird in here. It's so unsanitary!" "Wait, get it to speak," says Annabelle, as the wait staff starts to converge. "This is your present, Mommy," yells Roo as Raoul takes Raoul (the parrot) out of his carrier and lets him perch proudly on his hand. "Don't let him get stressed out," says Mr. Handsome, who is looking concerned. "What do you say?" Raoul (the handyman) says sweetly to the bird. "Happy Mother's Day!" screeches the parrot. "Happy Mother's Day to you!!"
Now, I should point out, for the sake of clarity, that at the end of the Brecht play Mother Courage loses her children to the war. It is all symbolic and full of tragedy, and what is remarkable about what has happened here today is that I know that no matter what the future holds with Jeffrey, and our own war (metaphoric though it may be) my children are truly part of me and I will never, ever lose them.
The entire restaurant is silent. "Happy Mother's Day!" yell my beautiful boys. I look around. Jeffrey has vanished, remnants of omelet crusting on his half-eaten plate. I hug my boys tight. "This is the best present ever," I murmur, into their sweet smelling hair. (Even in my reverie I realize the Concubine must have washed it.) "Happy Mother's Day!" screeches the bird again. And suddenly, for the first time in years, I realize something really big. I realize that even though I'm a mom, I don't have to be silent. I understand I don't have to hold anything in. I realize in this moment that I can speak my mind and I can fight the battle and I can have the mother fucking courage to do that and for the first time ever, I know what Mother's Day means.
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