Fake-ass Bumpy Cake from Harris Teeter….
It was really the best Rosh Hashanah we have had in a long time.
For those of you who are new around here, Rosh Hashanah is a Jewish Holiday. Actually, a pretty important one…it’s our Jewish New Year! Happy New Year card-holding members! Ya, well…in Charlotte, there aren’t many of those, so it’s not easy finding a place to celebrate. Especially when you are divorced. Does someone ask Mark and the kids…after all it is his week. So, I should just fly back to Detroit? Or do the boys and I make our own dinner? Ok, that is never happening. What the fuck? Is nothing easy in this world? Not really. But here is the thing, it can be. And it was. Mark called me up, and he invited us. He was alone, too. So he made a brisket, of course. I bought a fruit salad…my speciality. And we spent Rosh Hashanah together. There. Easy peezy, rice and cheesy. And yes, I meant to say “bought”.
Trust me, all y’all. You can do it. Grab your balls, and get along with your exes. It just makes everything better. And simpler. And I didn’t even have to set the table, or cook. Or clean up. It was fun! And the boy’s were happy. And I was happy. Everyone was happy. And smiling. I did bring a Harris Teeter Wave Cake, which was as close to a Sanders Bumpy Cake as I was ever gonna get. (see pic) I inhaled that fucking thing, and all was right in our world. We drank wine, and hung out. And I stole a couple of my things when Mark wasn’t looking. Whatever, that ladle was so mine. And I don’t think he will miss that six-pack of Diet Mountain Dew. Shit! And you all know damn well that the picture from Italy that’s hanging in the front hall should be in MY house. But I couldn’t sneak that out without him noticing. Next holiday, its mine.
So, I had this huge exam today, right? And the boys went to Temple with Mark, so they stayed at his house, instead of coming home with me. I had to study. They cleared the table, and I chatted a bit more. Stuffed my face with more food, mushed up my doggies…and looked around my house. It looked good. Kinda bachelor-like. Our stuff all split up between the places; Mark still has empty rooms. I noticed the pictures on the bookshelves were all of the boys, and him. None of me? I mean, I know…why would he have pictures of me? I only pushed the fucking children out of my vagina. My old house. Ugh. And it was fine, I guess. Just the first time I had a meal with all of us at the table…together. As a non-family, in the house that used to be ours. That is now his. You get it.
Our totally functional, untraditional…non-family.
Wow. And it’s working…
I took a deep breath in, and felt kinda proud. Me and Mark, and the boys. We had a better Holiday Dinner divorced than we ever did married. For 13 years, we fought every fucking holiday. I’m not kidding. It just was the norm. We fought about the dinners, and what the kids were going to wear. And whose house we were going to go to. And which Mom was cooking what meal. And what child would sit in what seat. And I used to scream bloody murder at Mark. For no reason! Just because I hated the Holidays! I hated everything about them, so it was all his fault. But not this year. Not this holiday. Not this time.
I said my goodbyes, thanked Mark for having me…and I tried to make it to the car without losing my shit. Mark totally knew I was about to. He walked me out, and even offered me the leftover Bumpy Cake. I got in my truck, and sat in the driveway watching them through the window. Our boys were happy; yelling at the game on TV. As I backed out of the drive, I ran over the grass. Shit. I used to do that when I lived there, and blame the cleaning lady. He is totally going to know it was me. I am so dead, Mark hates when I run over his flipping grass. There goes my invite for Yom Kippur. ;)