After heeding the call to help out a fellow mom, I went to Urban Mommy’s blog and read about the stress she is dealing with due to an upcoming visit from her parents.

While many new parents welcome the visit from their own parents, I can understand her hesitation and stress. I, too, had to deal with a mostly unwelcome parent when I gave birth to Cordelia.

Before Cordy was born, my father and I were not speaking to each other. We had not spoken to each other since January 2003, when my father called and spent over an hour telling me what an ungrateful and evil person I was. What could have caused this venom? Well, I decided that my mother was going to walk me down the aisle, tradition be damned. (And we weren’t having a Catholic wedding, but that’s another issue entirely.)

My parents divorced when I was a year old, and my father was a very small presence in my life. As in, the Christmas-Easter-birthday only type of presence. When I did see him, we didn’t get along at all. He was strict and talked down to me as a child, and I resented him for that. He also tried to tell me that my mom and her family were evil people, and had brainwashed me against him, when in truth my mom never said a bad thing about him until I was much older.

As a teen, I couldn’t stand his elitist, racist and misogynist attitudes. (He and his family are well-off, while I grew up not-so-well-off.) When I graduated from college, he sent me a letter telling me that I failed at college because I didn’t find a husband, and I needed to stop focusing on school and start losing some weight and working on finding a man. So it should come as no surprise that I wanted my mother to walk me down the aisle at my wedding, since she was the person who raised me and loved me and made me who I am.

My father not only boycotted my wedding, but also tried to convince other members of that family to do so as well. Luckily, the other family members saw through it, and so my uncles, aunts, and grandmother were all in attendance.

Fast forward a year and a half to September 2004. I’m now pregnant, ready to burst, and my father still isn’t talking to me. My aunt sends me an e-mail, saying that he wants to mend things and be a grandparent, but I have to be the one to make first contact. No way, I reply. He’s welcome to come crawling back and say he’s sorry, but I have nothing to apologize for. A few weeks later, we decide on a c-section because Cordy is still breech, and the date of the birth is known to all.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when my father and stepmother showed up out of the blue only hours after the c-section. While I was trying to get to know this new person, they were there with gifts, asking to hold the baby and acting as if nothing had ever happened between us. I was far too tired and sore to start a fight, and so I let them get their fill of the baby. I was glad when they left an hour later. I hoped that would be the end of my dealings with them.

However, they appeared again the next day, and again the following day. Each visit was accompanied by more baby gifts that we really didn’t need. I tried to stay polite, but I admit I was baffled by their actions. Weren’t we not speaking? Wasn’t it working well for all parties involved?

A year and a half later, we’re still speaking with them. We generally see my father once or twice a month, where we discuss safe topics like Cordy’s growth and her favorite toys. I bite my lip and endure constant comments about how much she looks and acts like my father did as a child. (Um, I look like him, so therefore she looks like ME!) I also nod my head and smile when he gives us bad parenting advice, never planning to actually use said advice.

I also continue to find new and interesting excuses why we don’t need their help as babysitters. The truth is, I don’t trust my father alone around Cordelia. Many years ago, I was “kidnapped” by my father when my mom told him she wanted a divorce. It lasted a short time, and ended when she promised him anything to get him to bring me back. Even though it’s irrational, I still have this fear that, if left alone with her, he will take Cordelia away from me to punish me and my mother. I could never risk losing her.

Why do I keep putting myself through this hell? Why do I not just tell him once and for all to fuck off and be done with it? I don’t know. I guess I’m just the better person. While I have not and will probably never forgive him for past transgressions (this post really is only a small sampling of the stories I could tell), I feel like he does have some right to know his grandchild, and she should know him too. There’s little to no chance I’ll ever trust him fully, but if I don’t at least give him some chance then I’m no better than him.

Besides, while it’s stressful to deal with this, it would be even more of a pain to deal with the alternative. He knows where we live, he knows our phone number. If I did tell him off, I would live always wondering when he was going to call or show up next to make our lives miserable. Better to just meet him halfway so that everybody can sleep well at night.

The little gem I referenced in an earlier post is a small booklet I picked up at Colonial Williamsburg. I found it in one small shop, partially hidden behind a stack of children’s toys: a pamphlet titled The School of Manners OR RULES for Childrens Behavior.

It is a historical reproduction of an authentic text from the period. After only a short time of flipping through the pages, I knew I couldn’t pass up this chance.

And so for you, my readers, over the next month I would like to present you with some of the writings from this 1701 publication. You will then be able to tell your children just how good they really have it today.

Also, there is a forward that addresses the parents of these children, but I will save that for the very end, after you see the rules put forth by this author. Today we’ll start with the basic rules for life and then rules for church. They’re short and to the point – later entries will be a little more lengthy and wordy. There is even a chapter devoted to rules for boys in particular.

(Spelling and punctuation have been left as written. Except for those silly f’s that are meant to be s’s.)

Chapter I. Short and mixt Precepts.

1. FEAR GOD.
2. Honour the KING.
3. Reverence thy Parents.
4. Submit to thy Superiors.
5. Despise not thy inferiors.
6. Be courtious with thy Equals.
7. Pray daily and devoutly.
8. Converse with the Good.
9. Imitate not the wicked.
10. Hearken to Instruction.
11. Be desirous of Learning.
12. Love the School.
13. Be always cleanly.
14. Study Vertue.
15. Provoke no Body.
16. Love thy Schoolfellows.
17. Please thy Master.
18. Let not play entice thee.
19. Restrain thy Tongue.
20. Cover future Honour, which only Vertue and Wisdom can procure.

Chapter II. Of Behaviour at the Church.

1. Decently walk to thy Seat or Pew; run not, nor go wantonly.
2. Sit where thou art ordered by thy Superiors, Parents, or Masters.
3. Shift not Seats, but continue in the same place.
4. Lend thy place for the easing of any one that stands near thee.
5. Keep not too long a Seat lent thee by another, but being eased restore it.
6. Talk not in the Church, especially in the time of Prayers of Preaching.
7. Fix thine eye upon the Minister. Let it not wildly wander to gaze upon any Person or Thing.
8. Attend diligently to the Words of the Minister; pray with him when he prayeth, at least in thy Heart; and while he preacheth, listen, that thou mayest remember.
9. Be not hasty to run out of the Church when the Worship is ended, as if thou wert weary of being there.
10. Walk decently and soberly home, without hast or wantonness.

Sigh.

Yesterday at this time I was walking along the beach in Virginia, soaking up the warm sunshine, feeling the cool breeze wrap around me, and dipping my feet in the fucking cold chipper Atlantic ocean without a care in my head.

Today? Not 24 hours later, I’m back in Ohio, sitting in my windowless office on a cold and rainy day, staring at my computer as I return e-mails and phone calls from students, attempting to stay awake with only one small can of Diet Coke.

Aaron’s stage combat workshop finished at 6pm last night, which is when we started on the drive for home. We knew it was going to be a long drive, although we didn’t plan on the periods of heavy rain that we had to pass through in the mountains. Nothing like flying down a 7% grade on the side of a mountain in the pouring rain to scare the hell out of you and keep you awake.

(Oh, and I would like to thank Coca-Cola, the makers of Vault. This blessed drink is a large part of the reason we made it home without stopping to nap.)

Luckily the drive was uneventful. Thanks to my good eyesight, even the opossum we encountered in Road Kill Alley lived to see another night. We pulled into the driveway at 3:30am, and we were both asleep by 3:40am.

It really hit me this morning just how much I missed Cordelia. When I woke up, my first desire was to race downstairs to see her. I quickly got dressed and walked down the stairs. Cordy’s back was to the stairs, so I quietly crept up to her to surprise her. As I got close, she turned to look at me, showed me the crayon in her hand with a half-smile, and then turned back to her coloring book. “I think the cats missed you more than she did,” my mom said in response. (She may be right – the cats were practically climbing up us when we walked in the door last night.)

While I’m a little sad that Cordy seemed to show little interest in seeing her mother, who was away from her for several days, I am glad to be back home. I spent an hour this morning sharing my breakfast with her and just sitting quietly beside her while she colored.

I wanted to share a few more pics of the trip. These are from yesterday – I spent more time at the beach, and also visited the Virginia Aquarium. While the aquarium was largely disappointing, there were a few good exhibits, including sharks and giant sea turtles.

The highlight of my day was petting a sting ray. I had no idea that they’re just slimy puppy dogs – the rays in the tank enjoyed being stroked and touched by all of the eager hands.

(Ah hell, I just realized how awful I look in that pic. Self-portraits are never flattering, are they?)

We’re still in Virginia Beach, wrapping up our whirlwind weekend escape. Once Aaron finishes the stage combat workshop at 6pm tonight, we begin the drive home. The nine hour drive home. Starting at 6pm. Not to mention we both have to work tomorrow. Yes, we’re crazy.

It’s been a nice weekend, though. Friday I decided I wanted to see the Atlantic up close. So I drove out to Cape Henry, which is listed in the guidebooks as the place where the first settlers landed in 1607.

What I didn’t realize is that Cape Henry is positioned in the middle of an active military base. That meant I was required to go through a full military inspection before I could pass through the gates. All doors of the car opened, hood and trunk up, and I had to step away from the car. After the 10 minute inspection, I accepted my pass and continued on.

Cape Henry was beautiful, and I found several shells to take home with me. It felt so nice to walk in the warm sand. (I live in a land-locked area, so a beach is a novelty for me!) As soon as I got to the beach, my sandals were off and I happily scrunched up my toes to feel the sand beneath them.

The weather was in the low 70’s and breezy, but the water was, well, COLD! Wanting to walk in the water for the experience, I can say I was unprepared for the cold shock I received when the water hit my feet. It was so frigid, I felt an electric shock run up my legs into my back. And yet I continued to hang out on the edge of the water for another 30 minutes.

Yesterday I ventured out to Colonial Williamsburg. I am a total history buff (it’s what my degree is in), so I jumped at the chance to see it.

Again, the weather was beautiful. The historical area of Williamsburg was not quite what I expected. For one thing, it’s large. About a mile across by half a mile wide, to be precise. Good thing I decided to wear comfortable shoes, because by the end of the day my feet were killing me.

It’s hard to describe all I saw there, so I’m just going to let the pictures do the talking for me.

Before I left, I bought Cordy a colonial doll and a drum. The shopkeeper looked at me like I was mad for willingly buying my child a drum. I may regret the choice, but as a former drummer, I had to get it for her.

I also purchased another small gem that I will share with all of you over the next week or so. Here’s a hint: our children have it so much easier these days when it comes to rules.

Hi Everyone! Please welcome Divine Calm as my guest blogger for the April Blog Exchange. You can find me at her site today!
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Certain memories trigger uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. They usually involve my standing on the precipice of the past, ready to dive into the future—all while praying I don’t land on my head. Like the time when I started eighth grade and decided to reinvent myself from nerd to outgoing social diva. I was so successful that I lost my virginity. Or during my freshman year in college, where I was away from home for the first time and flirted with the local college boys. That year, boys triumphed over classes. Like so many freshman girls, I forgot why I was there or who I was. The boys’ point of view validated or belittled my worth.

The last time I tried to transform myself occurred when I started my first job after college. Wearing new suits bought on clearance, I so badly wanted to appear polished and confident. I wasn’t. Frequently, my face reddened when I met important people like my former college’s president or when my boss corrected my grammar in front of others. Runs in panty hose plagued me, and I discovered bullies shut up when I verbally slammed them back. In order to survive, I learned that I had to first look for the bad in people instead of discovering the good.

It’s been over five years since I began my first grown-up job, and soon I will lunge into a new life. Am I nervous? Not really. For some reason—perhaps maturity or boredom—I yearn for the upcoming plunge where everything—city, career, and friends—is new but me. This time, I won’t transform myself. I will simply allow myself to be who I always was, only hidden. I will be goofy, loving, honest, disorganized, and open. I will call myself artist, writer, photographer, thinker, marketer, and lover. Even better, people will call me these things too. I will no longer meld into the ego prop for insecure people just to be kicked out from beneath them later. My relationships and friends will be healthy.

By saying all of this, I reaffirm my own healthiness. What a freeing way to begin anew.

You can read more about Divine Calm and view her photography at her website, www.divinecalm.com.

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This post is part of a monthly blog exchange, held on the first of every month. We all write on a topic (this month is New Beginnings) and post on another person’s blog as a way to gain new readers and find new blogging friends. This month’s participants include: Christina, Kristen, TB, Chase, Mel, stacy, Julie, Laurie, Mabel, and Vicki. If you would like to participate, please email Kristen at kmei at yahoo dot com.