Contribution is not always financial

Moving day. April 26, 1999. The house was finally finished.  We were going to move out of the apartment and in to our new home.  I begged my parents to leave Florida on their way to Michigan for the summer and help with the move.  I just could not imagine one more move with Min butting in and putting her two cents down every time she opened a box.

I like nice things.  I also like to keep them nice.  I am organized and I like things to be in their place, so if I bought some thing that I may not use often in the kitchen, I'd leave it in the box.  That way I knew it was protected and it is easier to store in the box. For example, I have a white turkey platter that I used to use for serving turkey on Thanksgiving day.  It is porcelain so it could chip easily if the edge were knocked into.  I used it once a year.  The platter had a well to collect the juices so storing something on top of it may chip it or crack it.  I left it in the box. I had had this platter in the box for at least ten years.  I had pampered chef items that I used but not all the time that were easier to store in the box, than trying to nest them and their lids. 

When we moved to Naperville, Min said she thought it was just ridiculous that I kept stuff in the boxes.  "You need to stop acting like you've got a store of new merchandise and get rid of these boxes. Use your stuff!"

I did use my stuff and I put it back in a box! She was in charge of putting certain things in the laundry room that had a whole wall of cupboards for storage.  I had labeled the boxes with exactly what was inside so I knew where I wanted them to be placed and emptied.  I put  her in the laundry room with specific instructions about where I wanted things and how I wanted them.

She took it upon herself to open up every box, remove the item and put it on the shelf and then destroying the box beyond repair. "Now, doesn't that look better!" 

I asked her where the boxes were and she said she'd torn them up and threw them out. "Tore them up?"

"Yes, I didn't want you to go retrieve them and pack all your fancy stuff back up, this looks so much better."

I could have committed a crime right there, but I didn't.  She then did the bathrooms.  I told her where I wanted the towels and I liked them folded and in the closet a certain way. I had to hear about how fancy my J C Penney towels were and how I always had towels that I never used.  Min called them my "party towels."  I would have towels in the bathrooms for decorative purposes instead of wet towels thrown haphazardly, those towels went on hooks and the towel bars had towels that were perhaps tied with ribbon for again, decoration.  She decided those towels needed to be washed.  They had decorative trim on them that I had sewn and washing was not an option.

I would put them in the dryer to fluff them and remove dust, but Min put them in the washer and ruined them.  She knew what she was doing, she was just being Min. So with this move, I did not want her around and for once, I wanted Chappy there to just see how much work was involved in moving. He never lifted a finger when we moved.  I did it all.

My parents came.  My Mom didn't want to as she didn't want to hurt herself, but I stuck her at the front door with a road map and as the boxes came in, depending on what I had marked on them, she was to direct the movers where to place the boxes from the basement to the attic.

Dad helped me by unloading tools and putting them in the basement. Chappy, he disappeared, had to run an errand and was gone for over three hours.  He returned with pizza and I was not happy.  Mom asked me where he had disappeared to and I had no idea.  She told me he left in the car and what time.

She was not happy that she was helping us move and he was screwing off, but unlike Min, she never said a word to him, she mentioned it to me several times and I never said a word to him that she had brought it to my attention.

Chappy was supposed to be setting up beds so that we could all sleep there that night.  Apparently he didn't realize the beds were in the house we were moving into! When he did finally show up, I acted as though I had no idea that he has stepped out for three hours.

"Where did you go?"

"I thought I'd get us lunch so I went and got pizza."

"Did you have to pick the tomatoes to make the sauce? Cause you've been gone for three hours and I need for you to be here to help."

"I had to stop by the office."

"I ask you for one day. One day to help move us into this house and you had to go to the office? We've moved three times in five years, twice in the last eight months and you are never a part of it.  Just once could you forget about the office and spend a day getting us settled in?"

"Some one has to pay the mortgage."

Oh he did not say that! If that was not Min moving those lips, I do not know who it could have been.

When we were living in the apartments, Min and John Boy came down.  I had quit my job not once for Chappy, but twice and both very lucrative paying positions. I was only in Illinois for five months of which most of that time I was unpacking, repacking and looking for a new home. Finding employment was not a priority and Chappy and I had agreed it was not necessary.

I was now in Georgia, managing the construction of our home, every thing packed in storage, working a job that required me to be on site before the rooster crowed, not even a job that paid any thing significant, I think I earned $70 for those two days before taxes, but I needed to get out of that apartment. I had a a job that I didn't need to work and Min sat there as we played cards one day and said, "You need to find a job."

"I have a job, its managing the construction of this house, racking magazines and soon, unpacking and  getting us settled again."

"No, you need to find some thing besides that Micky Mouse job you have, some one has to help pay the bills. That is one fine house there my Chappy is building you and you need to contribute your share to the bills."

Chappy just sat there and didn't say a word.  Was this message from him?  No, his goal was that I find a job that I could be happy and enjoy.  Where did this message come from? We never had money issues. We  never asked for money, where was this coming from.

"Min, I have a job, in fact I have several and my mother always told me when I lived under my own roof I could do what I damn well pleased. The last time I checked, I was under my own roof and you are a guest. I don't think this is any of your business."  I got up and stormed out of the room.  I did not want them to see me shed a tear and I was headed that way.  Chappy didn't say a thing, not one word to his mother.

Instead he came into the bedroom to see if  I was OK and asked me to come back out and finish the card game.  I didn't care whether they heard me or  not, I was so tired of her bullshit that I told him loud enough so they could hear, "I am done playing cards.  I am done with your mother telling me how I should run my life.  Why don't you go out there and tell them the truth, Chappy! YOU are fine with me not working because YOU wanted to give this opportunity to me.  Why don't you tell them that you want to do this because you are competing with Killer and Killer couldn't give me this opportunity. Why don't you go tell them what you've told me.  Are you afraid of your mother? Because I am  not! I'll tell them!"

I wasn't screaming, but in a one bedroom apartment a whisper can be heard.  John Boy tapped on the bedroom door, "We are going to leave.  We'll call you tomorrow."

Chappy was torn between standing there discussing this issue with me or going to soothe his mother's wounded heart.  He chose to go to her. Bad choice.  I heard her in the living room, "Well, she is just so ungrateful, all we've done for her and this is how she treats us? We don't have to stay here and be treated like second class citizens. I know when I am not wanted so your Dad and I are going to leave.  We'll call you tomorrow, maybe we can have lunch before we head back home."

They left, hushed voices at the door were heard. I knew what they were saying, "She's lost her frigging mind. Good luck with that one, she's a pistol"

He came back into the bedroom.  The look on his face was one of fury.  He was upset with me over saying what I said loud enough that they could hear and I was upset with him because once more, he played that passive aggressive roll of not wanting to get involved in some thing that he was knee deep in.

I didn't think I asked for much.  I wanted a husband that stood up for me no matter whether it was his sister gnawing on my ankle over her husband who had touched me inappropriately or his mother who chewed on my ear about a topic that we had discussed and agreed upon.  Why couldn't he stand up to her and say, "this isn't your business."  He just sat there and silently watched me fight our battles with his mother.  If he would have said, "this was my idea and she and I have agreed she doesn't need to work right now," I think he feared the table would turn and disappointment would be thrown in his direction. He did not want to disappoint his mom so he always sided with her, even when he didn't agree with her side.

So as he stood there before me that day we moved into our new home and said he'd gone to the office and picked up pizza because some one had to pay the mortgage, I knew he'd gotten a little too big for his pants and some thing was going to have to give.