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Dating & Single Motherhood: Dealing With Crazy Family Members

Remember how I told you Uncle Carlo was awesome for watching JD for the past month once a week? I shall retract.

Last night Uncle Carlo went insane. Behold: I worked from home yesterday and knew Uncle Carlo was crashing at my place. The good mother and sister I am, I went to the store and spent 35 bucks on Porter House steaks, made a fresh Spring tricolor pasta salad and corn on the cob. I had everything prepared and all Uncle Carlo had to do was access the grill in the courtyard. He was definitely pleased with my meal (I even bought Peter Luger sauce) and JD was excited to be a little grill master with his Uncle.

We dined. It was delicious. I did all of the dishes. I played with my son. We did homework sheets. I bathed him. I cuddled on the couch with him and watched Mike the Knight. I read him a book and tucked him in. He was asleep within 10 minutes. I walked past Uncle Carlo and shut the bathroom door behind me, turning on the shower.

I dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, oversized tribal-print tee and ballet flats. I put on minimal makeup. When I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water, Carlo caught a look at my outfit and realized I wasn’t in pajamas. I didn’t tell him prior, that I was going out because this is what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. Maybe he had a bad day at work because he went crazy in a whisper, not to wake JD.

“Where the hell are you going? Who goes out on a Tuesday night? You’re a mother for Christ’s sake! Your child is sleeping in the next room! What is this guy’s name? What’s his name, Christine. I want his name. Where does he live? What does he do? Where did you meet him? I’m going to kill him. Did he meet my Godson? Did you bring him around the baby? Has he been here? Christine, what are you doing? I mean, you’re ridiculous,” he said with his arms crossed over his chest. Please picture him in a white ribbed tank top and pajama pants.

I felt 16. I felt like Carlo was my Dad. My father provided this speech when I was 16 (well and 15, 17, 18…)

I whisper yelled back: “You’re kidding right? This is a joke right?” And I gave him a face. You know the face.

“No, no, no joke,” he said. “You-wa ha-va a child!” He was being overly Italian and using hand gestures.

“Yes, I have a child. A beautiful child who is sound asleep in your care,” I said grabbing my bag and walking to the door.

I turned back and whispered (JD was sleeping and not in earshot of the next comment, as it’s my policy not to sh*t talk his dad ever in front of him) “That a*shole in Indiana is married! Why don’t you call him up and ask him what the hell he’s doing while I’ve been here ALONE for five years!” I wanted to slam the door behind me, but JD was sleeping, so I closed it gently—after whipping it forward all DRA-MATIC. I rode the elevator to the lobby, seeing RED. My date (date? guy? I dunno. This, fine, person of the opposite sex) wasn’t even there yet. I sat in an overstuffed chair, pouting with my knees pulled up to my chest. I heard the front door beep open.

My friend’s husband walked in and went to the wall of silver mailboxes. When he saw me he smiled curiously. “Heading out?”

My life is awesome.

Carlo and I made up. Our fights last approximately 7 minutes. Plus, summer is coming and he lives at the shore (a block from the beach, yeah). I must remain in good standing so we can freeload, ah.


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