"Well, I think we definitely need to have two ponies."  Catherine declares, with a serious tone.  As though one pony would be a crime against humanity.  Can you even imagine the trauma brought upon a child with only one pony!?

            The nonsense I am being surrounded by at the moment is being spouted off from my overzealous mother in law, and her hired party planner.  Yes, a party planner.  Because the preparations I had been making for my own child's birthday were unacceptable, and "common" I was told, and I was very obviously unequipped to handle such an auspicious occasion as my daughter's sixth birthday.  So, because of my lacking skills, I am finding myself sitting here now, in the office of the most expensive, and therefore best Catherine insists, event organizer in all the land.  Well, at least within reasonable driving distance.  Bernard Shaw is an animated fellow, amusingly swishy, and so very confident in his promise of giving our little Abigail, the most memorable party a six year old has ever had!   

            "Absolutely!" he frowns, agreeing that a one pony shindig, is a shindig not worth throwing, "These are not the dark ages here!" 

            He has a cute little lisp, that causes me to want to say "Awwww!" every time he says the letter "S", but that cuteness is offset by the enormous stick lodged directly up his ass.  I believe the stick is from the same manufacturer of the one created and positioned securely up Catherine's.  Bernard's the picture of Party Planning Perfection, his shoes perfectly shiny, his pants with a razor sharp crease, a lightweight, pale green, argyle sweater, and a matching fedora tops the look.  Where does one go to find a mint green, argyle fedora, I wonder? 

            It is apparent to Bernard, that I do not belong here.  He is merely tolerating my presence as the mother of the child in question.  My jeans, complete with holes, although I doubt the trendy kind, since he keeps giving them disapproving glances, and my ancient, black, t-shirt, stolen from Derek's side of the closet, while comfortable, does not fit in the with decor surrounding me.  There are photos of previously thrown parties all nestled in beautiful platinum frames, shiny to ridiculous specifications.  Nary a finger print to be found.  I glance to my left and see the evidence of a bat mitzvah of epic size, beside it a picture of an engagement party showing a woman who seems to be a lot more interested in showing off her ginormous ring than she does in the sullen looking groom standing a few feet away from her.  At least the party looked neat!  I see the tables are all complete with individual shrimp cocktails!  Yum.

            On the desk table in front of me is another frame, and looking back at me from the picture is a blond girl, at her sweet sixteen that had been aptly thrown by Bernard here.  The girl, complete with tiara, has a bitchiness far beyond her years that radiates off photo.  Surrounded by her teenager friends, all gathered onto and around a beautiful red convertible, Mercedes, that I would wager big costs more than my house.  What scares me most about this picture is that it is being used as a possible inspiration for Abby's little get together.  I should correct myself.  When I say little get together, that is me referring to the party I had planned with ten of her little friends.  There would be cake, a couple of fun games, presents of course and other general tot merriments.  When Catherine found out my plans, the look she gave me, you would have thought I had pooped on her paté.  As far as milestone birthdays, I never would have thought six to be a big one.  Apparently I am wrong.  With a newfound fervor, she has taken it upon herself this week to plan the party to end all parties to be thrown this Saturday. 

            I was initially against all the potential hoopla, and was not afraid to share that with Derek.  I was shocked, shocked I tell you when he agreed out right, no prodding or arguing needed, and he just flat out said no.  What was weird is that instead of her usual bullying techniques, quilting us by saying we are depriving our child, saying how we should be thrilled at her offer to pay for the festivities, and so forth, this time, she just got very quiet and dropped it.  Later in the day, after the kids had gone to sleep, Derek had heard a noise coming from the guest room (by guest room I mean Derek's office with the pull out couch), and when he went in to investigate where he found her crying.  I was unaware the woman had tear ducts.  She claimed that all she wanted to do was be a part of her grand children's lives, and that she knows she gets a little carried away, but she means well.  We talked it over and decided to let her have this one, and her frowned turned right upside down.  It was then, as she bounded around grabbing cell phones and phone books, and began making lists of people to contact and similar business. 

            It was then Derek and I caught each other's gazes and realized we had been OH so played.  She had gotten the hint of our united front and was playing a different kind of offense.  Sneaky bitch.

            By then it was too late, and we were hooked. 

            That night, as she surveyed our house and back yard, debating whether we possessed enough room for the grand show, Derek and I each decided that a glass of wine was not only earned, it was mandatory, and as soon as they were poured, we saw her making her way back towards the back door.  What came over us I am not sure, but Derek grabbed his glass in one hand, and my arm in the other and ran upstairs with me bouncing behind him, my own glass in hand.  Glad it was white wine, we may have spilled a drop or two...  As we hit our bedroom, we at first headed toward our favorite new hiding spot in the bathroom, but after remembering the way we got busted the last time, he and I for darted into the closet. 

            We sat in there, giggling like two high school kids, about to be busted for making out or smoking or something, drinking our wine and venting about the Beast.  Sharing our tales from the days gone by of all the little traps she has set, and the bombs that have gone off.  He shared with me a story of when he was about nine, and had wanted to get a dog.  He wanted to go to this shelter that his friend's dad ran and adopt a dog from there.  So Derek, Catherine, and even his father Richard, piled into their fancy car and set off to the shelter.  Once there, Derek, being a precious little child, zipped off to the dogs, falling at once in love with a little mixed breed guy, that he likens to a "Benji" type dog, and pleaded with his folks to let the wiry little guy come home, and the noises that erupted from Catherine we so hideous that they managed to scare all the barking pound dogs into complete silence!  "Oh he looks sooooo mangy dear!"  She had cried, "What will our friends think when they see this, this, thing at our home?!”

            So from there, they headed away from Derek's beloved little could-have-been dog, who he had in his head already named "Scout" and they headed off to a fancy pet store that sold only the purest of breeds.  Instead of a sweet, rescued, very reasonably priced pet, Catherine ended up purchasing a bichon frise, named LuLu, that had a most pleasant disposition towards the whole family.  He took time to point out that that the dog, once again named, LuLu was in fact a boy dog.  I surmised that perhaps this was the source of the poor dogs rage.

            This is clearly a source of childhood trauma for Derek as he has never since wanted another dog.  I notice that by the way he tells the story, it isn't that he doesn't WANT another dog, it is that he is all scarred and afraid it will go wrong again. So sad!

            We were just really getting started on his closeted therapy session when we hear the familiar, and terrifying steps of Catherine as she made her way upstairs.  We started giggling again, this time, cupping our hands over each other's mouths to muffle the jolly noises.  She wandered through the bedroom, we even heard her open the bathroom door to check inside, but someone in the sky must have loved us for she waltzed right on by the closet, with not so much as a hesitation. 

            We were thrilled by our besting our mutual foe, and once she was gone, we decided to hang out a while longer.  The giggles were coming so easily, it was so nice to be so comfortable with him again.  We sat and talked, about his job, about the drama of the soccer mom, about our kids, about how it wasn't nearly as fun before they got here, and yet, a day off wouldn't suck, and we drank the rest of our wine.

            We heard Catherine's footsteps as she finally relented her search and she headed off to her room for the night.  Feeling that we were finally free, I stood up, ready to head back out into the world beyond the closet, but before I even made it to my feet, Derek pulled me back to the floor with him.  It could have been the wine, but I think it was just the way we had become sort of reacquainted as of late, but we found me falling back onto his lap hilarious.  The laughter turned into a chuckle, the chuckle turned into a kiss, and that kiss turned into us having crazy, hot sex on the floor, of our walk in closet. 

            After doing numerous calculations in my head, I have come to the realization that our little wardrobe romp was the first time in nearly three years that Derek and I have gotten frisky somewhere other than the bed.  What I can't figure out is how that happened?  When did we get so boring?!  I am not sure what took us so long to shake things up a little bit, but let me be clear when I say that it was um, what's the word...  Oh, yeah.  AWESOME.  Not only was it fun and different, but it was just damn good too.  It has been a long time since I have seen Derek break out those kinds of moves.  Combine that with him actually seeing his mother for the vicious succubus that I have grown to know and loathe, and vowing to be in it together, and add in the fact that he just genuinely seems so different, and it all equals a lovely husband of my very own.  If anything, the last few days have given this house a hearty shot of optimism.  Much needed, and much appreciated optimism.

            Things have just been going so well for us the last few says, I should have known that something was looming in the dark ready to pounce.  That something came yesterday, when I was racing through the house trying to gather laundry while the kids were preparing to go shopping with Catherine.  Just as I was thrusting a rather large handful of toddler sized underwear into the washer, my cell phone rang.  I stepped out in to the kitchen to answer it and saw Catherine hovering nearby, to see who was ringing in.  I answer, without of course looking as my gaze was focused with glaring eyes onto the Hover Wench, and when my "Hello?" was returned by Patrick's voice, I felt my kidney's fall out of my ass.  My face was conveying my horror, and Catherine decided that she needed to sort through paper work while standing next to me at the kitchen table. 

            "Um, yeah, hi!" his voice was soft, "It's me."

            "Oh, hi!" I trilled, with way too much enthusiasm, trying to cover my panicky voice, "How are yoooooooou!"

            "What's wrong with your voice?"  He asked.

            "Oh that's greeeeeeaaaaaaat!"  I squealed as I tried to suavely trot upstairs with an empty laundry basket, hoping to convey the pretense of continued laundry gathering, and   kept saying the most random of things.  "Oh yeah?  Really!  That is just fantastic!"

            "Ellie, what is going on?"  His voice was getting frustrated.

            I ran into my bedroom, and locked myself in the bathroom, before hissing into the phone, "What are you doing calling me?"

            "What the hell is going, on, why are you talking like that?"

            "My freaking mother in law is here, that's why!" I was frantically pacing in front of the sinks, "She hates me, and I really don't want to give her the incredible arsenal of marriage destroying ammo that is you!"  I stopped my walking and leaned into the sink countertop.  "Seriously, why are you calling me, Patrick?"

            "I miss you, Ellie."

            Oh for God's sake. 

            The last few days of soccer camp have been dreadful.  It started with Natalie coming back to give us final arrangements for the banquet, which takes place the week after Abby's birthday.  There was a festive moment of horror when I remembered that I was supposed to attend the hideous event.  I quickly began trying to talk my way out of the whole thing, trying to use every excuse I could think of, like "Yeah, I am having surgery that day." or "Um, that is actually a religious holiday for me, I need to stay home and worship, please respect my traditions." and when I was met with blank stares, I finally broke down and just said, "I don't want to, and you can't make me."  Smooth.

            "Ellie, you already RSVP'd," Natalie smirked, "The caterers charge by the plate, and there was a plaque with your name made.  I don't know why, but whatever."  Hmph.  "The point is that a lot of money has been spent, and it would be awfully rude of you not to show up."  Then with a final glare, "I know you are probably just nervous about what to wear, but I am sure you will find a way to look presentable.  Dust off an old bridesmaid dress or something." 

            With that, she turned on her heel and bounced over to flirt with Patrick.  I wonder what her Fortune 500 husband would think of that?  Patrick was eating it up, giving a little half smile every time she lightly touched his arm, and he was making awful sure that I was watching.  When I would turn my head back to my magazine, he would laugh a little louder, always looking directly at me afterwards to gauge my reaction.  I want to say that I was above all that, and that it just made him seem really pathetic, which it really did, but the truth is that it was driving me insane.  Of all the women he chooses to flirt with in front of me, it has to be her.  Not only that, but he moves right on to another married gal.  You know what, let them ride off into the sunset together, they are each other's problem now.

            It should also be noted that at some point in the next few days, I really am going to have to find something to wear to this thing.  I don't want to go, I couldn't want to go to anything less, but it occurred to me that it is being thrown by my children's school system, of which my family is actively involved.  I really don't want to get off on yet another wrong foot, for yet another year.  Just once I would like to make a good showing.  Plus, the idea of being able to get all Cinderella’s up for the night seems somewhat appealing.  It gets less so when I realized who I will be dolled up around.  I tried to beg out an extra ticket for Derek, but was rebuffed due to costs and what I think is just general feelings of making me look like a complete ass.    Nevertheless, I have resolved to not only show up, but to show up looking quite pretty, and to try and for once get it through my head as well as the people that look down on me, that I belong here just as much as they do.  Well, at least my kids do.  I belong on a sofa somewhere in sweat pants eating Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey straight from the carton.

            There is a valid concern of seeing Patrick in a tuxedo.  That might be rough.

            "Yeah, you looked real torn up about everything, so I guess that Natalie was just consoling you?"  I sniped.

            "Oh come one, Ellie," he sighed, "She is flirting with me, I don't know if you have been paying attention, but I am looking at you, not her."

            "I don't care Patrick, I don't” I was getting angry, "We've talked about all this, you can do whatever you want."

            "Don't say you don't care," he snapped, "And don't act like you don't care, because I can see it, I can see that you do!"

            "Patrick, stop-"

            "No, I know things were messed up, but Ellie, I know you want be with me, just as much as I want to be with you."

            "Do you have any idea how conceited you sound?"  I was sounding rather snarky, "And you never wanted to be with me.  You just want what you can't have.  You were acting like some giant asshole the last time I saw you, all because you weren't getting what you wanted.  You were asking me to throw away my marriage so you could, what, have a couple weeks of fun?  What the hell!"

            "Hey, don't act like you know what I want, or what I am thinking!" he yelled into the phone, "You can think that all you want, but you're wrong!"

            "Oh so what, you want me to just walk away from my marriage, are you going to like whisk me away?  You going to really drop everything for a freshly divorced mother of two?  Is that what all the hot bachelors are looking for these days?"

            "Hey, I love Abby!" He started.

            "Shut up!"  I screamed into the phone, "You don't ever, I am serious, EVER talk about my child like that, do you hear me?  She has a father, a wonderful father, and you know what, it isn't you!"

            "Oh, some father!" he met my screams decibel for decibel, "How do you think it is going to feel to all of you when he leaves because that chick starts coming around again?"

            I wanted to raise holly hell, I wanted to fight and kick and scream, but what he said really knocked the wind out of me.  A punch to the stomach of reality, the what if's?  It's true, as of recently, Derek has been the picture of perfection, but what if it changes again?  What if Veigh somehow makes her way back into his life?  I don't think I could handle that.  Things have been going so well, but what if it is all an illusion, that he is just putting on until things smooth over, and then as soon as he gets the vibe that I have forgiven him, he slides back to where we were.  Him ignoring us on the couch, him bitching about having to interact with the kids if I need a moment off, him siding with his evil, bitch of a mother every time she makes a slam against me. 

            It hit me at that moment that ever since Derek had made the shift into Husband 2.0, I hadn't drifted off once.  Not once had I ventured into another world.  Things had been so good, that it hadn't even occurred to me to find a more exciting place to go. 

            I so badly don't want to lose that, but what if Patrick is right?  What if Veigh comes back and tempts him back?  What if someone else catches his eye?

            "Patrick, please stop." was all I could manage.  I was on the verge of tears, a deluge of frightening thoughts exploding in my head.  "Just stop."

            There was an ever-lasting moment of silence.  I had dropped, to the floor, sitting on my feet, having not found enough support from leaning on the sink, my own breathing was audible through the phone, and I tried very hard to control it so that it didn't have the frantic pace that I knew he could hear.  His breaths came steady and evenly, it was daunting that he seemed to be more in control than before, when I felt like I was unraveling.

            "I won't stop, Ellie."  His tone was soft, the same soft tone that he had the first night in his apartment, the one that buckled my knees, and “I won't because I can hear it in your voice.  I can hear that you want us."  I opened my mouth to object, but a pitiful squeak escaped instead.  "I want you, Ellie, that hasn't changed, and it won't."

            After a few more seconds of silence, and no response from me, he hung up.  I held the phone to my ear, listening to nothing for a few more minutes, just sitting on the floor.  It wasn't until I heard noises outside the bathroom door that I realized where I was and what was happening outside this painful conversation.  I knew the sounds of those footsteps, I knew that woman was right outside the door.

            I quickly scampered up off the floor, turning to the mirror, straightening my hair, splashing water on my face, trying to bring color back into it.  I finished smoothing myself over, and opened the door, and even though I knew she was right there, I still jumped when I saw her mere inches from me. 

            "God, Catherine!"  I yipped, "What the hell are you doing!"

            As much as I was trying to convey a calm demeanor, this woman was a pro.  She stared at me, inquisitively, and I was like Bambi standing before Ted Nugent.  Her eyes surveyed me, and I could see the moment she discovered that something was wrong.  Her face went from quizzical to sneering.  The shift caused my heart to start racing, my palms to start sweating.  The sneer turned into a smile.  Oh shit.  Ohshitohshitohshitohshit.

            "Sorry to intrude dear." her voice was silky and had a slightly threatening tone, "I just wanted to let you know the children and I were leaving to go shopping now."

            I unintentionally cleared my throat, "Sure, great."  I cleared again.  "Ahem.  Thanks for the heads up."

            We stood there for a split second, the air still around us, and her smile perfectly intact.

            "Well, I will just let you get back to your..."  The pause was a stab to the chest, "Laundry.  That's what you are doing, isn't it sweetie?  The laundry?"

            I nodded slowly, "Yeah, laundry.  I was just grabbing the laundry."  My voice was completely hollow, my eyes desperately focused onto hers.

            "Well, enjoy your afternoon off!"  She said cheerfully and turned in an instant, shuffling out of the room.

            There are no words for the onslaught of panic that took over my entire body.  I collapsed onto my bed and let out a hearty scream after I heard her rental car pull out of the driveway.  After I released some steam, I started taking inventory and came to the conclusion that sure, she knew something wasn't right, but there was no possible way that she could know what it is.  No chance.  Unless she was tapping my cell phone line, there was no chance that she would ever find out what had just happened on the phone.  For the next two hours, until Derek got home, I recited over and over in my mind that everything was going to be fine.  I would just have to be on my absolute best behavior until the end of her soul sucking visit, or until the sweet release of death.  Not sure which to root for, honestly.

            And this catches us up to me personal hell of sitting here with Bernard and Catherine, discussing why two ponies is nothing but the norm, why her moon bouncer must be even larger, and why children most certainly will appreciate the joys that are crab cakes. 

            Things haven't been the same with Catherine since the opening of the bathroom door.  She has watched me more with a sense of determination.  Before, we felt the tides turning, Derek and I had seen her losing a bit of her edge with the power shifting ever so slightly in our favor, but now, when it is just the two of us, there is an air of suspicion, of her digging for something. 

            I am fighting tooth and nail to keep that little golden nugget buried. 

            See, this is why you should never hide things!  Because your evil mother in law will come into town and pull at every little thread she can pinch her claws onto until she finds the one that unravels your sweater of lies, leaving you exposed and topless in front of everyone.

            I am holding my ground, keeping my wits about me, in hopes that she will just write it all off as a fluke, a freak walk in on an awkward moment.  As long as my game face is forever on, she will have nothing else to throw at me.

            Oh sweet Jesus, this week can't end fast enough.

            "Oh, Ellie, we were discussing, and I think you will agree," Catherine informs, "That instead of that little "karaoke" thing you were talking about, a live band would be much more appropriate."

            "Oh, yes, Ellie," Bernard concurred, "A nice string band is all the rage at this year’s grade school bashes!  It's what all the hottest Hollywood mom's are doing for their little ones!"

            Oh, fuck me.