<polite yawn, thank you, Klonnie, next blogger, please>
Just because I *can* blog about something, doesn't mean I should. By the same token, just because I'm not blogging about the current issues doesn't mean I shouldn't blog at all. So instead I offer the following, another chapter in the ever-growing tome titled: My Book About Me.
|Today's blog post is brought to you today by Anger|
Hey, I'm fragile lately. Troubled moved back home last week and the clusterfuck, temporarily suspended, resumes. My soon-to-be-ex, never my ally when it came to raising our kids, showed his ultimate true colors by encouraging, financing and facilitating my daughter's relationship with her loser, drug-dealing boyfriend, throwing me under the bus and destroying our family in the process. Now she wants to come back home and once again, Mr. Fucking Useless Passive Adolescent Addict So-Called Parent refuses to set any kind of limits, citing his reasons to be that 1. I fucked her up with my anger issues and 2. I don't have a say because I left.
I tried to get Mr. K. to lay some ground rules for her being there -- for example, she has to be in school, there can't be any drugs in the house, and Juvie can't be here. Ever. At all. She was hostile, sullen, resentful, and mocking when we sat her down to lay this out for her. Of course Mr. Fucking Useless Passive Adolescent Addict So-Called Parent was apologetic and conciliatory. Five bucks says Juvie will be back in the house within ten days.
And guess who's going to be gone for two of the next three weeks on business, but "whatever you decide to do, you have my complete support"? Mr. Fucking Useless Passive Adolescent Addict So-Called Parent, who has never done one thing to support me in running this family except stand aside and mock me and judge me.
<whereupon Klonnie bursts into yet another round of ridiculous and useless tears and runs away>
This dynamic permeates all of our family relationships. Mr. K. wrings his hands over The Gamer -- "He plays video games all day. I'm so worried about him. I offered him some alternatives. I tried to make him stop but he won't." Of course he won't, he knows you are Mr. Fucking Useless Passive Adolescent Addict So-Called Parent. Step aside, let me show you how it's done. I go in to The Gamer's room and start dealing out instructions and consequences and not backing down and of course everyone is horrified. I am a mean bitch. Really? Really? That's fine with me because (stop the presses) mean bitches GET SHIT DONE.
From making sure *his car* gets smogged because the registration is due next week, while he leaves important papers for me to find days after action was required, to flicking the switch in the circuit breaker that turns off video games in The Gamer's bedroom, while he looks for the charger to his iPad, I GET SHIT DONE. From holding the line on spending so that PreMed's tuition gets paid, while he plans a trip to Portugal, to calling Social Services and counselors and everywhere else I can think of to deal with the trainwreck that our household has become, while he has "just a quick nap," I GET SHIT DONE.
From kicking ass to taking names, I GET SHIT DONE.
While Mr. Fucking Useless Passive Adolescent Addict So-Called Parent sits in sullen silence, like the teenage children I am trying to raise. Watching, judging, and blaming.
But I'm sugar-coating it. Some day I'll tell you how I really feel.