Deep Impact

It feels as though I am repeatedly being called upon to explain what “impact” having the kid has on me.

This proves to be most difficult given that most of my grievances are around hygiene, or lack thereof.  How do I explain that where I come from, people are clean; in fact some of us possess serial killer neatness!  No one smells; we wash our hair, our clothes, our hands! 

I didn’t have to tell my kids to have a shower or wash their hair; they just knew and understood it was a requirement.  And let’s cut to the chase here; if I had to tell them to clean up their act, I simply told them.  I’m not afforded this luxury in this environment where the Squeeze sees his kid as miraculous!  Amazing!  And he can do no wrong…  

Although mummy and daddy adopt the ‘velvet wearing’ parenting process of “they must always feel good about themselves… look how perfect they are….” The realities of life seem to get in the way.  I mean hell, idiots… Wake up!  Your kid is not perfect.  Nor are any of mine.  They are kids, accept it.  Sheesh.  I don’t need a musician!  All I need is for them to be happy.  And let’s be honest, I have shaken my head on many occasion wondering how anyone can feel good about themselves when they have greasy hair speckled with dandruff and their clothes reek.

This is the crux of the problem between the Squeeze and I; will forever be the major issue and one I begrudge more and more as time goes on.  I get zero support from him; have no power and no say over the kid.  What I consider right doesn’t count.  What I consider ‘ugly’ isn’t my problem or place to comment.

Right… So some kid is coming and going from my lovely clean home – and I’m to have no power over this.  I can’t say “hey kid, you’re fifteen for crying out loud; pack some damned clean clothes to bring!”  The one time I did have this discussion, I was given a heap of fifteen year old “I am smarter than you” drivel that encompassed an argument around my clean clothes requirement being my reality, not his. 

A discussion with the Squeeze after the fact consisted of an inadequate “he handled himself well.”  Ummm no.  He didn’t handle himself well.  He was rude, obnoxious and above all – wrong.  And if being rude to me is considered “handling himself well”; how am I to ever deal with it?

Last night I broached the subject of his reorganised weekends (at her request); which was obviously above his negotiation skills because not only did he ensure that we extended kid time last weekend – he had now given over a night from our next weekend. 

To be frank, this does not suit me.

What I got was another argument on impact and its lack thereof, on me.  His dispute is that we are now getting Saturday, Sunday, Monday night free.  Ummm no.  Sunday and Monday nights are already free – just because I have the day off doesn’t necessarily mean it’s up for grabs by the kid pushers.  It is free.  It is mine.

In the end, I realised that I shouldn’t have to justify myself.  The reality is that I do not want a kid there every weekend and that is enough justification.

What impact is there on me when the kid is there..?  Well considering I’m a lone little figure facing off a damned tsunami – I’d say it is has a ‘deep impact’.