Monday, October 1, 2012
The Saga Continues…
I received an email from the Squeeze this morning.
“I just got a call from the Harridan. She is going to the beach and the kid does not want to go; wants to stay at our place and then will bus it home tomorrow. Any thoughts on that?”
Hmmmm I guess me replying to say: “frankly, I’d rather stick my head in a bucket of scorpions” wouldn't go down very well, even if it is somewhat accurate.
I had no doubt that the witch would be coming at us again this week to have him, but I kind of figured I’d get at least one day in before having to deal with it. After all, yesterday, Friday and earlier last week he had told her that Sunday and Monday night was out.
What that means is that things are going to be continually difficult if the same question is going to be asked four times, because that means four arguments between us - over the same issue. For all intents and purposes, it is the only real issue we have between us.
The worst part is that I’m seriously wondering how I’m supposed to deal with this...
When we moved in together, he had spent the previous year buggering off to watch the kid play sport on a Saturday and then bringing him home for the night on alternate Saturday’s prior to taking him back the next evening. And let’s face it, he’s fifteen; I kind of figured that even that single night would be on a downward spiral as he acquired friends and wanted to go do kid stuff.
But no; three schools in as many years has not seen an improvement on the ‘lack of friends front’ and so instead of days diminishing, it is up to a standard Friday and Saturday night with all these nights thrown in between. I veto many of them through the week because there just isn’t the room for three people to get ready in the morning, let alone the pick-up/drop off/get ready drama that causes my stress levels to hit the roof.
So of course, I’m the monster… Why shouldn't the kid be here as often as he likes? Hell, why not just move him in?? And the Squeeze, in typical “ugly parent” fashion looks through rose coloured glasses and can see no wrong. When I mentioned the filthy marks on the wall, he almost put his hands over his ears and cried “la la la” so he didn't have to hear it – then stated: “he didn't do it”.
WTF!? Of course he did it! And both of them sat there and watched while I fricking cleaned it!!!
And this is the root of all of our problems. The Squeeze can quite happily live in a pigsty. The kid is lazy and bought up in horrendous “clean freak hell” standards. You don’t press loo buttons or wash your hands; you slam the fridge; you leave greasy finger marks on the wall; slop food/drink on the carpet; once instructed to have a shower, you get out and throw the wet towel on the bedroom carpet… I shudder to imagine what the Harridan’s place looks like – I can see it would replicate the photos depicted here – as clean freak hell.
And for the life of me, I can’t see why anyone lives like that.
The Squeeze is lazy. It’s tiring enough just picking up after him. Why would he think I want to double that repeatedly…? What I’m wondering is why it is my world that must change, why is it that I’m the one that must adapt? Because when I follow on from that question, I have to wonder just what the hell I am getting out of this relationship..?
At the end of the day, it is not my kid, it is his. He needs to accept ownership and responsibility; and adopt a little bit of consideration. I shouldn't be one doing the clean-up; nor should I be having the same argument time and time again regarding an issue that was laid out in black and white, prior to him moving in. (And don’t think I won’t get that email!) Chief amongst those demands was “organisation re the kid – no on the fly stuff” – which has been completely ignored. I’m to rearrange my life and my way of thinking to accommodate – and there is nothing coming back at me in return.
I stormed around in a power walk at lunch time and figured that this really isn't
working. I’m obviously to have no opinion with our relationship or lives. If kids want to come and go, leave a mess and be pigs – then I’m supposed to just suck it up. And I can’t.
So from three fantastic weeks in Greece we reach this place.
I came back from lunch to this email:
Having you determine when i can and can't have my son over doesn't work for me, so I'll be moving out. i told jhim to come down to night so we'll get a hotel somewhere. [cut and paste including poor spelling!]
Then my reply:
Yes. Having your kid fostered off on to me with no prior organisation and no care for keeping my house clean - doesn't work for me and I came to the same conclusion while walking at lunch time. I'm sick to death of stressing about it - and sick to death of cleaning up after everyone.
Posted by Mistress at 9:07 PM