Packed… With a Mother’s Love

We have all heard about the trip to France with the school band, right?

First we had the Squeeze putting his foot down firmly to say “I’ll pay a third – but Kid, you pay a third and save your spending money…”  That was about six point three seconds before he rolled over and sucked up the kid’s third – and spending money – because we all knew he was never going to get a job and save.

I have my doubts that she is paying, but if she’s not, he’s too scared to tell me J

France is in the next couple of days and I’ve been saying for a while that’s it time to bring the suit case home with the stuff he intends to take…  You know.  Live dangerously... try going with organised!

Yesterday, the Harridan sent the kids France stuff home.

WTF?
Packed with mummy’s love…
Who the hell packs for France - in a garbage bag with filthy, wrinkly clothes..?

The Circus

Sometimes, I feel like my life is a circus.

Seriously; this is weird, because carny folk scare me.  I shudder if I see a clown.  Ugly little things with their faces hidden.  My older sister was once called ugly in front of a whole circus full of people; in fact they were looking for the ugliest person in the room.  Yep; you guessed it – the tormentor was a clown.  My younger sister caught a cab home from a night out once…  The driver was a clown (not dressed as such, but he stupidly mentioned he worked as a clown).  She made him pull up one street over so he didn’t know where she lived.  Suffice to say, we are coulrophobic.

But here I am, living a life with a Clown and I’m seriously wondering ‘why?’ 

Last week was a damned hard gig.  Harder than usual and there is nothing even remotely simple about ‘usual’.  The Squeeze seems to believe (mistakenly) that those initial negotiations are no longer important nor to be adhered to.  Actually, I think he believes his part in this relationship is to ‘agree’ to them.  Not actually stick to them.  It doesn’t matter what I say or think.

I have other ideas.  I mean didn’t I give him “this is the most I can deal with”..  So if that was my line in the sand; why does he think it no longer exists?   

Last week I dealt with the “no toilet flushing” issue every single day.  It doesn’t matter what I say to this kid.  He ignores me.  It is the same with eating his cereal with a teaspoon…  Ignored.  Then we had the dinner where he couldn’t eat what we were having because “he didn’t understand the flavour combination…”  WTF?  And the Squeeze, pandering to this nonsense, decides to cook two meals – of which I am left to deal with the aftermath – utter devastation to my kitchen.  And of course, Kid 3 did eat a bowl of our meal (actually, he almost inhaled it) – so much for not understanding the “flavour combinations”.

Suffice to say, I am swiftly understanding why this kid’s phone doesn’t ring and his friend count is zero.  In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t coming home from school every night in a rubbish bin (Bart Simpson style).

The more I understand it the firmer the Squeeze’s parent goggles are fitted; and he hates me for it.

So I cling to those sans kid days, like a life raft.  So imagine my surprise today to see a message by the Harridan instructing the Squeeze to pick the kid up today – and his reply was to say no problem.  Ummm  WTF?  Sorry.  This is the weekend. MY time.  The weekend – as per the agreement, is the whole weekend.  He goes to school and comes to us after that…  Tomorrow!  Not a day earlier!

And because I dare to say no… Because it doesn’t make “sense” to the Squeeze; I suffer the silent treatment again.  Difficult, since he only started talking to me yesterday after the girl and I had a healthy debate with the kid re his obnoxious “lack of understanding the food flavours” on Thursday night. 

And as the negotiations and promises are eroded and fall; so does what I feel.  How can it be any other way..?

Advice to Stalkers…

I thought I’d give a word of advice to anyone out there who figures it’s okay to be a creepy stalker…

Today, the Squeeze (who I still want to punch after last weeks parent-goggles bullshit) and I went off to Federation Square for the Melbourne Jazz Festival.  Let me mention at this point in time - I would rather be stripped naked, covered in honey and staked to an ants nest as opposed to sitting through jazz; however it is only for one hour and even I can suck that up.

Kid 1 was playing and so off we went, into the cold; scarves, hot coffee and bacon and egg muffins.

Midway through Kid 1’s 'set', the Harridan, Kid 3 and assorted other velvet wearing relatives showed up to parade around.

We kept a low profile and in fact it was like a morning in dance lessons as we waltzed around the square avoiding one velvet wearer or another.

The Harridan, in some sort of weird “I’m a freaking stalker” kind of action, left her people and walked through the crowd to stand about 3 metres from us.  I strategically positioned myself to have my back to her – so she came and stood on the other side – this time about 3 feet from us.  Once again, I spun and faced the other direction.  Frankly, I think I was as graceful as a ballerina!  Eventually, she moseyed off back to velvet clan without uttering a word (not that I actually looked or acknowledged her) but I thought ‘who the Hell does that?’ 

How creepy is this woman?   She’s like the terminator.  She can’t be reasoned with.  She can’t be bargained with.  And she absolutely will not stop until we are dead!

She may think she unsettled us but to be perfectly honest, all I could do was grin to myself.  Even velvet wearing, non antibiotic, vegetarian tossers start porking up in their 50’s.  I was thrilled to see her white coat stretching tight and outlining several middle aged rolls.

So thrilled, I took a picture  

Face altered to protect my ass….

Retardo; does that come with a lycra costume..?

No.  Sadly, that isn’t a super hero.

Instead, it is the kid who is obviously simple.

For about 3 years now, I have asked that he press the button in the loo when finished.  It doesn’t seem like that much of a hard task to me.  I’ve tried to spell it out.  The idea of shuffling out in the morning only to be greeted by a bowl of yellow urine is beyond disgusting to me; but it obviously is too difficult for him to manage.  The Harridan obviously has some velvet wearing 'save the planet' water saving technique.  Yeah sorry, stuff the planet if it means we are left look at wee every morning.

And this is the trouble.  I have to ask, time and time again – and it falls on deaf ears.  How like his father he is – except he is a horrible little unhygienic piggy.

And it isn’t just the toilet issue.   The other “rules” go by the by too.  Keep your room relatively tidy – Humph.  Yeah.  Sure.  Don’t eat your cereal with the teaspoon!  Or Do homework (whatever).  Nothing!  And so I say it over and over again.

And when I can’t bite my tongue for a second longer; he gives me a “dead” stare.

Today, my daughter was quite literally ready to start screaming. 

I mentioned to the Squeeze that it can’t go on like this.  Every single day, we have to tell him.  The girl bought it up last night – and still he does it.  How fricking stupid can this kid be?

And how is this supposed to play out; because from the Squeeze we get “he said he did flush it…” – sure.  Guess she is a liar then; just like I was when he was using my toilet.  Yeah, let’s enable this socially retarded kid and throw him on the world (when he is 28 and finally finishing his VCE)

Hmmm at what point do I say “this wasn’t the agreement – and if it doesn’t change, he can F off back to his mother’s filthy hovel – because me and mine don’t do filth.”

And through it all, they don’t seem to get that their excellent (pffttt) parenting skills have bred a kid that no one is ever going to want in their home.

This morning, I mentioned that I’m not actually fond of violence as an action.  Yes… I’ve got a pistol licence, I go boxing and I have suggested to the girl that we find someone to teach us knife fighting – but hey that’s just for fun.

Still, I’d have no hesitation in taking a Louisville slugger to that kids head.