The good old days…

It’s 22.13. 

Early; and yet we’ve managed to shop, cook dinner and eat.  I’ve washed, ironed, showered.  We’ve watched both shows that we download and love and I am in awe at how perfect our old life was.

These days, the Squeeze, and therefore ‘our’ life, is about pick up duty.  It could be a school concert.  Music… Or one of the two cricket clubs this kid slinks off to train/play for.  His idiot mother hasn’t quite worked out that by year ten, if you want to make it through school, you should probably reduce those group activities you put the kid in at grade three so that they can make friends.

Now, our life is that we are pushing to have the second show in by 11; and that’s before I have gotten to the shower.

In other words; I’m in heaven.  The Squeeze is too; he just isn’t prepared to admit it out loud.

I came home after work and the Squeeze was sitting on the sofa watching creepy male wrestling, which I suspect is porn for him… I don’t care to examine that too carefully.  And the house was quiet.  Hmmm; I raise an eyebrow and ask “where is kid..?”  Only to receive the reply that as it is Kid 1’s birthday, the kid has gone home to hillbilly heaven and the velvet wearing idiot that I suspect wears tin foil on her head at night so the aliens, CIA or the gammatrons from the mobile phone don’t get her… is having a birthday dinner. And I'm almost positive, she'll be decked out in a poncho!

Yay!  Praise the LORD!  A night off! 

I quickly texted the girl “kid is back in redback land!”  (this is a scathing dreadlock remark I’m afraid…) and she replies “YAY!”

And at 22.24, I see exactly why I breathe a sigh of relief and say yay... Her too.  During dinner, the girl and I don’t have to ensure that if there is any “bowl sharing”; ours is separate.   I don’t have this ‘strange’ kid lurking upstairs like a spider…  I don't have to hear about how he didn't press the loo button or for the three hundredth time (because nothing sinks in) that he left the bathroom mat as a soggy mess on the floor.  And, I don’t have to stress about asking him to do anything – which then turns into an argument with the Squeeze on how I’m picking on him.  Yes people, because as we all know, when I ask if he could take the recycle out, that really means “cough up a lung, lumpy!”

Then, after that quiet moment in which he let me enjoy the knowledge that the kid would be absent for the night, he pounced with “he is playing cricket here tomorrow night, and then again Saturday morning.  Would make sense for him to stay here...”

I was already shaking my head before he finished the first line.  Are they out of their mind?  Probably would make sense, but I will give nothing for that cow.  Let her drag her lazy carcass out to take him to cricket and pick him up!  And while that idiot I live with panders to the kid’s manipulation; while everything is about me, instead of about the kid…  While snot wiped on my wall is just “grotty boys”, well suffice to say I won’t have that kid for one second more than I agreed to.

Hell.  Even if things were great, give that lazy pathetic mother an inch and I’d be having that kid every weekend!  Yeah… Over my dead body!