We Never Have Him!!!

We Never Have Him!!!  We've only had him once this month!

That is the argument I get when I put up a fuss re the kid coming unexpectedly or without my being asked or if we are arguing because I’ve had enough and determined to put my foot down.  

Then we move into 'wheedling' – like this weekend.  We had a screaming row that ended at: ‘I’m moving out (again)’ stupid Moodle.  Re today, I got “he will be gone first thing in the morning!  He’s going over to a friend’s place to watch old Bogart movies!”
Hmm.  What friend would that be..?
Where did this new found friend come from?  And Bogart movies..?
Strange; still, I guess any friend is good, even if it is a weirdo one.

But of course the friend and movie was cancelled…  Yay.  So instead, I’ve just done the whole weekend AGAIN!  In fact this month there is not one weekend that has/will be kid free.  Not one.

Now why the hell would anyone figure that I’d want to give up every weekend to have someone else’s kid?  Worse, someone’s kid who is lazy; that I'm not permitted to yell at as I would my kids.  And I always have ten times extra work when he leaves – including mopping up spilled chocolate milk from the floor and wiping down my fricking fridge because the handle is oh so obviously there for show.  I’m not even going to talk about the toilet floor or washing!

Add to this, that I have to hear the Squeeze say “Come on! Come on! Come on!” repeatedly.  To the point where I’m almost ready to bust my spleen!  It doesn’t take a mental giant to work it out!!!!  Take his laptop off him until he has done as asked instead of repeatedly asking!

And he wonders why I jack up.  Why I’m being so 'unfair'…  

And then we add to all the other pleasantries the fact that the lazy biach sent him packed for a wedding with no shirt and a pair of pants screwed up into a ball.  I tried to iron them but the stench that came off them made me swoon.  I had no time left to wash them so instead, the Squeeze had to stand and hold them out while I sprayed them with Frebreeze before he hung them on the line.  I didn't even attempt to iron them again.

I’d rather be staked to an ants nest than to have ever let my kids leave the house like that; but then again, I guess my EVERYTHING wasn't about them...

Anyhow – here is the month. 

Legend:

Red = kid days – including days where the Squeeze picks him up for dinner and a movie. 

Orange is her demanding we have him – or rather her “kid wants to stay with his dad…” texts.  (yeah, sure he does…)  Please note:  he has agreed to these days on the proviso it is at her place.

Purple is when I have extra days off.

Green are things that we get to do something - and more than likely, certainly not on our own.
I cut Monday off to fit since there was nothing on it :-)

Yeah.  I never have the kid!

Kramer vs Kramer

No.  I’m not writing about that old movie…  There is no tear jerk at the end of this story.

Instead, I’m writing about the weekend.  The Squeeze instructed that me that I was to have no opinion; he would talk to the kid and suggest he washed his hair, this time with shampoo.  (Perhaps you remember, he had to talk to him, I was to remain silent - in case I trampled on his fragile self esteem.)

Still, I could only imagine his moodle-like, gently-gently, velvet wearing discussion.  I mean why go with totally honesty when you can moodle around his fifteen year old feelings…?  Yeah.  Stuff that.  When the kid waltzed out to kitchen to ask what time breakfast would be ready, I told him that breakfast would happen after he had a shower and washed his hair.

Actually, I said “my eyes are bleeding with the stench of your head.  Wash it already!  This time, use shampoo!!!”  Frankly, I think he would have been too scared not too.

When he came out for breakfast, I noted that his hair looked clean, but somewhat fluffy.  He mentioned that washing it gave it an “old lady hair” visual.  I’m not fond of “old lady” style but Hell, that is better than making everyone’s eyes bleed.

Actually, he looked a little like Kramer; or some other weirdo with that fluffy bit on the top of their head.  But there is more than one way to skin a cat and if his moronic parents had an ounce of brain between them, they’d have instructed him to curb the Kramer hair in a way that didn’t ensure he had zippo friends via killing them off with a stench that could curdle cream.

Yesterday, I purchased him some good old fashioned hair fudge.

Now how fricking hard is that..?

Your Moving Out Today

‘Don’t you tell him.  I will.’

That was what I was told re the hair washing last weekend.  Funny really, since I’m the one that is doing the washing.  I’m the one having to leave a room due to the vile smell permeating the air.  I’m the one washing his stuff and hanging it out.  I’m the one bringing it in and folding it.  I’m the one airing the room and changing the bed.  I’m the one that has the kid every second weekend – but I’m also the one who isn’t allowed to actually tell him to do anything.

Not sure how the hell that is supposed to work and I guess at the end of the day… It isn’t.

I resent it.  I resent the fact that he wants him here all the time when I can’t and don’t.  I resent the fact that it doesn’t seem to matter what I want.  I resent the fact that he doesn’t seem to need 'date' time with me, or need to spend time 'out' with me.  I resent the fact that he just keeps making decisions that impact me – and I’m supposed to “suck it up my darling”.

More than anything, I resent the fact that I truly loved him; but his utter selfishness is sucking the life out of me.  His inability to see that I want and need things, is slowly eradicating what I felt to the point where I looked at him tonight and I hated him.  As it was, I screamed at him.  When he mentioned I should stop shouting I think I shouted "I obviously have to shout!  You're too damned stupid to understand otherwise!!!"

This evening; at my prompting, he finally called the Harridan to organise the week he is available to baby sit the kid, but at her house.  Him putting off calling makes me feel uneasy that it will happen and I will have no say in it.  I'll have four days off and three of those will be in babysitting land.  And when it all comes down to it, I am organised and I assume that even if she isn't, he still owes it to her to give her time to attempt to organise herself around it.  Instead he organised that will have the kid this Saturday night to go to a wedding.  Yes, I knew the kid was on the invite but I figured as it was not our weekend and he had done nothing about swapping, that maybe it would be just us two.  Great, we could get dressed up, go out and have fun, have a bit of romance…  Romance.  Yeah.  Like that was every likely.

So instead, I am to have another person in my small house again this weekend.  24/7 television.  Yeah!  Just like I did last weekend.  And this one would be followed by the next weekend – kid again.  Then the week – kid again.  Then the weekend – kid again.

And I don’t want it.  I never wanted that.  It's not about the kid.  It's not about the Squeeze.  It's not even about the Harridan.  It's about me and my need for some time out... some space... some consider-fricking-ation!

And I won’t do it.  How can I when I can’t even tell him to wash his stinking hair..? 

This is not working for me.  I don’t think I love him enough to put up with it.  I don't think I ever loved anyone enough to endure this!  I loved him so damned much once, but I’m sick of always being last on the totem pole.  How can it work when I am forced to have the same argument all the time..?  We talk, I think he see's my  point of view, only to discover he is obviously mentally impaired because he didn't take any of it in!  Last time, I documented it.  All I got when I bought that up last night was "but that is all about what you want!!!"  Oh how quickly we forget that every second frigging weekend is not what "I WANT!"  I do that for him.  That is strictly a "for him" gig.  So given that every second weekend of my life is gone, and has been for years, I'm entitled to put my foot down on a few areas!

This time when he got to his usual threat of:  “I’ll move out.”; I realised that this time – he f*cking can.  Because I’m over it.

“So….  Pack up your dirty books:  Your Moving Out Today

Manky: Foul, putrid, crawling, nasty, odiferous.

This is how my spare bedroom smells today on night two of a kid weekend.   Yesterday I wondered, just briefly, if I had jumped to conclusions when I saw the shampoo bottle was unopened and as dry as a bone.  Maybe my “father was a detective” skills had diminished over the years.

But no; the reality of it is that I am James fricking Bond. 

No way did that kid put anything on his revolting, manky head; and the stench permeates the air of any room he is in!  I had to open the front door to air out the lounge which is relatively open.  The closed bedroom basically made my skin burn and my eyes bleed.

It is gag worthy.   Putrid is being kind.   A dead thing would smell better than that.  The kid needs a bath, lye soap, a scrubbing brush!

And I’m angry.   Really angry. 

The Squeeze is back to “I can’t smell anything…”  This could be because the tosser has been off all day with the kid so is just immune to it; and when I got home later the pair of them are sitting in the lounge, laptops on knees, television blaring.  No one thought about putting dishes away or bringing in the washing.  Lazy gits.

So.  He can’t smell anything.  That is probably good because if the smell has seeped into his pores after sitting in a closed room with that smell all night, he’ll be sleeping in there with him!

These people are slothful and selfish.  For the life of me, I can’t work out how to address it; given that his mother is a complete moron and his father is a delusional moodle.

All I know is that I am seriously not putting up with it.

I’m going to wash that kid right out of my hair…

The Squeeze and I remain on tender hooks.  Not overtly; but it’s there – just under the surface.

I don’t see another way really, until the kids are in their 40’s and she can no longer use them to beat him around the head with.  We are who we are at this stage in our lives.  I need things in stone, organised and planned.  He would rather delay the inevitable.  So I ask.  And ask.  And ask.  Seems relatively simple to me; the only thing achieved with his delay, is stress and angst within our relationship and maybe a couple of days delay of the Harridan abuse.

What are we arguing about…?  Although we have discussed and compromised (and documented it!); it would appear that I will continue to be besieged by the witch tossing the kid at my head.  In the first twenty days of November, we have been instructed to have him for twelve days.  This doesn't take into consideration that one of the eight free days is the Squeeze's birthday, which will be kidded up I assume!

This would be easier to deal with if she would address some of the issues.  I say easier, although that is still a damned site more time than I would like with someone else in my environment.  And she won't deal with the issues of course since she considers our issues are actually about “your stupid ideas on hygiene”.

Ummm yeah.  Filthy clothes and lank, dandruff filled hair is just about me being a clean freak...

And after a lifetime of learning that clothes don’t need washing… nor do you need to shower or brush your teeth, it’s hard work attempting to steer him back to a reasonable direction.  We have attempted to combat her obvious slovenliness.   The kid is instructed to hit the shower five minutes after arriving.  I slink in before he arrives to remove my paraphernalia, leaving only a bottle of shampoo that can’t be missed.  Of course he ignores this request and comes out with wet hair that still looks dull and lank.  While grabbing the towel, I check and the bottle remains closed and dry.

Okay.  An aversion to soap, toothpaste and shampoo!  Weird really, since having clean hair feels so damned nice!

So I reiterate the discussion we have had on fairness to all parties and state that the week she has instructed us to have the kid, I have already taken two days off for us to go away on a four day weekend with the new car.  Given that last month we went to Greece, I am fine with him vetoing our weekend away and spending more time with the kid – but as per our agreement, he has to do so at the witches’ house.

And I have no intention of being railroaded so he better come home today having seen her at kid cricket and tell me he has given her the options we are willing to work with!  I'm happy to spend my four days off in relative silence; new car to cruise around in and hitting the keyboard to write...

Will he have told her...?  Not a chance.