You know how you read someone’s blog and you get a real soft spot for them, like they *really* are one of your galpals that just lives too far for weekly lunch dates? Well, that’s how I feel about Lotus. I love her sense of humor, and I think she’s got a talent for creating photographs that help others see the world through her artistic eye. I’ve read her blog for over a year now. I’ve watched her gorgeous son grow up like a far away aunt.
And I’ve watched her suffer two heartbreaking miscarriages.
I almost lost my youngest child at 7 weeks, on Thanksgiving, when I suddenly began cramping like I’ve never experienced before and bleeding heavily. I don’t know how she made it through, but every time she gets sick, even now at 5 years old, I get panicky that my time with her was borrowed and it has run out. That peek into the emotions of a should-be-pregnant-mom was enough for me to know that Lotus is hurting in a way that no one who hasn’t been there will ever truly know.
But not knowing what it feels like doesn’t mean we can’t offer our support and respect her loss. Losing a child before birth hurts as much as losing one after.
There isn’t much we can do to ease her ache. But we can put our money where our mouth is and donate $13 to The Hygeia Foundation and Institute for Perinatal Loss and Bereavement in both Fuzzball’s and Baby Number Two’s honor; one dollar for each of the thirteen years the Foundation has offered support for parents who have suffered the devastating loss of a child. Please honor Lotus and John’s two angel babies by contributing something towards the support families like theirs so desperately need. The Foundation helps families link up with another family who has suffered a similar loss, so they can share their experiences and lean on one another. Click here to help. Do it for the babies, and do it for Lotus’s mojo!
Lotus and John-I am so sorry your family is hurting. I hope one day you will find some peace about your losses. Those who love you guys will not forget the two babies you created; they are yours as much as Braden is. If you need anything at all, your bloggy buddies will be here for you.
I hope your holiday was magical and peaceful. I know it was probably hectic and stressful and a little anti-climactic. But I am sure you managed to find magic in the mayhem, and peace in those few minutes you have alone in the bathroom before some relative came banging on the door. Right?
I actually finished wrapping by ten pm Christmas Eve-I think it was the first time in a decade that I wasn’t up until 3am. Actually, I was up until 3am, but only because MTV was having an eX-Factor marathon and both Bri and I were bizarrely fascinated by that train wreck of a show. But I digress.
Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Faith’s crack was showing
As she lay on the couch
So, here is the tree before: (Yes, I know….I took all my Christmas pics with my Blackberry, which handles low light really badly. Wait til you see the demonic redeye. It’s nuts. But I was too lazy to get out the big Canon Rebel guns. Sue me.)
And here is the after: (We didn’t put anything out until that night because we have told the kids for months that it was going to be a light Christmas and we wanted them to be surprised that it was a decent haul.)
Let me rant a moment please.
I live in a suburb of Tampa. It’s a rapidly developing area that was the fastest growing county in the nation at one point. My neighborhood is one of the oldest in the community, which means that the homes are smaller and less expensive. In this market, that means very hard to sell, so there are many many renters and lower income families in the surrounding streets. My street is also a popular shortcut to get to a traffic light and the easiest way to get to US19. All in all, the neighborhood itself is family-oriented and fairly safe, but because of the proximity to a more slummy area and the fact that it’s used as an access road by residents and visitors of that more slummy area, I am extremely militant observant about my kids when they play outside.
The boys are teenagers, so while I worry about them getting into drugs or criminal mischief, (more on that later), I don’t worry much about them getting abducted or run over. My girls are little, though, so I have strict rules. They are only allowed in the front yard when an adult is directly supervising them, though on occasion I will let them play on the front porch if the windows are open and I am in the kitchen or whatever. They can’t just cross the street-they have to be escorted to their friends’ homes. They can’t leave their friends’ homes without calling home first so someone can go out to walk them home. I think those are perfectly reasonable limits for a 5 and 7 year old. And even if they aren’t, they are the limits I set to keep my kids safe and I don’t care who doesn’t like it.
Unfortunately, the other little neighborhood girls they play with don’t have the same limits. They are pretty much allowed to wander the neighborhood at will, coming and going to this one’s home and that, without checking in. They don’t have to be home at dark, so I usually send one of the boys to walk them home because I am just not comfortable sending ANY child, mine or not, out to walk down a semi-busy street after dark, alone. It bothers me that they are willing to risk their child’s safety on the gamble that all people out there are good. And it REALLY bothers me that my kid has a problem with my rules after seeing that her friends have none.
But the thing that is irking me the most right now is that one little girl’s mom will just leave while her kid is playing at a friend’s house, so the kid is locked out and without supervision unless one of her friends’ parent lets her stay there. That would be fine if this particular child wasn’t the one whose middle name is probably “Drama.” But, as it is, any time she’s around, you can guarantee someone’s got beef and it usually involves her not getting her way. She’s sassy and she goads my kids into breaking my rules. I just don’t appreciate the chaos that ensues when she comes over, so not being able to send her home when she gets too out of hand pisses me off. I would have no problem if her mom called and just said she was doing this or that and do I mind watching the kid for an hour or two, but I am really beginning to resent the assumption that I will. I already have four kids here, all day. And one of them is really causing some major friction in our family. Adding another trouble-maker to the mix is bringing me some anxiety. The last thing I need is more anxiety.
Bah humbug.
So, I’ve had it rough lately. Probably no worse than any of you have, but it’s always incomparable when you are knee deep in shit, yanno? So, I realized that I have been spending ridiculous amounts of money on grabbing dinner here and there because I never feel like cooking. I just don’t. I used to enjoy cooking, and if I weren’t so freaking busy all the damn time, and when I’m not I want to RELAX, I would still do it, but that’s fantasy land and I’m in reality, unfortunately, lol. So, I figured I better get some damn groceries in the house. Cuz, you know, kids like to eat, for some weird reason.
So I decided to get back on the Grocery Game wagon. I started last weekend. Here are my “scores” since then:
~Last week~
Walgreens:
Saved: $19.97
Spent: $13.58
Savings: 60%
CVS: (Three transactions)
Saved: $12.95
Spent: $34.96
Savings: 27%
Saved: $5.95
Spent: $9.64
Savings: 38%
Saved: $63.10
Spent: $8.27
Savings: 88%
~This week~
Publix:
Spent-$159.03
Saved-$212.13
Savings-57%
Winn Dixie:
Spent-$79.65
Saved-$69.53
Savings-47%
Walgreens: (two transactions)
Spent-$9.59
Saved-$15.91
Savings-62%
Spent-$13.96
Saved-$12.40
Savings-47%
CVS: (three transactions)
Spent-$20.06
Saved-$92.32
Savings-82%
Spent-$1.34
Saved-$7.93
Savings-86%
Spent-$2.14
Saved-$46.49
Savings-96%
Yeah, so, think it’s working out for me? LOL I’ll start figuring out how to keep better track and I’ll even start taking pics of my yield to share. Why? Well, because it *is* like a game. It’s fun to see how much I can save.
I am struggling.
I seem to try to compartmentalize the segments of my life. Unsuccessfully, I might add. I honestly don’t even know why I try-the only people I know who can do it are, oh, I don’t know….maybe CIA agents, hit men, and adulterers. I am none of the above, thank goodness, ha! So, my frustration with my family often affects my performance in school, and the difficulty of my cases often affects my ability to give of myself to my family, and so on.
The one facet that affects the others the most is my family and home. If things are crap at home, I am good for nothing both at school and at work. I’ll get by, don’t get me wrong, but I spent most of my twenties just “getting by” and I am over that shit. I can do better than that. I *am* better than that. I can excel, damn it, and I am not satisfied with anything short of what I am fully capable of doing. I should add the qualifier, “under the circumstances” but I am tired of excuses holding me back, so “under the circumstances” can fuck off.
But. I am floundering under all the responsibility I have right now, and the one person I should be able to depend on the most to back me up is, I feel, falling way short of what I need from him.
I really hate to complain. I do, because you have come so flipping far. You are a guy who turned his life around in a matter of two years from a pothead bum who would buy a pack of Marlboros instead of buying his babies milk to a guy that busts his ass 6 days a week and spends nearly all his free time with his family. You don’t tell me you are going to work and instead go to the titty bar to chill with your best friend, the dj, anymore. You don’t spend the bill money on pot anymore. You don’t spend two hours every night running the streets anymore. You don’t quit your job every few months and sit on your ass until I kick you out or have a flipping nervous breakdown anymore.
But. My needs for my partner have grown along with my own responsibilities, and I am asking…in fact, I am begging…for help, and though a minimal effort has been made, I still feel like I am bailing out this ship with a bucket and you are leisurely using a teaspoon to assist.
I know men don’t get subtlety. So I have sat you down multiple times and clearly stated what I need from you:
-I need you to take control of raising your son. He doesn’t respect me, he doesn’t listen to me, he doesn’t stay within the rules and boundaries I give him. And I just don’t have the time or energy to spend fighting with him over it. So I need you to get up and instead of just leaving for work and leaving me to figure out if he is wearing underwear or if he is wearing dirty clothes, I need you to check up on those things. Instead of me telling him to shower and him ignoring me, you tell him, and then make sure he does so, because he won’t unless you actually stand there and watch him go in the bathroom. In fact, half the time I still don’t think he will shower then. I really think you need to spot check him sometimes to make sure he is actually in the shower, not simply running it, and washing himself properly if he is in it. Instead of me dealing with his destruction of property, you need to handle it. I can’t continue to do it and like him. I will love him, no matter what, but his unwillingness to respect the home I have opened to him and my position as the female head of this family *does* affect the way I feel about him. I’m sorry-I am only human. You need to stop being so uninvolved with him. Spend time with him so he isn’t so resentful of the time you spend with me, your friends, or his sisters. Show interest in his interests. Praise him when he does right instead of only noting his performance when it is bad. I know, it’s hard. His performance is nearly *always* bad. But it will never improve if he doesn’t think you will notice when it does. I need you to do this. Your son needs it even more. But you don’t seem to be listening to either one of our cries. I have all but given up on just what will allow us to sort-of function, but even then, when I have to remind you to remind him to shower, it is placing the responsibility right back on my shoulders, and I just don’t have any shoulders left. I don’t expect you to raise my son for me. In fact, I prefer you stay out of my raising him unless I ask for help. I wish I could stay out of your raising of your son, but I don’t think he will get enough raising at all if I am not there to ensure you are even aware of what he is or is not doing, much less acting on his behavior.
-I need you to take over half of the family financial obligations. I don’t expect you to pay for half of my son’s needs; His father is passed away but I get Survivor’s benefits to help provide for his needs. And I don’t want to be responsible for half of your son’s needs. Mainly because he is so destructive that it costs a lot more to provide for him than it should. But our daughters are *both* of our responsibility. And yet when they need to go to the doctor, I pay for it. When they have a birthday, I pay for it. When we go out to eat, 80% of the time, I pay for it. When we need groceries or household goods, I pay for it. I pay for much more than half of the gas for family related trips. I am tired of feeling taken advantage of. I don’t make much money. And I am not able to save much of anything because you don’t help me with anything but the actual bills we have. It takes a lot more than that to maintain our lifestyle, and I am tired of doing it all alone while you have money for your recreational activities.
-I need you to take some initiative with our family. If I don’t specifically direct you to do something the family or home needs done, you will sit on your ass and almost every time you will pass out. I am tired of being angry because I am caring fro these kids every day while you nap. I am tired of even having to direct you to do what you very well know needs to be done. Again, when I have to tell you to do something, you are dumping the responsibility to make sure it gets done right back on me. And I. can’t. take. any. more. responsifuckingbility.
I’ve explained to you how overwhelmed I feel, and yet, here we are. I just studied nearly all morning for my algebra exam, while supervising the 5 girls here for our daughter’s slumber party. I paid for the entire $120 worth of gifts “we” gave her. I paid the $120 for the supplies for the party. I paid for the gas to pick up her cousin 25 miles away so she could come. I paid for the $30 in pizza. I supervised them in the pool while you paced on your phone and visited with friends that dropped by-until I texted you that I was annoyed. I helped the girls with their crafts while you watched. I got the girls settled down for bed and stayed home while you drove the cousin back home and visited a friend in that area-again, I paid for the gas. This morning when they told you they were hungry, you waited for someone else to feed them. I paid the $31 for lunch at Emmy’s favorite restaurant. When we got home, I studied some more for my exam and watched our youngest play while you read in the bedroom. I told your son to shower-again, since he ignored me when I told him last night, and he ignored you after getting his ass handed to him today for ignoring me. I took my exam while you napped-imagine that. And now I am about to figure out what to feed all the kids. While you are, you guessed it, napping.
I wish I had a wife like me. I might have to listen to some bitching, but everything would be handled and I’d barely have to lift a finger. Yeah, I guess the inequality might make her resent my unwillingness to commit to being even a 40/60 partner, but I guess it must be worth the trade-off, because you keep making it.
Cindy,
I know you are exhausted. I know you feel attacked, and sometimes you have reason to feel so. I know you feel defensive. I know you are angry and hurt and so very scared. I know you love your granddaughter, and you love your daughter. I’m sure you never imagined you would be living in this nightmare; going to sleep at night praying that Caylee is safe somewhere, and waking up wondering if you will ever see her beautiful smile again.
But, Cindy, I am so very confused.
You have looked into the cameras and demanded that I get out there and search for your granddaughter. You didn’t call me by name, but when you look into a news camera and say things you know will be broad casted widely, you are speaking to thousands of individuals who care about Caylee, and I am one of them. I want to help. I want to see Caylee come home safe, and for every accusation aimed at your daughter or anyone else in your family to crumble.
But I am a reasonable person. I try to think logically. And I just can’t make sense of any of this. So I am asking you for help.
You said that the media has led the public to believe that Caylee is not alive anymore. The media hasn’t implanted that idea in my head. In fact, if not for the media circus this had admittedly become, I, and most of the nation outside of the Orlando area, would not know her name or her face, like this boy, who disappeared and whose father refuses to say where he is.
If you want me, and others like me, to reclaim hope that Caylee can still be saved, you have to address the reasons we have given up that hope. We need to understand, and yes, I know you don’t *have* to talk to me. But if you need my help, why wouldn’t you try to convince me to give it?
Casey has lied so much that the information law enforcement and the public needs to help locate her daughter is either not known or muddied among all the lies. You have changed your own story, appearing to attempt to match hers one day, then you admit she has lied on another day. A liar does not make one a murderer, you said, and that is true. But how can we know where to begin looking for Caylee without clear, truthful information from your daughter? And why would she not be interested, desperate, even, in providing the necessary information? It just doesn’t make any sense. I am a mother, and I would never be an obstacle in the rescue of my child, so it is impossible for me to understand her reasons for leading the police astray at every juncture.
I understand that you want your granddaughter to be alive. I understand that the only hope you have of that happening is to believe that she is with someone who cares for her. But there comes a time when reality has to be accepted. If you love Caylee, you need to face the facts, and help bring her home. She needs you, Cindy, whether you want to believe she is alive, or not.
Casey will continue to lie as long as someone believes her. And it’s always been you, hasn’t it? You never wanted to see that your cherished daughter was manipulating you, using you, deceiving you. Who would want to see that? But now, today, Caylee needs you to put an end to the enabling. She needs you to look in her mother’s face and tell her you don’t believe her, and you won’t listen to her unless she is honest.
I have children, Cindy. And I wouldn’t stop loving them, no matter what they did. I don’t expect you to turn your back on your daughter. But I think you need to realize that expecting them to take responsibility and face the consequences of their actions is not abandoning them. Enabling her to avoid taking responsibility for her mistakes is hurting your daughter, and it may have led to your granddaughter being hurt as well. Don’t forsake Caylee for Casey’s sake. Make her accountable, for both of their sakes.
PS I spent my Sunday combing through Orlando, braving heat and bugs and sunburn, nearly losing my shoe, to try to contribute toward the massive efforts of Texas EquuSearch. I am disgusted by the way you slandered the organization, that YOU asked for help from, when they approached this case *logically* and *rationally* and deduced is was more than a small possibility they were looking for a body, not a live child. You need to realize that the jury that your daughter will eventually face will be approaching the case in much the same manner. The time to come clean is running out.
I’ve been having a tough time with my son. His name is Christian, and he is 14. I had him 8 days shy of my 17th birthday. I did my best to be a good mother to him, though I am far from perfect. I took my responsibility and commitment to him very seriously; far more seriously than many of the other teen mothers I went to school with at the special program I attended for mothers in high school. I worked to support his needs, and my mother helped me fill in the gaps. I graduated with my class, with my son looking on as I crossed the stage, probably wondering why I was wearing such a funny dress.
I never thought about how I would handle the teen years. I think, at 16, the thought of the wriggling fetus in my belly as a person my own age was so foreign that my mind couldn’t wrap around it. I think I just assumed that if I met his physical needs, showed him how much I loved him, and kept firm boundaries, everything would fall into place.
I was so wrong.
I should have known, really. My mom met my physical needs, showed me how much she loved me, and kept firm boundaries, and I still acted like an asshole.
Regardless, the last week has been hell for me as a parent. Not that it was sudden, exactly. I could see the slow build. The typical teen patterns. All the cliche complaints of parenting teenagers. I just figured it was the age; it was a phase; it was temporary insanity. I tried to roll with the punches, stay calm, and pick my battles.
But the battles have become wars.
$100 went missing from my mother’s purse sometime Monday. After talking through all the facts with my mom and Bri, we decided that the only logical explination was that Christian had taken it. Of course he denied it, and we couldn’t prove it. But we put the house in lockdown-no one in or out other than school or family outings until we get to the bottom of it.
Tuesday morning he became enraged. We don’t know if it was my mom checking his backpack for extra money that set him off or my suggestion that I turn off his cell phone and use the money I’ll save to put my girls in after care since he can’t even be trusted to walk them home from the bus stop safely. Either was, I was rushing off to class and he came out, tried to open my door, and when the autolocks outwitted him he slammed both his palms on my window. I leaped out, rushed at him, pinned him to the wall and slapped at him. I didn’t hit him, though. Not my proudest moment. I jumped back in the car to leave and I called my mom back home. She asked if he was going to school and I said of course, only to have her inform me he left without his backpack and was heading the wrong way. I followed him, told him to get in the car so I could drop him off at school, and when he refused, I had to call the police to help me. They wound up taking him to school.
Saturday I caught him with pot and LOADS of paraphranelia in his room. I can’t even go into detail about that whole thing, because it was just so overwhelming and hurtful. Maybe someday I will, but right now the feelings are just too raw.
Tonight, he called me lazy because I told him to eat leftover pizza for dinner because I wasn’t cooking. I have absolutely had it with that accusation from the kid who won’t get off his ass for anything unless it benefits him, when I work 40 hours a week, am taking 5 college classes, and raising four kids. I didn’t yell. I didn’t bitch. I just took his computer cord, his cell phone, and my palm pilot, which he was using to go online since his desktop was infected with a virus. Then I took my daughters for haircuts.
And he broke some things and ran away.
I got home, called and stopped by some friends of his, and when I couldn’t locate him, I called the police. I actually had to report my son as a missing person; as a runaway. I can’t even explain how that feels, even when you know your child is probably safe and will be home within 24 hours. The police came, and tried a few more ideas to find him, but left emptyhanded.
A friend of mine found him hours later. He was going to let him crash there overnight, but he and his wife just moved back in with his parents after a layoff, and the mother didn’t want to be involved. I had called the police to inform them he was located, and they had to go “recover” him in person, so they went to pick him up. His attitude was very “whatever” and when the deputy found a paring knife in his pocket, he asked if I wanted him brought home, or charged with concealing a weapon.
I agonized over what to do. I don’t want him to have a record. But this kid is on a dangerous path and if I don’t do something drastic, I am scared to death what will become of him. So I told the deputy to arrest him. I am crying again just thinking of it. I hated to do that to him. I absolutely fucking hated it. But he needed to know the limits were firm. He needed to know there are real world consequences for 14 year olds, and that Mommy’s consequences are cake compared to them.
The deputy called me after he was dropped off in holding at the county jail, and told me I would be able to pick him up later tonight, which means the Dept. of Juvenile Justice most likely didn’t pick the charge up. He said there was another juvenile in holding that he was familiar with. He was arrested for fighting with another inmate at one of those boot camp programs. He pulled the kid aside and told him that Christian ran away because his mom did not cook him dinner and took his computer and cell phone away. The kid said, “Oh yeah? Well my mom died. I live on the street until I get arrested for committing some crime I did to eat. I’ll talk to him.”
I don’t know if it will matter. But all I can do is pray to the God I don’t even know exists because I don’t know what else will matter to him.
I’m not gonna whine about how busy I am..even though it’s true. I started school on the 25th-five classes, and I was assigned two new cases at work. And my son has been acting like a total jackass.
The reason i didn’t post is way simpler.
I forgot my password.
I have it written..somewhere. But it was way easier to just use Flock to post, once my retarded mind remembered I can do that.
A real post is coming later today, because I have a BUTTLOAD to talk about.
Caio for now!
Blogged with the Flock Browser
It occurred to me today that I better get all these convoluted tales out now, while my audience is limited to a precious few. Of course that’s assuming there will someday be more, but hey, I’m on a think-positive kick, so let me be, ha! I don’t figure if my in-laws find this blog someday in the future that they will comb through old posts…though I could be wrong. But anyway, this is how I feel, and why I feel that way, and I wish I had the balls to say it to their faces, but I don’t because Bri’s relationship with them is so precarious and I don’t want to destroy the little bit of a bond that the kids have with that side of their family. Now, not everyone in his family falls into the group that I discuss here. A few have always been kind, even when they disagreed with me, and for them, I will always be thankful. My mother-in-law’s wonderful qualities live on in the few who have seen past the bullshit to the truth.
The long and short of it is that they hate me. I don’t know why exactly, though I suspect it is because of the big fat lies Kris will tell anyone who will listen to get sympathy from them. They didn’t always hate me; in fact I felt pretty welcomed by all but one jerky cousin, but when Bri’s mother died suddenly about a year after we were married, I became persona-non-grata.
Honestly, I am confused by the way they think I am. No one has ever bothered to try to get to know me, but they think they know who I am anyway. And now so much has happened that I don’t even care for them to know me. I feel that they are the kind of people who will read whatever they want to believe into everything I do, so I’d rather just limit my exposure to them so they have less material to twist into support for their fucked-up theories.
The negativity started the summer before Emily turned 1. We had custody of Kris for almost two years at that point, but because he was involved in the DCF, (Department of Children and Families, the child protection agency in Florida), case against his bio-mom, we became part of her never-ending case and so we had the monthly visits from a caseworker and we had to attend the court hearings for his mom’s case. It was his mother’s summer visitation; she had three weekends each month and we had the other, and the weekdays throughout the month, of course, but during the summer she had more liberal visitation. Bri was working for a moving company and was away for a week or two at a time. I was on my own for all but a precious few days a month, with my son Christian, 8 at the time, Kris, 6 at the time, and Emily, who was not quite one yet. Kris’s bio-mom showed up with him, unannounced, just a day after picking him up. She had two younger sons and was pregnant with another. She said Kris had thrown his baby brother off the top bunk, and she couldn’t handle him. And she left.
We had court the next day, so I asked a girlfriend to come with me so I had someone to sit with the kids when we went into the courtroom. Kris was grounded from electronics for what he did at his mom’s, but I told him if he behaved at the courthouse I would let him watch a movie when we got home. He acted out so bad in the courthouse that the bailiff actually came out and instructed me to control him. Yes, me, wrestling with a baby and my own son, while his mother sat beside me and did nothing to help me “control” her own son’s behavior. When court was over, he asked if he was going to get a movie, and I asked him if he thought he behaved. Suddenly he wanted to go with his mother, but she had an appointment for an ultrasound, and couldn’t take him. He pitched a fit, but I piled everyone into the car and headed to drop my friend off, driving in the rain. Then we headed home. When I got there, and I went to get Emily out of her carseat, the seatbelt that I buckled when we loaded in was unlatched, and the whole seat lifted out of the carseat base.
I lost my freaking mind.
He had just endangered my baby, because he had consequences for his OWN behavior, and not anywhere close to unreasonable ones, at that. I just didn’t want to be around him for another second. He had kicked three-feet long holes in my walls that summer, had threatened his father and I, would frequently fly into unimaginable rages when he didn’t get his way, he lied like a rug, and now, NOW, he had acted out in a way that could have gotten my baby killed. I. could. not. take. any. more.
But Brian was on the road. And his mother, my only comfort when I needed help with Kris, had died suddenly several months before.
So I made the big mistake. I called his aunt, crying, asking someone to please call me. I just wanted someone to take him overnight. Give me a chance to cool off, and maybe talk to him about the choice he made.
Both his aunts showed up shortly after, and basically accused me of treating him unfairly, and said, “nothing happened” so what was the big deal. Like, I can point a gun at you, but if I don’t pull the trigger, no harm, no foul? Come on! That type of coddling was exactly what had left Kris’s father so unprepared for adult life, and responsibility, and impulse control. I was furious.
And they left. Without Kris. I was totally alone. With a child I was afraid of.
We somehow got through those years. But I will tell you, between Kris’s behavior, and Brian’s bullshit, they were the worst years of my life. I don’t know how I survived. I developed an anxiety disorder, and I had months on end of dysfunctional uterine bleeding associated with high stress. I put on weight, and I stopped caring about the things that I always loved, like writing and photography and even my friends, to some extent.
And his family openly hated me after that.
I don’t understand what they expected from me, but whatever it was, I didn’t deliver. And I’m proud of that. Because while guiding Kris is harder for me than guiding my three bio-kids put together, I know that I am breaking the cycle that contributed to his father’s self-destructive patterns.
It still bothers me sometimes, but like I said, none of them know me. They don’t know about our family, or our lifestyle, or our characters, either. They think they know us, but what they know is what they want to know.
And it’s their fucking loss.
