Hope. That is a four letter word. I have to believe in it though. I have to.
Today is a tough one.
My oldest is turning 18 tomorrow.
The kids were supposed to have a nice day with their father. That’s been the plan, anyway.
My son (who is 9) refused to go.
“If Mom can’t go, I’m not going either.”
How do you answer that?
Please go, Buddy…Mommy is fine.
No. No. NO.
I have two devastated kids on my hands. One because she wants her brother to join in the fun, and one because he wants to join in the fun and feels torn — he wants to protect his Mama and he is angry with Daddy and doesn’t have the words.
And I have a third kid who ran out of the house to be with her Dad because she sees you have to take it when you can get it.
And in the midst of all of this, my oldest asks me how I would feel if she met her. Because if she is so important to him, then maybe if they met, she’d be able to figure out why he’s picking her over us.
All control is gone. For all of us.
And all the while, my husband’s assertion that this doesn’t affect anyone but me and him continues to ring hallow in my ears.
And he gets to drive off in a huff and leave a 9-year-old feeling even more guilty about being angry at his father…and a mother and wife wondering, yet again, what the heck is going on…How did I get here?
There are no answers.
There never seems to be enough kleenex.
Please tell me this is going to get better.
It has to.
Please send kleenex.