Brownies and bullshit

Last day of high school for my son, ever.

I wake up super early, 4ish am, because I planned on waking up at 5:30. No, it doesn't make sense, but it happened. I lay in bed, refusing to start my day that early, listening to the storm outside.

CRACK! And the walls shake. Now I'm 120% sure of 3 things. 1. One or both giant oak trees in the front yard have been struck by lightening and crushed our cars 2. I will be starting my day this early 3. I will need the dark roast set on expresso.

I pass the hall bathroom and my poor pup was curled up on a towel in the corner. She hates storms and tentatively follows me into the living room where the other two are eagerly awaiting my arrival. I open the back door to let the dogs out and they all jump back... right, rain. I leave the door open anyway.

Pecan is still in one piece in the back so I go to check the front. Pants. I forgot pants. I make it all the way to the end of my entrance, outside. Yes lol good anyway.

Coffee, breakfast, kid. My very small list of things to accomplish because my brain isn't functioning yet. Coffee CHECK! Food... food...food... nope. Because someone got hungry the night before.

Kid it is. Hugs and hugs and congratulations and excitement. He's done after today! Yay! Not the big breakfast I wanted to make, but he has coffee and is totally content.

We chat before he leaves, laugh about stuff, and I give him another big hug and tell him how proud I am before he leaves.

Totally together. I'm good, no more tears. Today is a S.T.A.T. day. Orders to catch up on before tomorrow's crazy day of graduation, family party, etc. and lots of pre manufactured orders to get out. Busy busy bus... and I dropped my phone. Which I do all the time. But this time I knew it was THAT time. And it is. Glass is horribly spidered. But it works! A worry for another day when there's more money and more fucks given.

Make my oatmeal, another coffee, sit down at the computer to do my morning checklist and totally get side tracked. Stupid interwebs.

The hubs takes over primary toddler wrangler for the day, and I... well, I work on my online store front. I'm not generally a sitter and will perch on the edge of my chair for hours if I'm cramming computer work. But today I sit back and curl into my big armchair (yes I use a recliner as a computer chair) and get totally engrossed in fixing a major error I noticed in my listings... and there goes my day.

I pack orders, don't actually do any sewing, forget to start dinner, and end day.

My hubs complains and rants about having to dress nice for the ceremony, how he's just going to get stuck with miss toddles, how horrible it's going to be to keep her settled, etc. I let him talk. I always do. And he does. In length. About everything.

One of his favorite things is to look up random subjects about anything I've mentioned, have expressed an interest in, or am doing and tell me how it's either a horrible idea, that I'm wrong, or there's a better way to do it backed up with data and facts.

I'm not a stupid person. I'm overly analytical about everything. So generally he's wrong or doesn't have a grasp on the situation.

But I let him talk. And gently steer him to my logic or sometimes even tell him he's right or wow, great idea. Because that's how we do.

Tonight, however, it was my turn to talk. Which I generally don't do.

He was making brownies and if you're making brownies, cookies or cake it's a sin not to taste the batter or dough. Multiple times. Until the bowl and spoon are clean. He gives me the look and I proceed to tell him about an article I read regarding the actual dangers and chances of getting salmonella from eating raw batter and cookie dough. Tables. Turned. He tells me he doesn't fucking care. Because he doesn't want to take the chance with Ms. Toddles. Even though the risk is higher with cooked chicken. Which she eats all the time.

Doesn't. Fucking. Care.

All the lectures I listen to DAILY about literally everything, times he's spent hours researching just to tell me I'm wrong, or to learn a different way to do something than how I do it... and he's going to tell me he doesn't care.

Fuck you.

I've watched him "try things out" multiple times when it comes to even the most important things, like our daughter. I don't tell him I don't care. I explain why I do things the way I do, why it works for me and question some of the logic. Then let him try to prove me wrong. Repeatedly.

I try to talk to him about anything and he interrupts me, takes over the conversation, and talks. I listen, maybe make a few remarks, then walk away.

And he doesn't care.

I go off.

I can literally count on both hands the number of fights we've been in. Even with my crazy anxiety. I know when something is irrational and can generally talk myself down.

But this. This infuriates me and I'm fucking justified.

I tell him how he is constantly talking, almost always negative, trying to prove me wrong, taking over conversations and turning them into lectures... and that this is why I never talk to him.

And he tries to turn it around on me. Ummm, no. I didn't say I don't care what you say. I said I LISTEN to what you have to say. I try to converse with you. Don't try to twist my words.

He's sorry. He really does care what I have to say. He's stressed about having to handle the toddles during the graduation.

Suck it up. Stay home or deal with it. Everyone is anxious about my hubs being there because it's always a shitstorm of negative remarks and why anything we're doing is pointless and stupid when the sprite is there.

Does he listen to what I suggest? Or how I handle her? No, he doesn't. He says that's not how he's going to deal with her. So she walks all over him. And he ends up cussing and making belittling remarks about the event, why are we there in the first place, how he doesn't care about what the event is for whatever reason, why anyone would want to go, etc until I finally pack our shit and walk out. This will not be one of those times.

I don't argue with him when this happens, I don't yell at him, I pack up Sprite in the car and take a short walk while he starts it up, or get in the back next to her. Because he knows why I'm upset. He let's me cool off then will try to make conversation. Ummm, no. You just finished throwing a grown man fit in front of your toddler and a stadium full of people to get what you want, I'm missing the last half of my son's football game, again, and now you want to talk? Nope.

Not this time. One remark, just one and I'll escort you to the nearest door and close it behind you. I may or may not talk to you ever again.

Once again, suck it up. Shut your mouth for a few fucking hours and let me enjoy the turmoil of my son's graduation.

I'm still pissed even after I went off. Fuck him and his must prove me wrong negative fucking attitude. Also, don't fuck with my cookie dough and brownie mix.

The war

23rd of June, 1998. My son was born. I was 17 and he was my world. Everything for me shifted when I held this beautiful boy.

I cuddled him. I nursed him. I would stare at his little fingers, his little nose, his gazing eyes. I was in awe. He was perfect.

I struggled, but it didn't phase me. I knew no different. There was no concept of village for me. He was happy. Healthy. Hitting milestones early. His doc was happy. I was in love.

There was a hidden darkness.

All that advice that everyone tries to shove down a new moms throat? Nope. Not one remark. Not one supportive person in my life.

My entire family was conspiring behind my back from the moment he was born to convince me to give him up for adoption. I had no idea. No one was brave enough to say anything to my face, it was all small gestures and passive aggressive statements and outbursts starting in the hospital and continuing on until they tried to take him from me.

It was ok though. I took all their attitude and remarks in stride. He was my darling, my little genius, my grounding wire. Then they took him. They. My family. My parents. My sister. All based on lies my sister told and my mother's ideals that I should not be a parent, ever.

They didn't want him. They were going to give him away. My son. Something else I didn't know until many years later.

The fight was brutal. I had nowhere to go and no one to help. We, my darlings father and I, went to his father's farm so he had steady work and we had a safe place to fight the battle.

He had a lawyer paid for by his father. I did not. He wouldn't represent both of us. He did nothing. Didn't file one paper, didn't read anything I sent. NOTHING.

I was on the phone, filing papers, reading past cases, studying family law and writing a detailed journal about every moment from the day he was taken. I fought a war that no one else cared to show up for.

His father and his father's wife would constantly tell me I didn't want my son back. I wasn't doing enough. Lying to my darlings father and telling him I wasn't doing anything at all to help get our son back. They never questioned the lawyer they paid for him to have. I did. Many times. And was shoved aside.

Court. I couldn't see him. I didn't see the judge. His attorney handled everything. With no documents filed. I filed my own. And got to see my darling. He was beautiful. And it hurt so bad. And was so short. I had more work to do.

I can't even recall all I filed, all the amazing attorneys, DAs and assistants that believed me and offered advise. It was endless.

I did something right and got the judges attention. My son was appointed an ad litem. She wanted to know everything I had to say. So I told her, and gave her my journal to copy. Every moment, every conversation, every thought from the day he was taken months before. She was not pleased. She assured me I would hear from her within the week.

My moment of hope. It had already been months. I had been through multiple drug tests, evaluations, another drug test and fought with everything I could find. Against two attorneys. My parents' and the father's. Alone. 18. They found nothing. Not a trace of drugs in my hair, no endangering mental health issues, behavioral traits, NOTHING.

The ad litem came through and I went in front of the judge. It was terrifying. I had my file folder full of everything I've filed and I'm standing in front of a judge between two attorneys.

Pro se, yes your honor. Yes, I'm sure I want to speak. I understand the possible consequences.

So I do. In length. Attempting to keep to a timeline of papers filed, court orders followed, more papers filed and crying. I can't help it. I ask the judge what I else I need to do to get my darling boy back. She calls me to the bench.

In front of both the attorneys she tells me she's heard from the ad litem who is convinced my darling needs to be with me. No question. That the entire case was built on lies, judgements and personal gains. That my darling was never in any harm. I waited for the but... and there was one. I had to take a parenting course and my parents had visitation rights.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

They brought my darling son in. I held him and cried. Months without him. Months of being doubted. Months of betrayal. And I did it. He was with me. I didn't let go.

I didn't speak to my parents again for years. I lived in constant fear of someone taking him. I was afraid to leave his father. I didn't set enough boundaries. They would be back if I was too harsh.

He graduates high school Friday. My darling. My love. My first born. My only son. He doesn't know what I've been through. He doesn't know the story, the war I fought, the fear I lived in.

He, like all children, see things skewed. I left his father and his father was devastated. I kept him from his father. His father has sacrificed.

His father is emotionally manipulative and has made my darling feel guilty. Guilty for not seeing him. Guilty for not calling enough. Guilty for me leaving.

I did leave. His father was devastated. But I was free. He never held a job. I gave him money to live AFTER I left him so my darling could see him. Spend time with him. Not see him struggling to afford gas to pick him up. I would call his father and tell him to spend time with him. I listened while his father complained he didn't have money to take him anywhere. I watched my son's heart break when he didn't show up. When he made excuses. I stayed in this city so my darling could be close to his father when I wanted to get him far away. I sacrificed.

And now my darling will be moving out. To his father's house. Which is 3.1 miles away. Because his father deserves his time too.

No. He doesn't. His father didn't earn it. He didn't call, he didn't come pick him up just because, he didn't make any effort. He met a girl, with a daughter. He spent time raising her. Fighting against her father to have primary custody. Picking her up after school. Spending money to support her.

He doesn't deserve you my son. You are better than him. I'm sorry for not taking you away. I'm sorry for not being strong enough. I'm sorry for being too scared your father would take you from me.

I'm sorry for never telling you any of this. It's not your burden.

I miss you. I love you with all that I am and all that I am not. My only son, my first born, my lifeline.