“I’ll take that straight up! Thanks.”Posted: April 30, 2011
What to wear…? What to wear…?
I am determined to have a great day today, because yesterday was SHITTY, SHITTY, SHITTY! It started off shitty and just got shittier as the day and evening progressed. My husband and son decided to have a pissing-contest and I got caught in the middle of it. Is it okay to hate your men-folk? No, I’m serious I really want to know. If it is, I am sooo there!
My son is mouthy as the day is long. Part of it can be blamed on bad genes and breeding (namely me and his father), part of it can be blamed on the fact that we have had joint custody since he was about four and he’s lived with both of us on and off (and I might add my ex-husband is a huge asshole which is why he’s my ex-husband, and my son has picked up a lot of his crappy traits), and well…if that isn’t enough explanation my son is almost 18. Anyone who has or has had a teenager knows what I’m talking about. Now for my husband…
My husband was the baby of his family by ten years, like I was the baby of mine by nine. Which meant neither of us was really raised around anyone else and don’t always play well with others. We like to have our way. In defense of my husband, he actually is a lot more easy going than I am, and often gives the impression that he’s a pacifist because of it. He’s the guy that usually sits in a room full of people with his back against a wall, seems to analyze and size up the crowd, but rarely becomes a part of anything. You’ll never see him getting loud, drawing attention to himself, bragging, or starting shit with anyone. He appears to be a pretty nice guy, very mature, and has a long fuse that will burn out before it ever gets set off. Now that I’ve given you that picture, let me elaborate that he’s not. That fuse is long, but it doesn’t go out. And when it ends there’s a keg of dynamite on the other end that goes off. The very worst thing that anyone could do is underestimating my husband because he’s so nice! Last night my boy found that out.
I’ll be honest, I couldn’t raise my son if I didn’t love him and he wasn’t mine. I don’t know how my husband does it. This is the third teenager I’ve had now, and it doesn’t get any easier. This is the first one my husbands had to raise, and I think he has the patience of a saint for some of the shit he’s been able to tolerate. My son doesn’t take no for an answer, wants to make deals to get out of groundings, and will keep the conversation going long after it’s over for us. Last night was one of those times, and my husband had enough. My son literally would not listen, wouldn’t back off, and wouldn’t go up to his room and get out of my husbands face after I’d asked him to intervene and diffuse the argument I was having with my son. I get to the point sometimes that I absolutely can’t cope with it anymore. The next thing I know they are tumbling down the stairs, I’m trying to pull them apart, and my adrenaline is racing. I was finally able to send them to their neutral corners, a lot of yelling ensued, my husband told my son to get out, and my kid took off walking. I just fell into a heap. Good-fucking-grief!
I called my piece-of-shit ex-husband and asked him if he would text my son, maybe come out and pick him up and take him home with him (I mean, we’re about seven miles from the nearest town, so that’s quite a walk). Know what he says? “That’s not my problem! Now you know the shit I went through when he was with me last year! I ain’t doing shit. Deal with it!” Nice guy, huh? Father-of-the-fucking-year! While I’m trying to talk to him on the phone, I have my husband in the background screaming at him to come out here and bring it on because he’s tired of his shit too, and on..and on..and on.. Finally he walks out the door and leaves. I just sat here wondering how my world turned upside down, and worrying what I was going to do now with my husband and son, and our little family.
Know what happened? I’m sitting here engulfed in worry and tears, unable to stop shaking and worrying about how this mess is going to work itself out, when about an hour later they both just appear together. WTF?! Apparently my husband took off down the road, found my son, and they went to the bridge to sit and talk for a while. Huh? Is it me? I don’t get it. They wanted to kill each other less than ten minutes before my husband left here! Okay, and as if that wasn’t weird enough, my ex-husband texted my son, tried to lay shit on him about how even my husband can’t deal with him, and my son stuck up for my husband and told his father that he wasn’t a bit like my husband, he was a lousy father, and that he’d never made an effort to go after him and apologize. Okay, so now my son is sticking up for my husband, whom he was just physically fighting with! Any of you following this, because I’m still confused? I just sat and bawled. Oh no, don’t anyone worry about me in your sick, twisted, male way of handling things.
You might know today things are just as they were before, and these guys are as chummy as ever. Pandora Patty called and talked to me, and sort of enlightened me…because apparently I’m dumb as a box of rocks. Hey, I never had to deal with this shit before. When I was raising my oldest son I was doing it alone! She told me that it’s almost a rite of passage with a young male to test the alpha-male. She said her kid did the same thing. Hmm… She told me that it’s almost a good thing, because my husband earned my son’s respect, and now my kid knows there are boundaries that can’t be crossed. I guess I kind of get it. I suppose that’s what I did with my daughter when she was in her teens. She kept pushing my buttons with her mouth, and I jump straddled her to the ground. It wasn’t my intention to hurt her—and I didn’t—I just wanted to let her know that there was never going to be a time when she thought she’d be allowed to put her hands on me (and I know from personal experience at watching other people with their teenagers that’s how it starts is when they think they can say or do anything they want to their parents). You gotta let them know upfront that it ain’t the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog. I hope I taught my girl well and she passes that information on to my granddaughter, because that little girl is going to be a hell-raiser when she grows up. Therein again is that bad-breeding thing. She comes from a long line of mouthy scrappers.
So anyway, what do you do when you’ve been shaken and stirred? I don’t know about you, but I’m using it to my advantage and I’m having him take me out tonight. My birthday in November sucked and I gave him a rain check. I’ve put up with his drunken buddies at my house three different times in the last few months, my anniversary sucked Thursday—I went no where and did nothing—and then this little fiasco last night. My nerves are shot, I need a drink or twenty, and I need to kick up my heels and kick some ass on the pool table. That’s what I intend to do.
My question was: What to wear? What to wear? Hmm… I’ve got a red pair of stiletto’s I’ve been dying to break in, a new dress hanging in my closet; I could dress pretty and have him take me out for a nice dinner and a few drinks. Or should I just say “To hell with it”, throw on my ghetto, Harley attire, combat boots, and go have some real fun? Decisions…Decisions…
Oh, you know MY ass ain’t sitting at home tonight! Somebody owes me, dammit!