From childhood's hour, I have not been as others were...
Same fucking old story, new year.
I went to my mother's house for the annual Christmas Eve festivities. Before that we went to Justin's grandmother's house, where EVERY gift that we and the kids got had something to do with "Jeeee-zuss." Gah. You'd think she'd know by now. Tristan is now the proud owner of his very own "Bibleman" action figure thing. Complete with a video to fill his head full of BS. Yay.
But about my mother's house.
I should have known better than to think that perhaps, this year, my dear mother may want to enjoy the holidays sober. That's what I get for thinking. When we got there at 5:30 she was already completely gone. She fussed over the kids and did her usual stumbling around acting like she cares. We did the presents thing and she proceeded to make a huge deal about Lily having a cough (which, I told her, we'd already been to the ER for...) Lily was fussy and in an odd environment so she couldn't sleep. My mother begs me in a drunken slur to let her keep Lily, ON CHRISTMAS EVE, overnight. She's MY FUCKING CHILD. Not hers. "Please, please, please take care of that baby." Well, fucking duh, Mother. I'm going to just let her cough a lung up and sit there and do nothing. Please, Tristan made it to 3. I think Lily just might too.
Then she gives me some medicine to give to Lily. We argue over how to administer it. She proceeds to tell my daughter, and I quote, "Your mommy has no idea what she's doing." We then prepare to leave before I totally ruin my dear mommy's Christmas gala by telling her exactly what I think of her parenting skills (which I'm such a shining example of in all my fucked-up splendor). Then she calls me and begs me (still drunk, mind you) not to be mad at her. She's just watching out for the kids, she says. Thanks. I think I do a pretty OK job of that too.
Please, Mother. For fuck's sake, just leave me alone and let me raise my children. I appreciate all the help you give me, truly I do. But don't presume to tell me how to bring them up. Don't try to correct all the mistakes you made with Clint and I through them.
I'm glad I'm going to Dad's tomorrow. At least no one THERE will be drunk to the point of not being able to walk or complete a sentence.
Merry fucking Christmas Eve, everyone.
I went to my mother's house for the annual Christmas Eve festivities. Before that we went to Justin's grandmother's house, where EVERY gift that we and the kids got had something to do with "Jeeee-zuss." Gah. You'd think she'd know by now. Tristan is now the proud owner of his very own "Bibleman" action figure thing. Complete with a video to fill his head full of BS. Yay.
But about my mother's house.
I should have known better than to think that perhaps, this year, my dear mother may want to enjoy the holidays sober. That's what I get for thinking. When we got there at 5:30 she was already completely gone. She fussed over the kids and did her usual stumbling around acting like she cares. We did the presents thing and she proceeded to make a huge deal about Lily having a cough (which, I told her, we'd already been to the ER for...) Lily was fussy and in an odd environment so she couldn't sleep. My mother begs me in a drunken slur to let her keep Lily, ON CHRISTMAS EVE, overnight. She's MY FUCKING CHILD. Not hers. "Please, please, please take care of that baby." Well, fucking duh, Mother. I'm going to just let her cough a lung up and sit there and do nothing. Please, Tristan made it to 3. I think Lily just might too.
Then she gives me some medicine to give to Lily. We argue over how to administer it. She proceeds to tell my daughter, and I quote, "Your mommy has no idea what she's doing." We then prepare to leave before I totally ruin my dear mommy's Christmas gala by telling her exactly what I think of her parenting skills (which I'm such a shining example of in all my fucked-up splendor). Then she calls me and begs me (still drunk, mind you) not to be mad at her. She's just watching out for the kids, she says. Thanks. I think I do a pretty OK job of that too.
Please, Mother. For fuck's sake, just leave me alone and let me raise my children. I appreciate all the help you give me, truly I do. But don't presume to tell me how to bring them up. Don't try to correct all the mistakes you made with Clint and I through them.
I'm glad I'm going to Dad's tomorrow. At least no one THERE will be drunk to the point of not being able to walk or complete a sentence.
Merry fucking Christmas Eve, everyone.