Mother's Day

I am not one to feel sorry for myself, usually, but dammit....why can't a holiday go by without J. totally fucking it up?

To totally understand this, we must first flashback to this last Christmas.......(flashback music playing)

I had volunteered to help out a friend with her newspaper delivery job on Christmas morning so she could go spend time at her parents house. I had informed J. of this and told him that I would be back by 6 am. The girls, Maya and Sophie, were also told that if for some reason I was not home by then, that they could see what Santa brought in their stockings but to PLEASE wait to open the presents. They, however, were 7 and 5 years old so I was counting on their "responsible father" to keep things under control. Ha....ha,ha,ha.

Let me just mention at this point that J and I are no longer together, biblically or otherwise, but he does stay relatively involved in his children's lives - which sounds great, but can prove to be otherwise. He hates me. I try valiantly to ignore this.

Anyway.....I walk into the house at approx. 6:02 am and am accosted with the sight of the living room that is totally demolished - wrapping paper and toy part everywhere. Yep, you guessed it...he let them open everything without me. This was enough to make me tear up and excuse myself upstairs where I was supposed to compose myself, but I actually started sobbing like I was on some kind Lifetime movie.

He told me that I was being selfish and I told him to leave my house before I ripped his head off and drank his blood. He left.

So that is my Christmas story....

Now that the stage has been correctly set, I am ready to blow off some steam about this whole Mother's Day thing. I don't expect him to acknowledge me on this day, but I truly had hoped that it would be a day free of his vicious sarcasm and degradation. Hope springs eternal in my heart, logic doesn't, okay?

My day wasn't the best anyway since I had to be at work from 6:30 am to 3:00 pm. He got to the house to "babysit" (his word) the children at approximately 5 am. Immediately he had to go into the typical fight. I say typical because I swear I could recite the fight by heart. I try hard not to fall into it and spew my lines on cue, but he pushes my buttons in the worst way.

I am a fucking fantastic mom, and his little remarks make the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Maybe he should scrutinize his own wacked out ideas of fatherhood as much as he scrutinizes me.

I didn't leave for New York for a year and not call my kids just because I was mad that I had to pay child support. You should be glad you got a sliding scale on that you bastard. My expenses are not on a sliding scale.

I don't scare my children as my disiplinary approach.

I do not let my children - not only listen to, but to learn the words to - Eminem and 50 cent songs. It is incredibly disturbing to hear them singing "Candy Shop".

I could go on, but I really need to be working. Happy Mother's Day to everyone who deserves it but never hear it!