Merciful heavens, what a weekend!!

I spend a disproportionate amount of time worrying that I might be a bitch. Especially  as I get older, and less inclined to tolerate other people’s nonsense. Now and again, our Lord God sees fit to show me irrefutable proof that I am not a bitch by getting me right up close and personal to someone – or a whole damn family of someones – who is.

I started to tell the whole stupid story all the way back from the beginning, but neither of us need to live through that. So I’ll just start from yesterday.

The Kid is in a soccer league. He didn’t want to join the soccer league this year, because he hates it when his maternal family attends his events. He is afraid they will make a scene and embarrass him in front of his friends. The good news is, he is getting less afraid, because they do show up and they do make scenes, and he has now realized that his friends don’t even seem to notice, and if they do notice, they don’t care. No one cares. These people are like a monkeys in a cage, just screaming to hear themselves.

Whatever.

Yesterday was the league semi-finals, and a relation of the Kid was on the opposing team. Neither Kid nor Irishman could remember how they were related, only that they were. The result of this being that additional members of the Kid’s maternal extended family were at this game.

In my first go-round at step-parenting, I always insisted that whichever parent or grandparent or stepparent the Girl was with on any given day, she always warmly greet the other in the event that anyone crossed paths. I used to insist on the same with the Kid, always greeting his Grama when she came around, but at a certain point I stopped on account of the number of knives she stuck in my back made me feel disinclined to push anyone into arm’s reach of that evil woman.

Grama is maniacally manipulative, and has no idea how to handle someone who has her number, which the Kid is beginning to figure out. (She holds me responsible for this, to which I say, “Thank you. I hope I have taught him something about having people’s number.”) The first time she tried to guilt trip me, I told her we needed to meet for coffee. I said, ‘I want to make something clear. I’m not doing this because I have to, nor because I want to. I’m trying to support your relationship with your grandson because I think it is the right thing to do. I forget that you don’t know me. So I think it is only fair to tell you very directly that I do not and will not tolerate being manipulated. I don’t want guilt trips, threats, lies – I won’t do it. I want you to hear that very clearly, so that you won’t be surprised if you decide to pull this kind of thing again and find that I will no longer help you’.

She pulled the thing again. Repeatedly. I no longer help her.

I have no vested interest in causing problems with her or anyone else in her family. It’s just that they’re stupid and insane.

You know who I don’t understand? People who opt to get attention and affection from children by force.

ARE. YOU. STUPID???

The obvious answer is yes, but how stupid do they have to be to think that getting a bit of false affection from a child – or an adult from that matter, but I digress – because you guilted them into it is going to feel at all rewarding for anyone involved???

Over the course of my forty years, I have definitely learned that the person least likely to be liked by a child is the person who makes it fucking weird to be around them because they are so dead set on getting that child’s attention and affection.

THEY ARE A CHILD. You are supposed to love THEM, not arm wrestle them into acting like they love you!

Anyway, the whole family is this way. Forced affection. Constant guilt trips, threats, you name it. Grama used to call and talk to the Kid – at eight years old, mind – and invite him to do things, and if he said he didn’t want to go, she would get mad and hang up on him.

Who does that??

 

So, yesterday’s soccer game gets over and I had to book it straight out of there because I had some shopping to do and had told a friend I would meet up with them at 12:15, which was coincidentally also the time the game ended up getting over. Oops!

We are rushing to the car when someone starts calling the Kid’s name from behind us. He was ignoring the person in question (as I believe I have mentioned, he does not like this side of his family), so I turned around and said to her, “Sorry! We have to hurry because we have another appointment.”

“I just want to give him a hug,” she said.

But she didn’t say it like a normal person. She said it like a challenge. And she didn’t look at the Kid or the Irishman when she said it, she looked at me. With bitchface. Also, she stood way back from us, waiting for the Kid to stop and go back to her.

Well, this girl may have no name, but she does have a low tolerance for power struggles. I am not about to have a meeting of the matriarchs right here in the middle of the soccer parking lot because some battle-ax I never met has decided she needs a hug from a kid who doesn’t like her.

In my defense, we show up early for the games. Irishman and the Kid are ridiculously fastidious about punctuality. I mean, I’m big into being on time, but these two will call you two minutes before you said you’d be there to ask you why you aren’t there yet. Members of the Kid’s maternal family, on the other hand, are always late. Had they been there before the game started, they could have orchestrated a formal receiving line right out on the pitch and insisted that the Kid go through and hug every goddamn last one of them, and I wouldn’t care. If he wants to do it or not do it, that’s up to him. But, unfortunately for this broad, I have recently become entirely fed up with people who think that it is always up to someone else to change to suit their preference.

(I’m about to go on a tangent here, but the whole thing is a tangent, so who cares?)

Yesterday I read a blog post about things boys do and how “fun” it is to parent them at various stages. Vastly entertaining, and quite true to life. Then down in the comments some hoity-toity condescending type says ‘Please lose the F-language. It’s offensive to many people.’

Dude – fuck that idea, lady.

If you don’t like to read a column because it is littered with F-bombs, go read a different column!!!! What the hell is wrong with the world we live in when people think this is a legitimate way to handle themselves? Why do you get to tell her to stop being her because you don’t like to read it? GOD GAVE YOU EYELIDS FOR A REASON, DUMBASS. Shut your eyes. Turn your head. Click your mouse. Don’t make it her job to pander to your pansy ass preferences.

Jesus, people. Get it together!

Okay, so I’m sitting here wondering, if you want to hug the Kid, why is it my job to stop and turn around? Why is it not your job to catch up? I mean, I’m not the one with the agenda here. If you want it, you should be willing to put forth the effort. Why exactly should I have to put forth the effort for you to get what you want??? What sort of parallel universe is this??

Co-dependent, that’s what sort of parallel universe.

I wave the lady up. I say, ‘that’s fine, but we are in a hurry, so you’re gonna need to make it quick.’ And I keep walking.

Commence the comments from the peanut gallery.

The entire family, I’m guessing ten or fifteen people, stands on the sidewalk shouting insults at the Irishman and I, with the Kid watching and listening, mind you. I specifically heard “you are pure evil,” “what a jerk,” and they kept on but I quit listening.

Sigh.

I have lived in a few trailer parks in my time, but I don’t mind telling you that none of them have prepared me for people of this caliber.

I have honestly never seen people act like this. I don’t know that I’ve ever been involved in any across-the-parking-lot arguments, but certainly not shouting across a parking lot trying to pick a fight about a child who is present and listening and so are all of his closest friends.

I am having a hard time figuring out how was the jerk in this situation.

 

My favorite part?

We get in the car and I ask the Kid, “Who was that lady that wanted to hug you?”

And he says, “I’m not sure.”

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW!?

I expressed some measure of disbelief, and he amended his comment by saying, “Well, I mean, I think I know her name, but I don’t actually know how we are related.”

To quote Ricky Bobby’s charming mama, “That puts the lid right on the jar!!!”

 

So it takes a few hours for Irish and I to calm down after that little episode gets the adrenaline pumping, but we go do our shopping, and go home. I commence minding my business for the day and which happened to include reviewing my behavior several times to see what, if anything, I should have done differently.

I do, of course, realize that I could have slowed down and been a few more minutes late meeting my friend. But my history with this particular family suggests that it’s never enough. Whatever you give, they want more, and it’s always your responsibility to give it to them, they are never accountable for anything. Plus it had seemed very evident to me that this woman was merely trying to make a point and test me for weakness.

I apologized to the Kid for the way things had happened, but beyond that I just couldn’t bring myself to care.

 

Which is when you saw what got posted on my Facebook later that day.

I would like the record to show that the Kid’s bio-mom was not at his soccer game. Nor has she been at his other soccer games. Not one single, solitary game.

She had been absent from his life for the better part of seven years, until the Irishman pressed her to either stick to a formal custody agreement, or give him full parenting rights. Her first weekend visit with her son would have been the beginning of this month – except she didn’t show up. 

That’s the kind of mother we are talking about here.

Now, granted, I have no doubt that the story of the parking lot escapade was recounted to her in a highly embellished state commonly known as a “lie”, but even so. Calm the fuck down, crazy pants.

That post (which has now been deleted – by her, thank you very much) went a little something like this…

“Hi! I know that your a really important person and stuff! But sadly the attempts at filling your needs by dominating my child is coming to an end let’s give a shout out to God and the Angels for that one! I’m very sad that your EGO dominates, very sad that you not only blocked and ruined all family ties, but in this day, you still need to even block my grandmother from giving my child a hug! You are some sort of wizard filled with crazy manipulating , self serving hate. True love snd authenticity always wins ! And as time will tell, [The Kid] will know his place in the world!! Not by you !! But by his true FAMILY, [Irishmans] included! But you are just a passing imposter! You have nothing but your shadow self to lend, for your own self serving purposes! Maybe spend your energy on trying to trap somebody into getting your fat ass pregnant !! Just a thought???”

I know this is what it said, because I’ve gotten fairly used to this “say bitchy stuff on Facebook and then delete it later when I realize it only makes me look the asshole” game that she likes to play. Um, hellooooo???? Ever heard of a screen shot!?!?

So I have the post. And someday Irishman’s lawyer will have the post. Along with whatever other mystifyingly asinine things she opts to post between now and the next custody hearing.

The thing is, I did wonder if I over reacted. I did wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard. I did wonder if I should have handled it differently.

But then she pulled this out of her ass, and I thought, “nope. Not me. I am not the crazy one. This is just a bunch of selfish, manipulative people who are used to keeping everyone else under their thumbs trying to gaslight me because they need me to not realize that they have no actual power.’

Too late. I already know you have no actual power.

When she posted her charming and eloquent comments (ooh, sarcasm. Such fun!), I just sat quietly with it, as I generally do when she goes on a rant like that. I could have deleted it, but I know that part of why she does this is that she thinks the potential embarrassment will paralyze me, that I’ll be afraid.

I am not afraid.

I have been asked multiple times why I even allow her to be my friend on Facebook given the fact that we have never actually had a conversation in person, and every communication I have ever had with her has been overflowing with lies, insults, &/or manipulations. But she is the Kid’s mother. She has a right to know what he is doing and who he is spending his time with.

I am not afraid.

And you know what else? I’m not even embarrassed. Because she has not ever, not even for one minute in her son’s entire life, seen him and I interact. She has no idea what kind of influence I am or what I teach him. She also has no idea who he is or what he wants out of life. (Did I tell you that she private messaged me back in March to ask what she should get him for his birthday??? True story. I gave her a legitimate list of awesome ideas, and when his birthday came, she didn’t get him anything and told him it was because she “didn’t have any ideas.”) (Top shelf broad, you know? Classy.)

And my friends rallied. The comments came rolling in from people who do know who I am, and have seen the dynamic between me and the Kid. It was appreciated. By me, that is. Apparently less so by her. The post was completely highjacked, and the anger was countered with love, with wit, and with honesty.

She sure doesn’t know me, that was obvious. Because do you know what I want out of life??? A FAT ASS. Right? All my life, I’ve had the boobs, not the backside. I WANT THE BACKSIDE!!! You wanna call me fat ass and think you’ve hurt my feelings?? No way! I’m sayin’ thanks for putting it out into the universe with me! Maybe if we join forces, especially in this emotionally charged state, we can manifest it faster!!!!

The bad news is, my ass is just as tiny today as it was yesterday. I’m hoping for a delayed reaction. Maybe by tomorrow?

Mostly I’m just upset that she let the cat out of the bag on the whole ‘wizard’ thing. I was trying to keep my magical capabilities under the radar, and all of a sudden this bitch is broadcasting it to the whole world. (That’s right. The whole world. Because I have 7.375 billion Facebook followers. You probably didn’t realize.) Next thing you know everyone is gonna be hitting me up for spells and potions, and I’m going to have no time for myself.

Also, she seems to miss the fact that I have fully functional ovaries and a uterus. I am not involved in this relationship because I needed someone else’s child. I am in a relationship (well, a sorta/kinda relationship, but let’s not dwell on that. It’s entirely beside the point.) (Wait… What is the point?) (Oh, I forget.) (Just never mind.)  with someone who has a child, and he and his child need me. That doesn’t make me evil.

Or maybe it does, whatever. As long as I get a fat ass out of the deal, I’m happy.

 

 

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