For days I have been mulling over a thoughtful post on the chaotic stage of life in which I find myself, and trying to find time to write it. I don't have time now either, but I have to post this because I need to vent.
We have had dinner plans for a month for Sunday night: our supper club is getting together. This is always a relaxing, enjoyable evening with friends, and the kids get to hang with other kids, and it's a great thing all around. I was really looking forward to it this weekend because it would come after 24 hours in Nashville on the firm retreat, talking about budgets and billing and business development - which will suck, in case that isn't immediately obvious. The weekend just got a lot worse.
Mr. J's dad wants to host dinner on Sunday night for Judgy Grandma's birthday. Mr-Papa will be manning the grill, and Mr-Mama will be inside stressing out as her in-laws always get her torqued up. I will be stuck socializing with Baby Mama Cousin and her mother the Nosy Aunt. I will have to listen to a play-by-play about Baby Mama's son and how he is interacting with the Bear. Meanwhile, there will be no alcohol because Drunk Grandpa is back on the wagon -- which is a good thing for him but not real pleasant for the rest of us. What part of this will be pleasant? None of it. Mr-Papa will char the steaks and Mr-mama will make her nasty bean salad, and of course, Nosy Aunt will bring that damn cheesecake. The whole experience will be awful.
Mr. J called me earlier in the week while I was at work to say that his dad wanted to do this birthday dinner on Sunday. I said, "we already have plans on Sunday." Evidently Mr. J did not bother to relay that back to his father. Now it's Friday and everyone is expecting us on Sunday.
I made the mistake of telling Mr. J I wanted to keep our original plans. I don't want to go to the family dinner, and if they really wanted us to be there, maybe they should have consulted our calendars before scheduling it. Mr. J went into a spiel about how it is Judgy Grandma's birthday and who knows how long she will be around, blah blah. Fine, I said, we will go to your family's dinner. I was very clear: we will go. But I proceeded to tell him exactly how much it is going to suck. Mr. J said, "Think about how bad you would feel if this were her last birthday." And I said, "She's not MY grandma."
Mr. J got really mad, and the conversation deteriorated from there. But here's what I was trying to say: I understand that HE would feel really bad if we didn't go and it was her last birthday. I get that, and I would feel bad FOR HIM if that happened. That's why I said we would go. But me? No, I wouldn't really feel any personal sense of loss if we missed her last birthday. She's not my grandma, I don't have any affectionate history with her, and in point of fact I really don't like her much as a person. She's kind of a manipulative b!tch.
I'm going to go to this sucky awful family function so that Mr. J can feel good about having been there. But what's in it for me? His happiness, not any kind of emotional solace of my own. I'm not going to be feeling any uplift in it for myself. Can't he just accept that I am doing something I don't want to do, FOR HIM, and appreciate that? Why does pointing that out make me the bad guy?
I'm giving up my fun plans for a miserable alcohol-free evening with his awful extended family. Stop trying to convince me it's for my own good and just say thank you.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Friday, August 16, 2013
Twinkle: Waiting for the Sh*tstorm to Begin (Warning: Explicit)
My oldest daughter, A, is 5-1/2 years old.
That's 5-1/2 years of watching people look into her (and her sisters') tired eyes and say, "She's going to sleep well tonight!" And 5-1/2 years of knowing they've instantly cursed us with their bullsh*t announcement. Because nothing guarantees a horrible night more than someone proclaiming that "she's going to sleep well tonight." Just leave it the f*ck alone, everybody. Don't comment on it! Keep it to yourself! Or if you just have to say it to me, how about I f*cking call you to come over at 1 a.m. when my kid is still bouncing off the walls, and you can deal with the situation? Or you can come over and sit in her room when she wakes up at 3 a.m. and sees a shadow on her wall. And I will go to your house and sleep in your bed. How about that? Because, when you say out loud that my kid is going to sleep well tonight, this is what I hear: "I hate you, Twinkle, and I want you to have a miserable Friday night." And then I watch you drive off into the night, knowing that you don't have to deal with the sh*tstorm you have just conjured.
I consider it a statement that you hate me, or at the very least don't ever listen to me, because, for 5-1/2 years, I have repeatedly asked friends and family not to say that to me. I have stated, flat out, on multiple occasions, "Do not say that. Please take it back. It is the worst jinx there is." And, for 5-1/2 years, the worst offender has been Fun Sink's mother, Grandma-in-law; she ignores my pleading at every turn.
So my children spent all day at the State Fair, riding every ride available to the 44-inch and shorter set, admiring the giant produce, eating various junk foods, and seeing the different breeds of goats. Common sense would tell us that they'd be wiped out, but who knows? If I've been asking you for 5-1/2 years to just shut the f*ck up about whether or not they're going to sleep well, please respect my wishes. I mean it now more than ever.
Tonight I said (for the millionth time), "Please stop. Please don't say it. Take it back." And then Fun Sink had to chime in and say, "Oh, but I know these girls are going to sleep well tonight." Did you not just hear me, b*tch? I. Asked. You. To. Stop.
Here's the bad news for you, Fun Sink: I'm probably going to drink wine and have sex with your son anyway.
But until then I'm just bracing myself for the inevitable.
That's 5-1/2 years of watching people look into her (and her sisters') tired eyes and say, "She's going to sleep well tonight!" And 5-1/2 years of knowing they've instantly cursed us with their bullsh*t announcement. Because nothing guarantees a horrible night more than someone proclaiming that "she's going to sleep well tonight." Just leave it the f*ck alone, everybody. Don't comment on it! Keep it to yourself! Or if you just have to say it to me, how about I f*cking call you to come over at 1 a.m. when my kid is still bouncing off the walls, and you can deal with the situation? Or you can come over and sit in her room when she wakes up at 3 a.m. and sees a shadow on her wall. And I will go to your house and sleep in your bed. How about that? Because, when you say out loud that my kid is going to sleep well tonight, this is what I hear: "I hate you, Twinkle, and I want you to have a miserable Friday night." And then I watch you drive off into the night, knowing that you don't have to deal with the sh*tstorm you have just conjured.
I consider it a statement that you hate me, or at the very least don't ever listen to me, because, for 5-1/2 years, I have repeatedly asked friends and family not to say that to me. I have stated, flat out, on multiple occasions, "Do not say that. Please take it back. It is the worst jinx there is." And, for 5-1/2 years, the worst offender has been Fun Sink's mother, Grandma-in-law; she ignores my pleading at every turn.
So my children spent all day at the State Fair, riding every ride available to the 44-inch and shorter set, admiring the giant produce, eating various junk foods, and seeing the different breeds of goats. Common sense would tell us that they'd be wiped out, but who knows? If I've been asking you for 5-1/2 years to just shut the f*ck up about whether or not they're going to sleep well, please respect my wishes. I mean it now more than ever.
Tonight I said (for the millionth time), "Please stop. Please don't say it. Take it back." And then Fun Sink had to chime in and say, "Oh, but I know these girls are going to sleep well tonight." Did you not just hear me, b*tch? I. Asked. You. To. Stop.
Here's the bad news for you, Fun Sink: I'm probably going to drink wine and have sex with your son anyway.
But until then I'm just bracing myself for the inevitable.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Twinkle: Be Cool, Mr. Twinkle. Be Cool.
(I wrote this earlier today, but couldn't post from my phone for some reason).
---
So Michele is cleaning my house today, and I like to be gone while she's there, lest she make me organize a closet or something. My inlaws were supposed to pick up the girls for their non-Newport aquarium day, so I called them to see if we could either meet up or if I could just drop them off.
Then there were the questions about his car. Yes, his car is old, but we like it. I take him to work a lot of days because the drive time together is extra time to talk or hang out--it is hard to carve out time to have a conversation together, so chatting while we drive into his office is nice. It works for us, it doesn't hurt anyone else, and who really cares, right? Mr. and Mrs. Fun Sink--that's who. We are forever answering myriad questions about his car and why I'm taking him to work. And I wish he'd just shut it down by explaining it, but he can't explain anything without being defensive, and that just feeds their suspicion of us and the way we do things.
---
So Michele is cleaning my house today, and I like to be gone while she's there, lest she make me organize a closet or something. My inlaws were supposed to pick up the girls for their non-Newport aquarium day, so I called them to see if we could either meet up or if I could just drop them off.
We got there and they were critical of the facts that 1). Mr. Twinkle wasn't at work yet and 2). I was driving him. We knew they'd say something about both, so I told Mr. Twinks ahead of time that instead of letting them beat him down about it, he should remind them that the reason we took the girls there before taking him to work was that we knew they were anxious to see the girls, and we were trying to do them a favor. (Because, if I'd taken him to work first, they would have been mad at me for being there later than they wanted). Of course Mr. Twinkle had to add definitively, "Shelley's not even there yet! He's doing his physical therapy. He does it every Monday at this time." Ok, buddy. Way to play it cool.
Exhausted yet?
I realized that a big part of my reaction to them is tied up with the dynamic between Mr. Twinks and them, which is kind of unfair. I shouldn't let anyone else determine how I react, but at the same time it's his family and so he sets the tone. His tone is always defensive, because he is constantly under attack for his every action. He is constantly answering questions about boring minutiae, so of course he feels the need to give long, desperate explanations for everything.
I actually used to do that, too. I stopped when I realized I'll never impress them. They actually don't want to understand my motivations or reasons for anything, so I don't waste my time explaining.
But I think it would be easier to handle being with them if Mr. Twinks could get a handle on that, too. If he were more confident with them, maybe I would be, too. The honest reasons that we took the girls to their house before taking him to work are that we knew they wanted to see the girls/we were trying to do them a favor/we didn't want to hear them complaining that I was too late dropping them off. We were trying to be nice--you're welcome, *ssholes. The reason I'm driving Scott to work is that we like to spend time together. Mr. Twinks needs to work on just giving the one main answer without going into detail about how the car's fine and this way's easier (he's saving big on parking!), etc.
I'm emotionally exhausted and it's 10 a.m. on a Monday.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Twinkle: Fun Sink's Agenda Shut Down
My inlaws' habit of pushing through with their own agenda without even consulting me persists. Tonight they announced that they were taking my children to the Newport Aquarium tomorrow.
Back up to a few days ago...my inlaws are so worried about my SIL going into early labor with Little Lord Fun Sink that they don't want to schedule any overnight visits with my children for the three weeks leading up to the due date, which is actually fine with me because they're assholes and I don't want my children exposed too much. (Plus, hello, morons--if you get a call in the middle of the night while our children are sleeping over, just call Mr. Twinks or me and we'll come over and sleep at your house...easy solution). Anyway, they were insisting that the girls spend the night tonight because it's the last night they feel comfortable having them over, but Mr. Twinks and I said no because we're trying to get them into some good habits before school starts, and bedtimes at home aren't going well, which leads to behavior problems during the day...so, sorry, no, they can't spend the night. So my inlaws said they wanted to spend some time with the girls on Monday. I said fine.
Tonight we had to go to the big August birthday dinner at Uncle Larry's house, where my FIL just announced that the outing for tomorrow is a trip to the Newport Aquarium ("to do something educational," Fun Sink couldn't help but add). They didn't ask. They announced. I have a problem with this because:
1). I hate that road up to Cincinnatti.
2). When the girls do the Newport Aquarium, I want to go with them.
3). We're trying to form good habits and we need E to nap at home.
4). Want to take my children somewhere? Great--but don't tell me! Ask!
Mr. Twinkle said it might be hard to get back before E's naptime. They said they'd pick the girls up earlier. We went back and forth and back and forth and Mr. Twinkle and I said no every way we knew how, and my inlaws threw back another scenario to make the Newport thing work. Finally Fun Sink said, "Well, why don't we leave Newport at around 1:30 and she can just get her nap in the car?" I looked at Mr. Twinkle, exasperated, and he said as clearly as he could that we want her to nap at home. It's not hard to understand, and yet they think they own us and our children, and can just take them to destinations that are hours away anytime they want.
Then Fun Sink got all passive-aggressive and noncommittal about a pickup time. I actually think she has a mental illness. Who thinks they can take someone else's children to the Newport Aquarium, or anywhere else, without asking? And I'm sure she thinks I'm the mean one for saying no to it.
Back up to a few days ago...my inlaws are so worried about my SIL going into early labor with Little Lord Fun Sink that they don't want to schedule any overnight visits with my children for the three weeks leading up to the due date, which is actually fine with me because they're assholes and I don't want my children exposed too much. (Plus, hello, morons--if you get a call in the middle of the night while our children are sleeping over, just call Mr. Twinks or me and we'll come over and sleep at your house...easy solution). Anyway, they were insisting that the girls spend the night tonight because it's the last night they feel comfortable having them over, but Mr. Twinks and I said no because we're trying to get them into some good habits before school starts, and bedtimes at home aren't going well, which leads to behavior problems during the day...so, sorry, no, they can't spend the night. So my inlaws said they wanted to spend some time with the girls on Monday. I said fine.
Tonight we had to go to the big August birthday dinner at Uncle Larry's house, where my FIL just announced that the outing for tomorrow is a trip to the Newport Aquarium ("to do something educational," Fun Sink couldn't help but add). They didn't ask. They announced. I have a problem with this because:
1). I hate that road up to Cincinnatti.
2). When the girls do the Newport Aquarium, I want to go with them.
3). We're trying to form good habits and we need E to nap at home.
4). Want to take my children somewhere? Great--but don't tell me! Ask!
Mr. Twinkle said it might be hard to get back before E's naptime. They said they'd pick the girls up earlier. We went back and forth and back and forth and Mr. Twinkle and I said no every way we knew how, and my inlaws threw back another scenario to make the Newport thing work. Finally Fun Sink said, "Well, why don't we leave Newport at around 1:30 and she can just get her nap in the car?" I looked at Mr. Twinkle, exasperated, and he said as clearly as he could that we want her to nap at home. It's not hard to understand, and yet they think they own us and our children, and can just take them to destinations that are hours away anytime they want.
Then Fun Sink got all passive-aggressive and noncommittal about a pickup time. I actually think she has a mental illness. Who thinks they can take someone else's children to the Newport Aquarium, or anywhere else, without asking? And I'm sure she thinks I'm the mean one for saying no to it.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
It Happened. Really, It Happened: Dibbs
I've totally been in sympathy, empathy, compassion, all those caring words as we've talked about children. I've understood about how they say your name 1,000 times until you want to change your name to "Please" so they just won't say it, or sit outside the bathroom while you do your stuff, or make you hold them while you brush your teeth, or all the other things they make you do.
Today I had to schedule two weeks in advance to hang out with the boys. August 9th is the best time that I can see them. I would take "Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs, hey, Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs," over girls, McDonald's and college.
Sunrise...Sundown...
Today I had to schedule two weeks in advance to hang out with the boys. August 9th is the best time that I can see them. I would take "Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs, hey, Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs," over girls, McDonald's and college.
Sunrise...Sundown...
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
No, The Plumber, I'm Not Anybody's Damn Grandma (And Why Is Botox Failing Me?): Dibbs
Julep let me borrow her baby today. She was precious. Also, my toilet started making crazy noises, so I had to call the plumber. We were right in the middle of a bottle when the plumber arrived. Baby was so polite about taking a break to let the plumbers in. The plumbers, ahem.
Mentioned the word, "Grandma."
Now, I don't remember what the man actually said. I just heard, "Grandma."
Let's review.
Grandmas do not: wear Lacoste tank tops.
recite the words to The Breakfast Club.
go to The Mixer and touch all over the hot little waiter.
sing Train songs to the baby.
pick up Darrell at Old Crow.
get a text from said Darrell.
Right? Right? Please say I'm right. Do not remind me (as my mother did) that I could, numerically, be the baby's grandma.
And tell Rod that his name-on-the-shirt-ass can kiss mine if he wants his $95 check. There.
Mentioned the word, "Grandma."
Now, I don't remember what the man actually said. I just heard, "Grandma."
Let's review.
Grandmas do not: wear Lacoste tank tops.
recite the words to The Breakfast Club.
go to The Mixer and touch all over the hot little waiter.
sing Train songs to the baby.
pick up Darrell at Old Crow.
get a text from said Darrell.
Right? Right? Please say I'm right. Do not remind me (as my mother did) that I could, numerically, be the baby's grandma.
And tell Rod that his name-on-the-shirt-ass can kiss mine if he wants his $95 check. There.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Twinkle: Holy Sh!t. Lesson Learned.
Holy Sh!t.
I am in the middle of the most epically bad bedtime in history. A has pulled out all the stops, drama-wise. I mean, I've never seen anything like it. This is a child who normally at this point in her life reads a book, turns the light out, maybe talks with her sister a little bit, and goes to sleep. It's now 2 hours later and she is wailing in her room. Wailing. I don't feel like describing the long chain of dramatic events because living through them once was exhausting enough, but trust me: It. Was. Epic.
Let me also say that she is a child who needs a little anchoring from home and from her parents. If she's away from the rules and structure of home for too long, it's like she's just adrift at sea. I'm not saying we have some big routine because we don't, but whatever it is that normally happens here at home, she needs it to function like a human being. When she goes without it for too long, she's like a wild animal who has been released into nature and then has to be redomesticated. Basically she melts the f*ck down, as a hyena might if you put a bow in its hair and tried to make it to act like a nice, normal little girl.
Rewind to yesterday morning.
I agreed to let Twinklette go swimming and to a movie with Fun Sink and FIL, without sisters. She's recently had three epic screaming tantrums in front of them (it only happens when they're around, strangely), so I guess they figure, "Hey--let's reward her with a day that's all about her." They picked her up at 9 a.m., leaving a distraught little sister to fend for herself (cling to me) all day while I held Baby B and thought about all the packing I wasn't doing.
Here's what happened when they picked her up:
Me: What time are you all bringing her home?
FIL: I don't know. We have a lot of fun planned.
Me: That's great! Do you have any idea what time it'll be?
Fun Sink: (sort of circumspect) Oh...I don't know...Does she have something to do later?
Me: No, not really.
(Silence).
(More silence as I wait for an answer).
(I mean, for fuck's sake, people--I want to be home when you drop off my kid, so just give me a time!)
Me: So, can you all give me a ballpark?
Fun Sink: Well, maybe she'll just spend the night.
Me: Stunned silence and disbelief as they drove away with my child.
Later they talked on the phone and asked Mr. Twinkle if it was OK. He said yes. And then they sent me a quick text (after it was all said and done) to "ask" me if it was OK. I would have said no if they'd asked under normal circumstances (if they hadn't just announced--in front of her--that it was happening, and if they hadn't already talked to Mr. Twinkle about it), because not only were they supposed to take A yesterday but they were also supposed to take A and E to the pool today. That adds up to around 30 hours that A spent away from home. She went to the pool; she went to the movies; she went to Chuck E. Cheese; she went to the Slugger Museum; she went to a playground; she went on a picnic; she went back to the pool. It was too much time away from home doing too much stuff. She came home completely exhausted and without the grounding she needs to function, and I knew I'd pay the price for it tonight. And I did.
So first we're going to list the multiple ways Fun Sink screwed me over, and then we're going to talk about what I know I have to do about it from now on.
The Screwing Over:
1) I lost a whole day of packing. When she took A out of the mix, E didn't know what to do with herself. If they'd both been here, they could have played together and I could have presumably dashed down the basement to do a couple loads of laundry throughout the day. Instead, E clung to me and my day became all about making her happy.
2). They picked up E late this morning, which delayed B's naptime and shortened my precious packing time.
3). They brought A and E back in the middle of B's naptime, ending naptime early.
4). A was such a nightmare tonight that it's now 10:30 and I lost a whole night of would-be packing.
5). Because of them I have pretty much lost two days of valuable packing time. I know it seems like I still have time, but packing for three girls and myself (minus Mr. Twinks--he has to work) is a daunting task, and I need the time and energy to do laundry, think of everything, make it happen. I can't just throw some things in a suitcase Friday morning.
They did all this under the auspices of helping me have time to pack. And I'm supposed to smile and say, "Thank you so much for taking the girls while I packed," when, actually, because of them, I've barely even started packing.
---
Here's what I've learned:
This is actually my fault for not speaking up. They put me on the spot when they announced that "maybe she'll just spend the night" while she was standing right there, and as shocked as I was, I should have spoken up right then. They went around my authority when they asked Mr. Twinks' permission. But that's still no excuse for not stepping in and saying no, even after he said yes (although Mr. Twinks and I do like to present a united front to them). I knew it was too much; I knew it wasn't going to end well. It was my responsibility to speak up for what was best for my child, and I didn't because I wanted to be nice. I didn't want to give Fun Sink a reason to think I'm a b*tch. When she texted me, I didn't want to be petty and stir up something unnecessarily via text message. I should have called her and said no.
So I've been punished, and I hope that the next time this happens I remember this night, and how awful it was, and how it was really my fault for not standing up for what I know my child needs.
So, lesson learned. And now for the packing.
I am in the middle of the most epically bad bedtime in history. A has pulled out all the stops, drama-wise. I mean, I've never seen anything like it. This is a child who normally at this point in her life reads a book, turns the light out, maybe talks with her sister a little bit, and goes to sleep. It's now 2 hours later and she is wailing in her room. Wailing. I don't feel like describing the long chain of dramatic events because living through them once was exhausting enough, but trust me: It. Was. Epic.
Let me also say that she is a child who needs a little anchoring from home and from her parents. If she's away from the rules and structure of home for too long, it's like she's just adrift at sea. I'm not saying we have some big routine because we don't, but whatever it is that normally happens here at home, she needs it to function like a human being. When she goes without it for too long, she's like a wild animal who has been released into nature and then has to be redomesticated. Basically she melts the f*ck down, as a hyena might if you put a bow in its hair and tried to make it to act like a nice, normal little girl.
Rewind to yesterday morning.
I agreed to let Twinklette go swimming and to a movie with Fun Sink and FIL, without sisters. She's recently had three epic screaming tantrums in front of them (it only happens when they're around, strangely), so I guess they figure, "Hey--let's reward her with a day that's all about her." They picked her up at 9 a.m., leaving a distraught little sister to fend for herself (cling to me) all day while I held Baby B and thought about all the packing I wasn't doing.
Here's what happened when they picked her up:
Me: What time are you all bringing her home?
FIL: I don't know. We have a lot of fun planned.
Me: That's great! Do you have any idea what time it'll be?
Fun Sink: (sort of circumspect) Oh...I don't know...Does she have something to do later?
Me: No, not really.
(Silence).
(More silence as I wait for an answer).
(I mean, for fuck's sake, people--I want to be home when you drop off my kid, so just give me a time!)
Me: So, can you all give me a ballpark?
Fun Sink: Well, maybe she'll just spend the night.
Me: Stunned silence and disbelief as they drove away with my child.
Later they talked on the phone and asked Mr. Twinkle if it was OK. He said yes. And then they sent me a quick text (after it was all said and done) to "ask" me if it was OK. I would have said no if they'd asked under normal circumstances (if they hadn't just announced--in front of her--that it was happening, and if they hadn't already talked to Mr. Twinkle about it), because not only were they supposed to take A yesterday but they were also supposed to take A and E to the pool today. That adds up to around 30 hours that A spent away from home. She went to the pool; she went to the movies; she went to Chuck E. Cheese; she went to the Slugger Museum; she went to a playground; she went on a picnic; she went back to the pool. It was too much time away from home doing too much stuff. She came home completely exhausted and without the grounding she needs to function, and I knew I'd pay the price for it tonight. And I did.
So first we're going to list the multiple ways Fun Sink screwed me over, and then we're going to talk about what I know I have to do about it from now on.
The Screwing Over:
1) I lost a whole day of packing. When she took A out of the mix, E didn't know what to do with herself. If they'd both been here, they could have played together and I could have presumably dashed down the basement to do a couple loads of laundry throughout the day. Instead, E clung to me and my day became all about making her happy.
2). They picked up E late this morning, which delayed B's naptime and shortened my precious packing time.
3). They brought A and E back in the middle of B's naptime, ending naptime early.
4). A was such a nightmare tonight that it's now 10:30 and I lost a whole night of would-be packing.
5). Because of them I have pretty much lost two days of valuable packing time. I know it seems like I still have time, but packing for three girls and myself (minus Mr. Twinks--he has to work) is a daunting task, and I need the time and energy to do laundry, think of everything, make it happen. I can't just throw some things in a suitcase Friday morning.
They did all this under the auspices of helping me have time to pack. And I'm supposed to smile and say, "Thank you so much for taking the girls while I packed," when, actually, because of them, I've barely even started packing.
---
Here's what I've learned:
This is actually my fault for not speaking up. They put me on the spot when they announced that "maybe she'll just spend the night" while she was standing right there, and as shocked as I was, I should have spoken up right then. They went around my authority when they asked Mr. Twinks' permission. But that's still no excuse for not stepping in and saying no, even after he said yes (although Mr. Twinks and I do like to present a united front to them). I knew it was too much; I knew it wasn't going to end well. It was my responsibility to speak up for what was best for my child, and I didn't because I wanted to be nice. I didn't want to give Fun Sink a reason to think I'm a b*tch. When she texted me, I didn't want to be petty and stir up something unnecessarily via text message. I should have called her and said no.
So I've been punished, and I hope that the next time this happens I remember this night, and how awful it was, and how it was really my fault for not standing up for what I know my child needs.
So, lesson learned. And now for the packing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)