The 'B' word.

I know it's been a couple months since my last posting. I've been a recluse of some sorts since then, trying to figure things out and deal with them. I kinda internalize things of this nature because I don't like having such overwhelming negativity in my life, but it is what it is so I've just tried to talk myself in circles instead of burdening others with it. Initially, my intentions were to just hold out for a bit, to try to hang in there long enough for Mike to decide, as he always has, that he had more important places to be and things to do than to be a father; that or screw up, which also is quite the hobby of his.

At any rate, it's gone on a lot longer than I'd expected. I discovered that his new girlfriend and his family are putting in quite the hours as his enablers. Now I know this might sound horrible, that I'm sitting here waiting for him fail. But that's kind of a result of years of exposure to him and the person he's chosen to be. In my heart of hearts, OF COURSE I want him to be a healthy, responsible, loving, proud father to his children. I want my baby girls to have a daddy to run up to and be swept up in the kind of big, strong, safe hug only a father can give. I want my son to have someone to look up to, someone to aspire to, someone to be proud of. I think that's why I hung on for long before the divorce; because I've read the statistics on children raised in broken homes. Long before the feeling was actually real, my heart ached at just the thought of the kids feeling like they were different or not worthy because they didn't have a dad who desired to be there for them. My point being, I pray daily that Mike finds it in him to be the kind of dad my children deserve; but reality, the past, and now the present predict that that's not going to happen... not anytime soon at least.

So it's happening, his "weekend dad" circus show is slowing falling apart at the seams. And it's bittersweet. It's FAR from the relief I thought it might be. The months and months that had gone by last year that he didn't even bother with a phone call gave me just enough of a break from my usual full-time job of healing the kids' hearts from his selfish decisions, that I forgot, I forgot how instantly, and almost literally, you can feel your heart shattered from listening to the confusion and hurt while watching tiny tears stream down their faces that you can't possible wipe off quick enough. There's been things here and there since January that made me realize that my just getting through was going to be a lot harder than I thought. Like one time when he let Lacey call me from his cell phone from out in front of the school when he was dropping them off one morning because she needed me to bring her something to school that day. Well he must've thought she turned off the phone because I heard him set it down on the console, still on. So I sat there and felt my face grow hot as I listened to him yell, and I mean yell, at the one of the kids, "FU*K! What the f*ck!?!?! Watch what the f*ck you're doing!!!!!" Needless to say, I hung up. But today, today I thought I might actually crumble to the ground in pieces.

Today, Lacey told me that Mike called her a b*tch this morning. She came up to me next to the pool while I was blowing up a floaty. She just stood there, looking down, chasing an ant around the pavement with her big toe that had pink chipped fingernail polish on it, her voice shaking, telling me her father had called her the "b-word". It had something to do with breakfast and Monkey Bread and Savannah and something else. I didn't really get the whole story, nor do I think it matters much. I said, "Uhmmm... what????" If you haven't ever heard anyone refer to mother feathers, well, lemme just say they weren't ruffled... I was a naked bird standing there as every single one of them flew right off. I tried not to make a big deal about it because I want the kids to feel like they can tell me anything and I'm not going to freak out. I think she saw all the colour drain from my face though because she said, "Well, I don't know. Maybe he didn't." Now I know from experience, kids can exaggerate and sometimes even fabricate things; so as a general rule of thumb I try to keep things in perspective when chatting with the kids. But without missing a beat, Savannah piped up from the pool steps only just 2 feet away, "Uh, yes he did, Lacey. He called you the b-word. I heard him. He did, Mom." I saw a tear run down Lacey's face. I said, "Lacey, look at me." She wouldn't look up. I pushed away all the horrible, hateful words I wanted to yell at Mike in that moment and put down the floaty and squatted down in front of her so she had nowhere else to look at but at me. "I'm sorry," I told her, "I'm sorry your daddy said that to you. You ARE NOT the b-word. No matter what you do you would never be a b-word. And your daddy should not have said that to you." She nodded. And low and behold, as would be expected, Shane piped up from the seat in the deep end where he had been watching like the good little detective of Mike's he is, and said, "Well he tried apologizing Lacey. And you wouldn't let him." I hushed him right up. I said we were done talking about it and we proceeded to cool ourselves in the way-too-cold water from the 97 degree heat. But I was still sick.

It got worse. Shortly after getting home I had spaghetti on the stove cooking, I was mopping the kitchen floor, Savannah was on the computer, Lacey was... guess??..... yes READING, Harland was busy throwing anything he could find onto my mopped kitchen from from behind his non-productive barricade of chairs, and Shane and Dion were watching The Tale of Desperaux. Anyhow, I walked through the living to do something and on the way back, somehow, Dion managed to hop on her knees or something of the sort right across my pinkie toe - ripped the nail half off. It hurt quite a bit to put it mildly. BUT, I knew it had to have hurt her knee just as bad. I said, "Shoot!!" while picking what bit of nail was hanging on by a thread and then looked down at Dion. She had big eyes and a blank look. I told her, "It's okay. It's your knee alright? Is it bleeding?" She burst into tears. Briefly I thought, well it can't be THAT bad. But that's not why she was crying. I walked over to her and asked, "Are you okay? What's wrong?" She had her face in her hands and was crying and said, "I'm sorry. It was an accident!" I rubbed her back for a second and said I knew it was an accident and it was okay and did she need a band aid for her knee. I heard my hamburger meat needing stirring so I proceeded to the kitchen. About 5 minutes later she popped her head up over the kitchen counter putting to use one of the barricade chair that weren't working anyway. She was still a bit sober, her head down. She quietly said, "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to." and started to cry. I was a bit surprised because I thought we had gotten over this. I walked down to the end of the counter and put my arm around her and said, "I know, Baby Girl. I said it was okay, I'm fine. No biggie." Muffled by my shoulder, she said, "But Daddy always gets mad and yells at me even if it's an accident." I squeezed a little tighter and said, "Well I'm sorry. But it's okay. Accidents happen. I'm okay, you're okay. Want some orange Julius??" Thinking I wasn't going to notice she wiped her face on my shoulder before pulling away and said, "Okay, thank-you. I lub you." How can I send her back there knowing I can't protect her from that sort of thing?

And now for the icing. Yes, there's more. We were sitting at the dinner table and Savannah was to my left. About half way through while the other three kids were occupied by laughing at Shane who had the hiccups and was leaning back against the wall so that every time he hiccuped the back of his head would hit the wall. I know, the things these kids amuse themselves with. lol. Anyway, Savannah stood up from her chair and took one step next to me. With her lovely garlic bread crumb covered hand resting on my shoulder, she looked away from the table as if to keep the other kids from reading her lips, and said quietly, "Mom, I don't want to go to Dad's on Tuesday. Do I have to go?" Now this isn't the first time I've heard this from one of them, so I just said, "I think you do, Sweetie. I don't know. I guess maybe you could ask Dad and see what he says." I saw her swallow, and blink, and I knew what was next. Her eyes welled up and she said said, looking at the wall behind me, "But I don't want him to yell at us anymore. He always cusses and yells at us when we do things wrong, like spill something or something, even if it's on accident." I put down my fork and put my arm around her and gave her a hug and whispered in her ear, "I'm so sorry, Sweetie. We can ask him if you can stay home Tuesday." She nodded and pulled away, wiped her tears off so the other kids wouldn't see, and went back to her dinner.

I tucked them in tonight, laid on the couch, and sobbed. I should've moved away last year when I had the chance.

Pray for them, for us.

♥me