That about sums up our weekend. Bitter Sweet. Hopefully yours was way better than mine. Not being on the same page as someone, [hccchmmm], your partner, kids father, someone you've shared the past 13 years of your life with is complete wretchedness. I have a huge problem listening to him tell my kids what to do, how to do it and how he says it. Whenever this happens, they're my kids only, not his. I created them by myself. At those points I wish to be alone. We're happier just the three. Really he's been nothing but good to us and does everything to take care of us but the smallest things said to my kids irks me. I protect them emotionally and fear the worst whenever he makes comments. Or anyone for that matter. After M and I had gone to her open house, she stated that all the girls were stick thin and she wasn't hungry. I've noticed that she doesn't eat as much and realize she's growing but I watch her closely because people have made remarks about her being over weight [which she's far from] she just hasn't grown into her body. Saturday morning she was pouring cereal and he made this comment, "alright, sounds like your pouring too much."
Too much. What are you talking about. She's using a small paper cup. He's not even in the kitchen. He can't actually see how much was poured. It's morning. It's not like she's been eating all day. I flipped. Not only because I know from personal experience what it's like to be a girl, trying to look pretty and thin but because I know she's not over weight and she can eat whatever she wants. When someone constantly hears that they are fat[even if they aren't] they start starving themselves, look at themselves as ugly, worthless and lifeless. I refuse to let my kids feel something I felt. I won't allow it and if that means we split and I raise my girls alone then that's what I'm doing for them. I'm not going to have my girls have a pointless relationship with their father. To be present doesn't mean your daughters are daddy's little girls.
I'm a mother, protector, fierce bull. I'm raising them the way I need to raise them. I tell them what they can and can't do. I'm the one that comforts them, makes sure they're breathing, clean, fed, dressed properly, read to, talked to, sang to, hugged, loved, kissed, tickled.
To escape the frustrations, we walked to Target, shopped and expected to go the beach. Until it started pouring yesterday. The night before we sat in the hot tub. And those
dirty old bastards, decided to piss me off [I was in no mood to begin with].
As I'm relaxing, this old fart approaches me and asks me where I live.
"Excuse me miss, where do you live."
"Huh. Down There."
What the fuck. Do you seriously think I'm gonna tell you my business.
"And what unit is that." He says.
I respond, "Does that matter."
He goes on to say yes actually it does.....people jump the fence who don't belong in here.
Okay. I have two small kids, I jumped a fence to take a dip in your rinky dink hot tub. Give me a fucking break. Seriously. I'm about to jump out and brawl with this bastard.
He tells me he's the president of the association, like I give a fuck.
I then told him he should have introduced himself.
Like this-
"Hi. My name is Bill. I'm President of the Association, whats' your name, where you staying, how long you staying, It's nice to meet you, glad your here, enjoy."
Now I have to tell people how to approach other people.
Vic's life lesson #201
Instead of assuming that me and my kids jumped a freaking fence to take a dip in your piece of shit pool, you should have greeted me properly. You shouldn't have treated me like a criminal in my very own community. So he did apologize and I said if you approach people a different way other than acting like a cocky perv, then you'll get the answers your looking for. I get very defensive when people rub me the wrong way. Like I'm gonna give your ass my info without me knowing who the fuck you are. For real. Come the fuck on. Mind you, he's staring at my fat tit hanging out my top.
Douche. Fucking. Bags.
I'm so fucking done. I can sit here and write about it for hours. But by then I would have forgotten to post this picture of Miss H. The tennis courts were wet. She was trying to dip her feet in them when all of a sudden she falls and starts balling because she got mud all over her. I'm asking her if she's hurt or dying. No, she says. Okay. Your a kid. You'll wash. Kids get dirty.
Apparently not mine.
