I’m at breaking point for stress.
And this time it’s not because of a bratty Belly, a frustrating Zachy, or a misbehaving Ryan.
I need happy music. ((goes and turns on happy music))
Some of my readers know about the rocky relationship I have with my father and step-mother. And I always feel horrible enough about it without my father “joking” about it in front of the boys. I love my father more than anything, I always have. I was willing to put up with so much disappointment, broken promises, and careless neglect from him when it came to me, but I just can’t allow that for the kiddos. (Mainly the boys since Belly really doesn’t know them) It’s not like they don’t care about the kids, they do. They love them so much, and try so hard to be good grandparents, but at a point you just have to say no. And the boys love them soooo much too.
There were several reasons that led us to no longer send the boys over there, I won’t say what they all were, but one was my father’s alcoholism. The very sad part is that my father is a much nicer man drunk than he is sober so nobody (including my brother and I) has ever gave him any reason not to drink. But I (and John) don’t want the boys seeing that and thinking that it’s OK. I don’t want them growing up knowing that about their grandfather, not at this age where they are old enough to pick up on it.
My step-mother called me today wanting the kiddos to come out for the weekend. The kids already have plans so I don’t feel bad saying no. But I felt bad enough to suggest maybe we could come to dinner on Sunday instead.
You’re probably wondering what’s so bad about that.
My father may not be drunk when we get there, but he’ll probably already be working his way to it. He’ll make comments in front of, and to, the boys about how it’s my fault they never come over anymore and how I’m just a mean mommy – in a “joking” way of course. I can’t stand these comments. They make me feel horrible. Like depressed horrible for days. Because I love my father, my father loves the boys, the boys love him and miss him. I want them to spend more time with him, but I just can’t, and he refuses to see that. He refuses to see all the times I tried and tried to make it work and then have to watch the disappointment and hurt the boys would feel when he never showed up. This is going to set off the same reaction every holiday does. The boys will start asking and begging to go do sleepover again, and since I can’t tell them all the reasons why not, I get to be the bad guy and just say no. Stupidly, I’m going to be happy the whole time. I’m going to bask in getting to see my dad. I’m going to believe him when he says he wishes he got to see me more. Then I’m also going to be hurt and disappointed when I get home and remember I can’t. I can’t put myself constantly through this anymore. No that’s a lie, I could. I can’t keep putting the kids through it though.
Now I get to worry and stress about this all week, but I can’t let it show, or let John know or John will say no, we aren’t going. And I really do want to see my Daddy.