For the sake of anonymity:
I call my youngest son, “my child”
Boy #2 gets called, “the tall one”
Boy #1 gets called, “the eldest”

My child never made it to my house for
his weekend visit, last night.
The tall one arrived, as scheduled,
by boy leg power at my job.
A hug, the smile, the love of
one tall child to a short mother.
He forgot his clothes, but he ARRIVED.
It makes a difference.
I sent the tall one home
to collect his things.

I waited.

My child never made it home
from school yesterday.
No one noticed,
no one looked for him,
no calls were made.

By seven thirty,
I received a call, “Is the child there?”
“No,” I answered.
“He must be with the therapist,” said the ex.
“No, that was earlier in the week already.”
“OH,” said the ex.
“You made arrangements with him right?” said the ex.
“Yes. At his Thursday visit, I told him to go home after school, Friday and pack his bag and you
were to drive him and his brother arriving at 6:30pm.”
“Well, I can’t find him. I’ve looked all over town.”  Which means, “I went grocery store shopping and didn’t see him on the way there and I can’t keep looking because I’m on my way out to dinner.”

I called a parent and found that my child had gone home with him after school, had not packed a bag for the weekend but was safe.

I start seeing red.  These are my unspoken thoughts:

Seeing Red, though it looks like magenta.
Seeing Red, though it looks like magenta.

Really? How in the hell can you not know where your child is? I gave birth to them and since I’m not an egg donor I’m concerned that you can’t be bothered to know the whereabouts of your child. You are obviously a better parent (sarcasm,) since you took them from me. But every effing week-You manage to lose a boy. Sometimes two of them. On alternate days, or at the same time. If you’re lucky they will keep coming home until they realize you just don’t care about them.

The eldest was starting to talk to me again. Now, there is some legal trouble. Ex refuses to hire or even speak to a lawyer for eldest child. Two steps forward, twelve steps back. Remedial parenting, could it be state law?

When you give birth to a little person, it is your job to protect them, teach them to be responsible and respectful, watch them and know where they are. You don’t have to stalk your children, but you should know that they are in school, they got home from school or that they are at a friend’s house playing soccer/frisbee/video games until curfew or dark. Unfortunately, in a divorced family, you don’t always have any logical form of communication with your spouse unless it comes from a county court. Some families divorce well. Some divorce to punish everyone involved.

I shouldn’t have to worry about whether my children are attending school, impregnating students or being impregnated, committing crimes, being left in a house unattended with a liquor cabinet or unlocked firearms. Sure, I can blissfully assume that my kids are just little angels because I gave them a foundation before I was thrown out and they were taught that their mother was wrong about everything.

ARRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!<-Angry, frustrated cry of a mother who has shared but not residential custody.


2 thoughts on “My child

  1. Oh, I’m so sorry!!!! I can’t even imagine what you must go through -although a close friend went through the same thing- Jerk ex got the kids and was as irresponsible and abusive as your ex seems to be. She was in hell for years until they grew up and chose her. I am glad you have shared custody at least. They have you. I am mad at your ex. He should at least know where they are!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you for your comments and empathy. I have to hold it all together to take care of my little one, 15 months old. The youngest shared child is 13, so seven more years of this parenting adventure. I’m learning to create boundaries, fixed and firm boundaries. To protect me and my mental health. I’ll write a blog about the outcome of this weekend visit.


Any thoughts on the above post are appreciated! Otherwise, I think I must be living under a rock.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s