I am back home enjoying a lovely, sunny, warmer day at Bayview Cottage. I got home in time to feed the dogs and see what new bills I can't pay had arrived. At least there were no hidden surprises!
As I rode home last night by myself I reflected on what had taken place from Christmas Eve to the time I left about 5:00.
Christmas Eve:
Daddy arrived to bring all kinds of toys and try to, once again, bribe his boys and wife. The boys were thrilled. My daughter was further turned off. He had thought he would lure her to the marital bed once more. Lonya and I had already blown up the air mattress beside our daughter's bed. That should have been a first sign that the room was off limits. Shortly after we retired early our daughter came in. Fully clothed she hit the sack with a huff and sigh of relief--she had made it through Christmas Eve and left him putting out Santa and deciding where he would sleep.
The Separation Papers were in Wednesday and he had insisted in coming over to review them with her. He left in a huff saying he would sign nothing. Sara told us he had done just what she expected, but she figured he would come around. All things not initiated by him get a huffy retort first. After blowing off, he usually did what she wanted him to do. We will see.
Next, before daybreak, was the running and squealing excitement of the 5 year old twins. We went to the den to find more things than any 5 children might get if only there were one. In this case about $2,000 worth of "stuff" was all over the den and quickly opened. He had left to get batteries--you would think after all these years, this man would learn how important batteries are, but he learns nothing!
Soon most of the presents were opened. After a struggle with all those things Oriental, we were, once again, reminded of how the Oriental toy makers are getting even with American parents these days--the Atom bomb with all its "fail safes" has no more steps to launch than any parent does to unwrap, un-twisted tie, remove holding screws to packages, put in batteries so that an excited child can finally use that 1 toy brought by Santa. Oh My God, there were only 10 more for each grandson to agitate over.
As the boys were playing, one of the twins ran over and grabbed the middle child's toy. Old Jack launched his attack and put the little guy to the floor sliding about 5' while Daddy did nothing. I hollered, "Woah!" and Daddy launched his anger at me: "Don't you EVER YELL AT ONE OF MY BOYS!!!!!!" All suddenly fell silent as he glared at me.
I simply walked to the edge of the kitchen and said, "Sorry about that, bud."
At the same time Lonya gave him her "laser cutting steel with flaming green eyes" look. God help the soul of anyone getting "THAT LOOK!" She didn't let it drop for one second as he made his way to the door to leave in a huff. On the way out he told my daughter he was angry and was sorry he said what he did. The gutless wonder should have said it to me, but does not have enough manhood to look the one he wronged in the eye--ever.
"That's OK," I assured my wife. "I would rather he took it out on me than any of the children, their mother, or you. I could tell by his look and sauntering ways that someone was going to get it sooner of later. Heck, a tree could really kill me and words are nothing--especially out of him." The agonies of Christmas day were over and he would have the privilege of taking 4 sugar candy / cookie (yeah, we let them eat all they wanted) boys to his mother's house. He didn't even have the guts to come back and pick them up--momma came instead--claiming his medicine had kicked in and he wasn't feeling so well.
My God, his momma is ugly these days! I watched her from the carport as I smoked my pipe. I had cracked a blind so I could take a good look at the pickup. Actually, she has cut her gray hair short for the last year. She always has a mean expression on her face and her nose is sharp and pointy to a fault. If they ever remake the "Wizard of Oz" they can hire her as the Wicked Witch of the West. All they have to do is give her a pointy hat, broom, and coat of green spray dye to make the character come to life. Unfortunately, my son-in-law has lived with her all his life--hence his lack of love for himself. It was hard for my daughter not to yell out the door: "Good luck with his boys carrying out his attitude with sugar hyped energy!"
He has an official diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. This is our latest PC way of describing people who are mean and explosive after appearing to be somewhat nice: if you were a SOB 20 years ago, you are now Bipolar!!! Doesn't that sound nice.
Over all, our few days together were more nice than naughty. The boys are noticeably more well-behaved. Now we only hear about 2 obscene words a day rather than 2 per hour! Also a brother fight breaks out about once a day instead of every hour. We are making progress!
Only thing needed now is a signature on that Separation Document, properly notarized, and--as her lawyer says--she will be in charge (wicked grin on lawyer's face)!!!
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