When Bio-Mom Gets Under Your Skin

I hate it when I allow Bio Mom to get under my skin.

She recently eloped with her third fiancé. She is still putting her best foot forward by working a low paying, commission-only job.  In the eyes of her new husband, she is a woman who is trying to get on her feet. 

We know better.  Over the past ten years, I've personally witnessed and watched her charade of reeling in a guy, getting comfortable with him, letting her guard down (by finding any excuse to not work) and watching the relationship unravel. This time, she sealed the deal before she ramped down her work schedule.

Because she "works", and I simply work from home (mind you I'm now working two jobs via telecommuting from home), she has managed to push all of our youngest son's weekday driving responsibilities on me. 

Fine. I agreed to do it. Why, you ask? Because, I fully understand our son would not be afforded any after school extra-curriculars if I was not the one to drive him. The fact that I have two kids at home (one mine, one hers), and the two oldest college kids (both hers) come by my house almost everyday to eat, don't mean anything to her. She is now only responsible for one, and it is still too much for her.

Fine. I do it all. I do it without any credit. She will not allow him to sleep over at our house during the week. That would lower her child support payment. Instead, I drive him to all his practices and tutoring. I correct all his homework. I make sure he has everything he needs for school the next day. I feed him. And then, she picks him up to take him back to her house so he can go to bed and drops him off at school in the morning. I take care of the rest.

Never has she ever offered to help me out by offering to pay a tank of gas. Never has she offered to drive my daughter anywhere in a gesture of reciprocation. 

I've only set one guideline: I cannot drive our son on Thursdays. My daughter has her own after-school classes which require a very long commute. I cannot be in two places at once.

We've spoken of this, both in person and on the phone. We've emailed and texted about this. Bio-Mom has agreed to make sure she's available to drive on Thursdays. 

So, I find this morning's text very irritating:

Morning, [our son] took his tutoring binder with him today. If you can get him to tutoring I will pick him up. Thank you!

Maybe, to the outsider, it looks benign. But, to me it is so indicative of her character. 

1. She assumes I'll pick him up

2. She assumes I'll rearrange my schedule

3. She doesn't acknowledge today is my difficult day or our agreement

4. She doesn't apologize for asking, knowing I cannot drive on Thursdays

Here's the text I would've sent if I found myself in the same predicament:

Hi, StepMom. I realize today is Thursday, but I find myself in a bind. I was wondering if you'd be able to help out this once and drive Son to tutoring. I am so sorry for the inconvenience. I've tried rescheduling and was unsuccessful. If I can ever repay the favor, please don't hesitate to ask! 

A little tact and carefully chosen words go a long way.

The Beau Hunk's Back In Town

Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.

The Beau Hunk's back in town.

His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".

In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.

Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.

He is back on his regimen of steroids, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.

That's right. He's applying to colleges.

I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.

Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.

The Beau Hunk's Back In Town

Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.

The Beau Hunk's back in town.

His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".

In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.

Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.

He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.

That's right. He's applying to colleges.

I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.

Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.

The Beau Hunk's Back In Town

Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.

The Beau Hunk's back in town.

His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".

In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.

Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.

He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.

That's right. He's applying to colleges.

I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.

Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.

The Beau Hunk's Back In Town

Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.

The Beau Hunk's back in town.

His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".

In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.

Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.

He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.

That's right. He's applying to colleges.

I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.

Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.

The Beau Hunk's Back In Town

Do you remember the Beau Hunk? It's been awhile.

The Beau Hunk's back in town.

His name has been banished from our home. We've tired of calling him "the one who's name must not be spoken", so he's been simply diminished to "Voldemort".

In the past six months, Voldemort has taken to stalking our daughter. In turn, I have taken to stalking him on Facebook.

Via Facebook, I learned that he was recently discharged from the Marines. That's no shocker to either myself or my husband. We had very little confidence he would make it through four years of taking orders from someone else.

He is back on his regimin of steriods, working out, and tanning. According to his public Facebook page, he is prepping to enter a series of bodybuilding competitions, working as a model (HA!), and applying to colleges.

That's right. He's applying to colleges.

I'll allow you one guess as to which university he's applying to.

Last night at dinner, I told Hubs we need to get our daughter out of there. It's time to transfer.

Pathway to Divorce: Activities Couples Should Avoid

** Originally written in July, 2012*

My relationship with Hubs is a solid one. I love him and the thought of losing my beloved scares all bodily fluids out of me. However, there are some activities even the most dedicated and in love couples should not do together... because simply put, they are the pathway to divorce.

Hang wall paper. My parents almost got divorced over this twenty-six years ago. You can imagine their disappointment when my high school boyfriend decided he should play "butt-pinball" will my baby brother thrown over his shoulder and he bounced my brother's ass off the walls and ultimately straight through the wall and the wallpaper.

Shop for Televisions. Forget about what type to buy. Plasma, LED, LCD... is that even right? I don't know and frankly, my Dear, I don't give a damn. Just get me a tv that is the right size. This is probably the only time you will hear me say, "Smaller is better" unless we're talking about tumors or my dress size, of course.

Assembling Anything. Here it is people. Avoid the AA of marriage. Just don't do it. It'll never come out right and you'll always have extra parts left over. In case your married to a doc too, here's a friendly piece of advice... Don't look at the extra screws in your hand and ask your doctor Hubs if he finds himself with extra parts after surgery. Just don't do it.

Move furniture. Specifically, move furniture upstairs. You have a bad back and your wonderbrain husband tells you, you don't have to "lift" you just have to "slide" the furniture "up" the stairs. You say things don't "slide" up; they slide "down". He say's he'll do the pushing, you just "guide". You see him tilt the damn thing on it's side and you KNOW with CERTAINTY this shananigan will end disastrously. Something is going to break or get damaged...your back, his back, the dresser, the newly textured and painted walls, the new hardwood flooring, stairs, banister, a combo, or quite possibly everthing in its path. You bitch, you moan, you groan, you give the stink eye, you hiss and piss all over this stupid brainchild of your husband. But you unwillingly participate, because if you don't and it all goes to hell, you'll be blamed for your lack of help. You hate him at the bottom of the stairs... and you absolutely detest him at the top of the stairs because, DAMMIT to hell! It worked. Like a charm. But you decide to be mad anyways....because, it was a stupid idea and it should not have worked.