My views of motherhood can be summed up in the statements made in the movie “Role Models.”
I am a lioness. A black sheba. I am a lioness, and this is my cub. If you mess with my cub, I will claw your ass up until you shit sideways.”
That goes for you. And you. And anyone you bring with you. I’m not the perfect mother. I’m sure if they walked into the crib and cookies were baking and I had apple slices on the table, AFTER they came to, they would probably call the Men in Black. But I look out for those guys. I want the best for them, and sometimes, I have to ask the hard question, is the best actually with me?
My place is small, I struggle financially (partially due to the fact that I can’t budget my way out of a wet paper bag/partially due to the fact that I’m sort of on my own), I’m burned out, I cuss and cry in front of my kids, and all those other things Claire Huxtable didn’t do. When I had a conversation with their father this summer regarding them staying in New Orleans, however, I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea. He’s generally unstable, the schools aren’t up to par, and I’m not exactly crazy about the ass backward corrupt political environment there. He concurred, and actually said he was considering moving to be closer to them – to Maryland perhaps.
Imagine my surprise when, as the summer drew to a close, he became cagey in all conversations pertaining to their return. There were times when he was arrogant (“Didn’t I tell you I would buy their ticket?”), befuddled (“I…I’m gonna make it work some kind of way”), and downright belligerent (“I’ll get the tickets when I get the tickets” is what he told our eight-year-old). He stopped answering my phone calls, and when either his wife or the kids would answer, he was either asleep or “he just left.”
Finally, when the time showed that missing school was an inevitability, I spoke to Finge for the 411:
It’s 7:30 at night. He’s asleep every time I call [Finge]?
[Brief pause, then a whisper] No. He tells us to tell you that. He doesn’t want to talk to you. Look, why don’t you just come get us.
That was Monday night. Flying was not at all financially feasible, so Tuesday, I went in to work to give my peeps the heads up, and get some last minute advice, made the necessary preparations, and on Wednesday morning, I hit the road. I napped in Tennessee, and was in New Orleans by 10:30 PM. I do not play when it comes to kids in general. That goes double for any I brought into the world.
Since he didn’t seem to be concerned with talking to me, I cut all communication with him. There was no ringing his phone like a bugaboo. There was no customary razor tongued voice mail messages. I prayed for direction, gathered some records and documents that I felt would be helpful, and ultimately had a friend reach out to a friend who is a member of New Orleans’ finest. One of the attorneys at my job cautioned me, “Do not bring a weapon.” I figured my tire iron didn’t count.
When I called him, of course, he was “sleeping.” I was insistent, and told him to bring them to his mother’s house at 1:00. He had them there at 12:52. I think my reaction, or lack thereof, had him concerned, and I think I like that.
However, I don’t think we’ll experience that concern again, because that was their last visit. I had to get in my car and drive 18 hours because you don’t give enough of a fuck about your kids well being (because they were confused as fuck, and he was not even interacting with them), or their education (they missed a week of school), OR my time (because had he answered the phone, I could have bought their plane tickets and flown them home my damn self). So the chapter of my concern for his relationship with them ended. They’re not going back. I’m certain he will not call my phone. My son is not allowed to talk to him on his cell phone without my presence.
Quite frankly, I don’t want his money. I want his ass gone. Disappeared. No more here today gone tomorrow. To quote Christian Bale, “We’re fucking done professionally.” I can’t think of one thing that an erratic, irresponsible, IGNORANT fool such as him can add to their lives. The Bug was calling me in tears on a regular basis. Finge, though too cool for tears, could not hide his anger and confusion. He actually had the gall to tell Finge NOT to talk to me on the phone. Fortunately, I have a child with GOOD sense and he saw that for the bullshit that it was. When he discovered that he was still talking to me, he stopped talking to him. Yes. He stopped talking to a 10 year old for calling his mother.
So yah pumpkins. That’s been my story of the last few weeks, and why I have been MIA. But, I’m back, and I’m ready to hit you with some more realness.
So apparently, the answer the the question posed at the outset is, make yourself scarce as possible, because when I hit the field, I’m not looking to play reindeer games. I’m playing to win.