Rewind

Friday - Jeff calls me three times. First time, wants to know if I called and woke him up and now he’s up and wants to talk. Too bad, I’m the phone with T-Bird. Calls again, wants to know if I’m talking about him to T-Bird. Uh, no, but I will now. Third time, phone rings at 11:28 p.m. I stare at it until it stops ringing. Monday - Jeff calls first thing in the morning. I am not a morning person. Nate is not a morning person. Nate has standardized testing. Jeff says "blah, blah, blah, he shouldn’t be jerked up out of bed, blah, blah." I tell him Nate is awakening, Nate will be fine. He’s rude. I’m rude. We hang up. Calls me again while I’m at work. Wants to know what all Nate needs to finish his assignments. Gets mad when I can’t recall out of the blue every single, solitary detail after burying my head in the oil problem in KY for five hours. Calls me again to ask me if Nate doesn’t do anything after he leaves his house. If I don’t make him do his homework. I can’t get him out of bed so he can turn his homework in. I don’t do this and I don’t do that. I ask him what his fucking problem is. Nate has seven missed assignments, two of which MUST be done at school and are never assigned as homework. So, it is automatically MY fault that this work is missing or not done. I ask him to clarify which assignments are missing. He responds that he is driving down the highway going 50 mph and can’t look. I remind him that I cannot possibly know unless I know exactly what is missing and perhaps he should look that up. I’m livid. I pick T-Bird up from work and yell for the next 30 minutes. I’m so mad I’m shaking. I’m crying. I enter Jeff’s with murder in my heart. Jeff is kicked back and before he can say anything (in front of his girlfriend and Nate) I jerk up the list of missing assignments and Nate’s assignment book. NOT ONE ASSIGNMENT ON THE MISSING LIST WAS LISTED IN NATE’S ASSIGNMENT BOOK. NOT. ONE. NOT. ONE. I turn the look of death upon Jeff who says, "Now, I’ve already gotten on to him about not writing his assignments down and you shouldn’t say anything to him." I twist the death knife and say (with piss, vinegar, and venom): "Oh, I think I have a right to say something to my own son and I damn straight will." In other words, motherfucker, piss the fuck off. Seems strange that the LAST FOUR YEARS, before Jeff decided to be "Father of the Fucking Year," that Nate got to school, Mom went to the meetings, Mom took him to the doctor’s appointments, Nate did his work, he even made honor roll on occasion. Not much has fucking changed, except, Daddio is now in the picture and Nate is barely scraping by. Let’s see if we can find a correlation... do you? Do you see a correlation? Because I see a correlation. And of course, Jeff likes to call in the morning when it’s our worst time of day, you know, to give that "special pep talk" and he likes to call in the evenings, you know, to make sure that Nate is doing his homework because I’m such a lazy fucking bitch that I couldn’t possibly give up MY TIME to make sure that it gets done. So, guess who DIDN’T CALL Monday night? And guess who DIDN’T CALL this morning? *Ding* *Ding* *Ding* Did you say, "Jeff?" Because if you said "Jeff," you would have been right. We all win. He did call this evening to say he found Nate’s reading workbook at his house and he would drop it off at school tomorrow. I said, "Fine." As for Nate, well, Nate has also been tiptoeing around da Mama because Mama told his sorry rear-end that if he thought it was bad when Daddio climbed up inside his ass when he did something wrong, then imagine that times two when Daddio climbed up inside my ass for some alleged wrong doing concerning him (Nate). I reminded Nate that what he does affects other people, whether the individual was right or wrong in doing so, his actions affect other people and I’m not taking anymore shit because he didn’t feel like writing down his Science assignment. As for Jeff, he can stew in my silence. He hates it when I don’t speak to him. He can keep on hating. He still owes me a big fat fucking apology. Right now though, he could lay prostrate at my feet on fire and I wouldn’t piss on him.