5 Signs You Might Be Behaving Like a Child

1. You present no valid argument, yet you insist you are right.

I could sit here all day and say "yes huh!" for every time you say, "nu-uh!" and get absolutely nowhere with you. You seem to have some sort of messed up logic to which you can't back up with any actual knowledge. Yes, you have a right to your own opinion. Yes, you can, technically, state that opinion every time you feel it's your god given right to do so. But having an opinion doesn't make you special. Also, it sure as hell doesn't give you the right to jam it down my throat with a "I don't give a shit what you have to say about this" attitude. Here's how I interpret your 5 year old style of debate: "I'm a jackhole because I don't know how an actual debate or a legitimate argument between two different minded adults is handled." Also, when somebody opposes your opinion, they are not personally attacking you. They aren't telling you to shut up. They are simply doing the same thing you are doing, which is expressing a thought. Please don't jump the gun and assume they are against YOU and not just your idea. Also... don't throw the first amendment at them. Really? Come on now. Your rights aren't being infringed upon at Applebees. Calm the fuck down. Come back when you learn what civility and open mindedness are.

2. You whine when you don't get your way.

When you find yourself using the bargaining tool of a high pitched, "But I really, really want it," you may as well put yourself in time-out, because nobody wants to deal with that. Face it, sweetheart, compromise is a part of functional life. People who won't bend end up breaking. You don't always get to call the shots. You don't get to control every situation. And throwing a temper tantrum until everybody else gives in is a 2 year old move. You need to learn how to accept the fact that plans change and other people's wants and needs get factored in as well. You have to drift with the tide, the ebb and flow. You get nowhere by standing on the shore and commanding the ocean to obey. Literally... go with the flow.

3. Your budget revolves around paying a subscription to an online role playing game.

I get it... we all have our vices. If you're not a smoker or a drinker, then you may be a gamer. Gaming is cool (in some circles if you're younger than 25). However, if you can't afford your car insurance because you need to level up this month, then maybe you should ask that 13 year old that you're battling with online if his mom has a spare bedroom you can rent for cheap. Seriously, put down the game controller and pay your damn bills already. Also, go outside and watch REAL activities.

4. You get mad when people won't laugh at your jokes.

Face it. You're not funny. Adults will give the obligatory laugh to the same knock-knock joke they've heard a million times... if a child is telling it. When an adult tells old jokes, or just plain not funny jokes, the proper response is an eye roll. Trust me on this. I've done amateur stand up comedy, and if your joke bombs, it's brutal. It takes a mighty blow to your ego when you're standing there and you hear crickets. But that's life. The only way to move on is think of something new and practice your delivery. If it turns out that you're just not a funny person... then leave the joke telling to those who can hack it. And don't get all pissy about it. Just realize that not telling jokes will actually go in your FAVOR.

5. ALL of your significant other's friends hate you.

To be honest, you might not realize this one. Because, where you have no tact, they might. Out of respect for your wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend's feelings they just might be holding back how much true hatred they have for you. But if you meet ANY or ALL of the criteria above, trust me... they hate you. They can't stand being around you. They only show up to parties because your partner is there and when you decide to open your mouth, they would rather you shut it. But don't rest on the fact that they hold back. Don't make that your excuse for you bawdy behavior... because they won't bite their tongues forever. One of these days they will say, "To hell with this asshole" and they will fill your ears with a heavy dose of truth which your fragile little ego won't know how to handle. And, because you're a child, you will throw a fit and pout until somebody comforts you. When nobody does... maybe you'll grow up just a little bit.

Sleep Stealing Thoughts

I know in my head that you are not the person I'm supposed to be with. I knew this, for a fact, over two years ago. I came to you with a scared intuition and fear of a very big "what if" and you showed me that you cannot roll with the punches. It turned out I was wrong, but, because of your reaction, I knew in my heart I couldn't end up with you.

So, tell me, why did it take so long for that to really sink in? Because, there are times, when I still forget about that and I only remember what it was like being right next to you. I get lost in that memory because, for a period of time, that was my favorite place to be in the entire world. You created these conflicting emotions within me, and my confused heart just walked right into a maze which seemed to take the longest damn time to find my way out of.

Sometimes, I wish I'd never agreed to that first date. You were so nervous. It was cute. I can remember that white shirt with the silver pinstripe and how it enhanced your already handsome features. You wore your glasses because I mentioned how I love a man in glasses. And when you kissed me later in the night it felt like a click inside my head. How could a girl not fall in love with such a lovely beginning? If it hadn't been so perfect, I might have stood a chance.

I'm over you. I've written about it; I've vented about it; I've thought and thought and thought about it. I've even dreamt about it. Every time I think it through I know it turned out the way it should. And, though this blog might suggest otherwise, I actually don't think about you too often.

It just seems like my life is randomly punctuated with these little flashes of time in which my thoughts are completely consumed by you. Sometimes I'll meet somebody who looks a lot like you and a thought is triggered. I'll be talking with a girlfriend and she'll be going through something I can relate to, because I went through it with you. I guess this is natural... we all carry around memories of our exes... the ones that got away.

I wish I didn't think about you at all, though. I've moved on, and I actually did a great job of it. When I found out about your current love I felt genuinely happy for you. I've not let the fact that you found somebody else before I did shatter me or break me. Because, to be honest, I'm glad you have it in you. Obviously your relationship with her has something ours lacked. She provides something for you I couldn't. And that's okay. Like I said before, it's best that it turned out this way... especially for you. I can't say it enough... I'm happy that you're happy.

That being said... I wish there were a magic pill I could take where my memory of you would be gone. I was blissfully ignorant before I met you. I had nobody to really compare anything significant to. You made a pretty big impact on me. I'm trying to figure out what positive things to take from it, but leftover lingering pain sidetracks me sometimes.

I hate that there are nights when I still lay awake and think about you. I hate that there are times when something reminds me of you and I get lost in the thought or the memory it invokes. I hate remembering how it felt to be with you. I hate that I lost you, but, even worse, I hate that I never had you.

She has you now. Jealousy is an evil monster, but we wouldn't have been happy in the long run. Maybe I'll find somebody again, but maybe I won't. Part of me is okay with that revelation, but there's another part of me that doesn't want to give up hope. I, am, however all out of hope for us. It's plain to see there's nothing left of whatever it was we had. It wasn't nothing. It was something. Now, though, it just is what it is.

I know that I will find more than you. I know that you are not my great love story. You just happen to be the first guy who knew how to make me feel wanted, special, and lovely. Maybe now it's time to make myself feel wanted, special and lovely. Perhaps it's time I found myself.

But at the same time, I think this is part of finding myself. I have to face these emotions and the fact that they will always be within me. I guess my positive take-away is that through you I discovered more of me. I guess you had to be this roadblock I had to work my way through in order to understand more about my own heart and my own love. Perhaps... I owe you a thank you.

It's funny to me... I started this blog with questions in my heart... and somehow I managed to answer them by the time I finished it.

Free Writing

I've sat in front of this screen for the last few days. I've started typing. I erased whatever I started. I would sit and think. Literally, I would sit and think for long periods of time about how I wanted to say what I have to say. Every time I came up with nothing. So, I stopped for the day.

Alas, today I'm back and I am taking a different approach. It's not that I don't have something to say; it's that I don't know how to spin it. You see there are a million ways to tell the same story. It's like a snowflake, or a spiderweb. Each one is different, and delicate, and carefully put together. But they're all the same... they all have the same destination. A snowflake melts and a spiderweb is destroyed. And this web, this particular blog, isn't spinning so well for me.

So, I've decided to free write. What's free writing? It's writing without thought. When I realized that I was spending way too much thought on this one particular blog which I can't seem to find the right words for, I decided I was simply spending too much time thinking.

This is has always been the case. Grandpa once told me my mouth couldn't keep up with my thoughts and thats why I talk so fast... and so much. He also claimed my constant jabbering gave him the hives. I don't know about the hives, but he's right about my thoughts. They race around in my head at a million miles a minute. I suppose Grandpa is right, maybe that's why I talk fast... I'm trying to keep up.

I know one thing is for sure. I cannot type as fast as I think. I might be able to type as fast as I speak, but the turn out wouldn't be too pretty. So, when I sit down to write I sometimes can't get the thought to the page fast enough before it's floated away. Or my mind thinks ahead and I realize the thought is shit and I scrap the whole thing.

I'm surprised I haven't scrapped this yet. I'm never going to get to the point I want to make if I keep rambling away here. This is free writing, though. It's meant to get the juices flowing, or in my case stop flowing so rapidly and focus on a topic already!!

I still haven't found my direction. It's scary admitting that. I know my general direction is writing. No matter what I do in life my pen will always be my soul mate. It's too therapeutic to not do. It's too much of myself to ever let go. Writing is my mental constitutional. I have to do it.

Why don't I have a book written by now? I've been attempting it my entire adult life. I know I've been sitting down with ideas throughout my entire twenties. 29 is right around the corner. It may as well be 30. I wouldn't mind if I weren't published by now, but I would like to have something to show. I wonder what's keeping me from completing it? Are my racing thoughts at fault here?

I have so many opinions, so many stories to tell, so many things to say about how I feel and what I think about that. But I tell myself that everybody has this. Everybody has a story that will inspire you. Everybody has something important to say. It's just that a lot of people choose not to. Well I choose to speak up. I choose to say what I have to say. It's a thankless task, and perhaps also an unnecessary one. But who would I be if I weren't a person who expressed thoughts and emotions openly and honestly? I wouldn't be me, that's for sure.

I just want to find the words. I want to find the right metaphor. I want to find the right tone, the perfect expression of the thoughts smacking into one another in my brain. I obviously can't just sit down and write it. As you can see... I failed to get anywhere with this free write. But, perhaps I got enough off of my chest and out of my head so there's more space to deal with the topic I really would like to tackle.

The Village Leprechaun

More of a legend than a myth, he ventures out every St. Patrick's day. The small Germanesque town never sees him coming, but says, "Oh yeah" when it realizes it's danced with him before. Every year he puts on the same entertaining show and on March 18th people wake up with a hangover and a vague memory of the decked out Irish man who gave them good luck.

You'll know it when you see him, because his beard is green. Yes.. green. He exchanges the Santa-like white and opts for a much more noticeable emerald hue. You'll take a second look at him and think to yourself "I wonder if that's his natural color?" It isn't. It's just food coloring.

He'll have a beer in his hand, and he won't be nursing it. If it were still legal, you'd also see him with a cigarette... for this reason, he might also be your doorman. As the night goes on, the more brazen he gets. Liquid courage being his pot of gold.

Also, he dances. His arms go one way and his legs go another as he attempts an Irish Jig. The chain on his wallet is his tambourine as his hips get into it. He has no rhythm, just an odd combination of alternate fist pumping and stomping. The smile on his face will distract you from his lack of dancing talent, and you won't have any choice but to join him. Chances are you'll have the time of your life looking like an idiot, too.

Do not fear an alternative motive. He's happily married and only aims to have fun with his merry drinking and dancing. Male or female, he just wants people to dance with him and remind him that it's okay to be a little silly.

By the end of the night his feet will lead him back to his cottage. He'll take three times the necessary steps as he sways down the street singing an Irish tune. St. Patrick's day will be over, and your memory of him will fade like the color in his beard. That is, until next year when the village is reminded again that, yes... we do have a leprechaun and he's a fun time.

The Ides of March

Shakespeare famously wrote about today when he depicted Caesar. "Beware, the Ides of March," the soothsayer said. But it didn't stop Caesar from being stabbed in the back by his trusted friend. Caesar met his death and the world moved on. He became a legend. Many after him would meet a similar demise, but none as poetically.

I think about Caesar and how he must have felt in those final moments. When the wound was fresh and the blood was red on his linens. What did he see? Did he look into Brutus' eyes and search for an answer? Or did he welcome death and the peace of eternal rest?

Was Brutus cold to him in those final moments? Did he say, "You deserve this,"? Or did he say nothing? After years of loyalty, trust and friendship, did it all end swift and emotionless?

Or was Brutus kind after the blade? Did he have remorse while Caesar's life faded and his blood was spilled? Did he wonder about his own vulnerability and his own weaknesses? Or did he just feel power?

I wrestle with these thoughts every year, you see. It's really nothing to do with Shakespeare, Brutus or Caesar, but more to do with my own feelings of betrayal and my metaphorical blood from the blade. I've searched for answers in the eyes of my assailant, and he always looks the other way. He leaves me unanswered and he does so unapologetically.

Today is his birthday. Fitting, I suppose. He's another year older... but really, so am I. He helped to bring me into this world before he left me because of it. But before he brought me in, he was brought in... on the Ides of March. A doomsday in history.

I can't remember the last time I told him Happy Birthday to his face. One year I had a phone number for him, so I called him. The conversation was stunted and severely short. The weather was nice, so when I hung up the phone I sat on my deck with a book. The world continued to spin while thoughts in my head kept me from concentrating on the printed page.

I've come a long way in dealing with the emotions of betrayal, abandonment, and gut-wrenching twisting inside pain. I've done a good job with hiding it. I've conquered most of my adolescent hang-ups and fears. Now I just sit here, on this dark morning, and I will myself to think of something positive.

But all I have is Caesar. If only I were there to stop the blade. If only I could rewrite history.

Bev and Roz Go Vandalizing

Despite her general love of the indoors and her view of the world from her broken in recliner, Bev, at times, finds herself coming down with a touch of cabin fever. In need of an activity she gives the job of finding something to do to her life long bestie, Roz.

Roz is a meticulous planner. With a glass of wine in one hand and a cell phone in the other she could conquer the world, do it on time, and make it look easy. In her hay day she was an underworld spy... or so she says.

"Can you believe Charlie Sheen is still alive?" Bev asks Roz as she drinks her wine from a red plastic cup, "I mean he's literally insane."

Roz shushes her, "Yeah yeah, he's an idiot. I'm trying to figure out what we should do tomorrow."

Bev mutes the TV and turns her attention to the plotting happening in their living room. "You know what we used to do that I really miss?"

"What?"

"Pranking."

"Yeah, but the last time we did anything like that we nearly killed ourselves."

"It was fun, though. You have to admit it was fun."

"I do have an enemy who needs smiting..." Roz bit her lip as she thought, "That's it! Tomorrow night, Bev... we're going vandalizing."

Dot dot dot

Bev's breath is labored as she mounts her scooter and Roz straps her oxygen tank to it. They hit the street with fervor and stealth. The scooter is like a phantom, quiet, sleek, quick. Roz is cat-like and has been her entire life. Both ladies are dressed entirely in black, but stylishly so as not to stick out. Roz wears a tailored pantsuit and smiles as older gentleman wink at her. Bev wears a knee length dress and she tells all the older gentleman that Roz is her lover and she doesn't go for men. They giggle when out of earshot.

They arrive at the cemetery just as the grounds keeper is closing the gait. Bev turns on the charm. She tells the young man a moving story of her late husband and their anniversary. "You know he was so sweet. Every year he would send me my favorite flowers and cook me my favorite meal. He didn't care about anything in this world as much as he cared for me." She started to cry to add to the effect. The grounds keeper leaned over to comfort her.

Roz sneaks out from behind a tree and discretely swipes the keys while he's busy comforting Bev. Bev continues, "Anyway, young man. I know the cemetery's closing and I'm too late to visit his grave... Besides my scooter has a hard time in the grass. I was just wondering if you'd like to drop off these flowers by his grave tomorrow." She hands him a bouquet of lilies. He agrees and walks away to his car leaving Bev to stare longingly through the gates towards what's assumed to be her late husband's grave.

When he leaves Roz re-appears dangling the keys. "I got them!" Bev giggles in delight and claps her hands. Within seconds they're inside the gate, flash lights out, deftly maneuvering to the grave they came to visit. Once there, Roz opens her over-sized purse and retrieves a can of spray paint. Bev lights a cigarette while she holds the flashlight and aims it at the gravestone. "What did this guy do to you again?"

"He smacked my ass when I was in my 30's." Roz shakes the paint can and takes a drag from Bev's cigarette.

Bev chuckles at Roz's reasoning, "Why didn't you just smack him back? Ya know... when it happened?"

"I did. The son of a bitch fired me."

"I see." Bev adored her friend, but she sure knew how to hold a grudge. "Was this when you were a spy?"

Roz gave the cigarette back to Bev and winked as she hunched over the tombstone and wrote obscenities in bright pink spray. When she was done she lit a cigarette and said, "Ta-Da!" Bev clapped.

Bev opened a thermos and poured wine into the cap. The two of them toasted to feminists outliving misogynists.

While having free reign of the graveyard they visited a few of their friends, toasting along the way. By the time Bev broke out the third thermos they were laughing loudly at old inside jokes while the ghosts of their friends chuckled along. It was well past midnight when Roz stumbled (Bev swerved) out of the cemetery, leaving the keys on the ground just out of reach inside the locked gate.

Laughing and drinking along the way, they were so caught up in each other and their fun, that they didn't notice the police officer on foot watching them. He yelled out to them, and they both froze. Roz said, "SHIT IT'S THE COPS!"

"Get on!" Bev yelled, and Roz hopped onto the scooter and Bev turned up the speed and they took off. The officer started running after them. They swerved around pedestrians and managed to gain some ground from him. They came to an intersection and Bev slowed it down. Roz told her not to. She said, "GO! IF we make it, it's an awesome story... if we don't, we'll go back to the party we just left." Bev laughed and sped her scooter into traffic.

The next day the grounds keeper got fired when he had to call his boss to open the gate and there were scooter tire marks all over the cemetery. To top things off one of the most prominent member of society's tombstone was spray painted with the words "I win" and a representation of a middle finger being held up.

It wasn't until he saw her picture in the obituary section a few days later that he stopped being angry at Bev for tricking him. He actually visited her grave and put lilies on it, though he didn't know that Bev really hated lilies. And just for that, she haunted him until she got bored.

Roz haunted her last act of vandalism; swinging branches at anybody who tried to clean it up.

He Told Me to Butt Out

I can be a hard pill to swallow for some folks. I'm opinionated, set in my beliefs, and not afraid to tell you when I think you're wrong. And, well, some people have a hard time handling a dose of cold hard truth. When I strike a nerve, that's when I know I'm right. That's when I know I've hit the nail right on the head, and they hate me for it.

Now, I know it isn't right to go around striking nerves with everybody. I fully believe in the saying of "hurt people hurt people." Anybody who goes around putting others down all the time, or, even worse, committing violent acts towards others, is simply a person who's been very hurt in their life. They've been hurt to the point that they don't see themselves as beautiful loving creatures, but instead heinous hurtful monsters. So, they play the part.

I'm not like that. Most of my bite comes from being poked until I react. Sometimes, though, the hot button gets pushed and my fuse shortens and I snap.

What are my hot buttons? Well... gay rights is one. If I hear somebody gay bashing (even jokingly) I tell them what's up. I once went toe to toe with a big ass redneck farmer at a bar in the middle of nowhere (well, besides corn fields). He was so shocked that somebody in that bar wouldn't agree with what he was saying, he really didn't know what to do. He really didn't have much of an argument because he wasn't prepared to need one. Here was this chick telling him guys like him were wrong and he should get his head out of his ass. I might have even said something about how he shouldn't have to worry about gay guys hitting on him... I'm a straight woman and I don't even find him attractive. But if he wants gay guys to hit on him (like I believe most loud mouth gay bashers secretly do) then he might think about wearing something besides overalls all the time. Needless to say, he didn't like me much. He still won't make eye contact with me if we happen to be at the same place at the same time.

Another hot button topic for me is deadbeat dads. I can't stand them. It hits close to home for me... too close to home. If you have kids in this world and you aren't there for them, then you should be shot. At least then you'd have a valid reason for not coming around.

I'm a big supporter of the single parent. I don't believe that parenting a child means you have to be with the other parent of that child. You don't have to get married because of a pregnancy and you certainly don't have to stay together for the child's sake. In today's world single parents are everywhere, and I say bravo to them for realizing the truth about their relationships and getting out of something that wasn't right for them.

And when I meet a single father who loves his kids more than he loves himself, and supports his kids both financially and emotionally, I applaud him. If he sees his kids several times a week, shares custody, and is an active father in the lives of the kids who don't live with him 24/7 then he deserves some positive reinforcement. Good for you, if this is you. The world needs your example so keep it up.

As for the single father who talks the talk but fails to walk the walk... you can kiss my fat ass.

Yes, this was my dad. He only came around when he had a woman who thought he should. Having an absent parent created a lot of conflicting emotions in me growing up. I think my biggest hang up, though, is the broken promise. When I think of how I felt as a kid when my dad broke a promise to me, I feel a little sick. I can remember coming home from school on a Friday all excited that the day my dad was going to come pick me up was finally here. I can remember waiting all week for it. Chances are my bags were all packed by Thursday, just in case he decided to come early and was there when I got home from school. I'd come home, and I'd plant myself on the back porch and start waiting.

If the neighborhood kids saw me and asked if I could play I'd say no. With a smile on my face I'd say, "My dad's coming." I'd wait until the sun went down. I'd wait until after all the kids went inside their houses. I'd even wait if it were cold or raining. My mom would come to the door and ask me if I wanted to come in and wait inside. I'd tell her no. I wanted to see him as soon as he got there. Eventually I'd come in, though. The night would end with me passing out on the couch to the late night news. He didn't show up. He didn't call.

Sometimes he called. I would get upset as he explained why he wouldn't be able to make it. Sometimes he called the night he was supposed to get us. Sometimes it was the next day. I can't recall any of the excuses he used. I only remember the disappointment. The times he didn't call at all... well... those were the times I questioned how much he really cared.

I remember the broken promises. To this day getting stood up still hits a nerve. But, honestly, nothing will ever match what I felt back then. I think, looking back on it, it was true heartbreak.

I'm not afraid to talk about it. I've resolved my issues and have moved past them as an adult. I'll never forget, but I refuse to hold onto it all like some sort of broken person. Plus.. I'd like to break the cycle.

There are two kids in my life who I love as if they were my own. They're not mine; they're not blood relation to me at all. Their mother is a close and dear friend of mine. I refer to them as my god children, because I would gladly take over should the most terrible thing happen to their parents. They call me Aunt Destiny and they both include me in their idea of family. I hang out with them several times a week and sometimes I treat them to special things (when I can afford to). I love them and they love me. I care about them and their well beings (both physical and emotional).

Their mother and father are divorced and they've arranged a shared custody agreement. For a while, it was working out well. He came and got them on his scheduled nights and weekends. He called often to talk to them. He paid the child support. He'd even drop by on the unscheduled times and hang out with them. He was a good single father.

Slowly, though, it started to change. He started to barter with my friend on which weekends he could have them. He started coming up with reasons why he couldn't take them. Sometimes it was because he had to work. Other times it was because something came up. But it started happening more and more often.

I started to see how it affected the children. Her son started becoming distant. Her daughter put on a brave front, but would tell me, "Daddy's not coming." And I would see the look on her face for a split second that reminded me so much of my own past.

Then, he stopped paying his child support. He'd have some failed logic as to why he shouldn't have to pay it. When his logic failed to hold up with anybody who would listen to it, then he came up with excuses. One after the other, and they all stank. His visits were growing further and further apart, as were his phone calls.

As of right now he hasn't paid child support in about 8 months. And this weekend is the first weekend this year that he has them. I have a big part to play in them finally seeing him.

I will admit he's had a rough year. He's been evicted and he doesn't have a job, and his car just broke down. He can't use his tax refund to fix his car because it's going straight to his kids (sucks not paying child support doesn't it?). So, I'll cut him a *little* bit of a break. But, really, there's nobody to blame for his lot in life but himself. So I don't feel too sorry for him.

For the past few weekends he's been promising to work something out to get the kids. And every time, at the last minute, he cancelled. Now my friend is smart, and she tries not to get the kids' hopes up. She mentions it in passing and uses the word "maybe" a lot. These promises he's making are to her... he's not saying them to the kids. So my friend bears the brunt of it. She gets the broken promises, and not the kids.

Well, this week I heard him on the phone with his daughter. He told her he'd see her this weekend and he was coming to get her and her brother. The rest of the day she was talking about how she was going to see her dad this weekend. She was even trying to figure out her sleeping arrangements and the kinds of things they'd do. I felt happy for her. She was excited.

Her brother, on the other hand, doesn't get excited anymore. When he's told to speak to his dad on the phone he says no until my friend begs him enough to do it. When he's told he's going to spend time with his dad he says he doesn't want to. He gets depressed and says he hates his life. He says he's a loser. He gets down on himself... and I think it's a direct reflection of how he feels about his father. He's starting to see the disappointment and he'd rather live without it. His sister is still holding onto the dream of being "daddy's little girl." I feel bad for both of them.

So, yesterday, when he called to cancel the weekend he'd promised his little girl... my hot button was pushed. My friend tried compromising. She offered several different options which would be easier to him. He turned them all down. Finally she asked me for my help. We figured out a plan which he'd have no choice to say no to. It was infallible against his excuses and his reasons. And I let him know. I let him know that he WOULD be seeing his kids this weekend, and his excuses weren't going to work this time. He told me to butt out.

Now, here's how I translate "butt out." It really means, "I'm scared of your involvement because that means I'm really messing this up. Please don't hurt me."

Well, I didn't butt out. I refused to. Those kids mean the world to me. I'm like another parent in their eyes. I pick up where he leaves off more times than I'd like to mention. And I was not going to see the disappointment in that little girl's eyes when she told me her daddy wasn't coming. No. Not this time. Not again. Not. Happening. They ARE spending the weekend with their father.

Because despite his general lack of respect and understanding of responsibility, he's their dad. And when he's with them he's a good dad. They deserve to have a relationship with him. I don't think he deserves them as much as they deserve him... but that's not my call. Just don't tell me to butt out when I care about something. Because I won't. And you won't like what you hear me say if you push the subject.