I am going to take a page out of my rockin' daughter's playbook. It comes from absolutely ignoring that 50 ton elephant in the room that is both asthmatic and flatulent, You begin by sticking your fingers in your ears and following the mantra "sunshine, lollipops. and the delicate first flowers of spring," and then, after several hours of chanting, you begin to hold your gracefully poised hands under your chin and sleepily blink as the the fairy dust gently rocks you to an imaginary land filled with love, and the milk of human kindness.
And no one is ever sad. Except when your children utter the occasional phrase of "How I really don't like myself". It's then the flatulent elephant makes his presence known and all of your years of telling your kid how amazing they are start to unravel before your eyes.
You can visualize the insomnia, you can empathize with it wholeheartedly. You can listen to their stories and instead of the fluffy clouds of sparkling purity that were once surrounding you in your attempt to "move on" and "get a life", you look down to see your children's hearts in your hands.
And you start to notice that flatulent elephant in the room. And you start to stick your fingers in the many whole of their hearts, trying to stem the bleeding.
The dutch boy had it easy.
But anger is a bad thing. It is wrong to look around at the people that played a part in this destruction for they will proclaim their innocence. They just wanted to do what they wanted to do.
Your kids were just collateral damage. And so were you. So buck up and start smelling those unicorn farts, cuz they smell like skittles. Buck up! Stop whining! Get the fuck over it. It's history. You're just playing the victim. You're a whiner and a loser and JUST PLAIN MEAN.
It's not right to ignore the strides that fucked up women make after they get done fucking up your life.
It's also cruel to be hateful to STBX's siblings when they were just trying to convince you how much he really loves his kids.
Words can be said to "come from the horse's mouth". They can also be said to "come from the horse's ass."
But if I state my belief that kids should come first and their protection should be paramount above all else and the definition of love does not include molestation and physical beating and emotional torment, I have the sneaking suspicion that I would start to get the doe eyed lecture myself.
"Just because he did these things to the kids, doesn't mean he doesn't love them."
There are no bad people. Just bad choices. Let's join hands and sing!
No, I do frame my arguments with anger. It's the anger that makes me a "sanctimonious bitch". It's the anger of incredulity at anyone that could choose their own self interests over their children. It's the anger of incredulity that a mother with a son could even attempt to defend a perpetrator because he had "had a hard life". It's easy to say that when dear Uncle Tracy wasn't playing "cho cho train" with your little boy in the dark. Don't worry, I'm sure if he would have, you would be able to separate out your feelings and still agree that poor Uncle Tracy really had his best interests in mind. I'm sure he loved him too...every night for years.
I don't give a shit about any of it. I care that every day, I try to find the words to say to make things better for my kids. I try to tell them that they are loved. That they are wonderful human beings. That above anyone else in the world, I will always have their back.
As Charles Baudelaire said, "I cultivate my hysteria with joy and terror"
And with a happy little Parker-esque spin on Eminem: "Look, I can't change the way I think/ I can't change the way I am/ but if I offended you, GOOD/'cause I still don't give a damn."