Tuesday, 27 January 2009
It's a fairly new term to the British Isles, I find, (or am I just not 'with it'?!) but frequents our current teenagers' common parlance.
'Kiss-Ass'! To me, it's 'bum-licker'; 'creep'...or if we are being more eloquent: 'sycophant'.
And 'Kiss-Ass' is the term my youngest daughter used, only 30 minutes ago, to describe her grandmother - my mother, for those of you still in doubt.
I am furious: with my ex; with my oldest daughter; and with my so-called parents.
'Parent': One who begets, gives birth to, or nurtures and raises a child; a father or mother.
'Nurture': to support and encourage, as during the period of training or development
Makes me laugh...sardonically.
My mother, on Sunday, having been invited around to the ex's house for a cuppa and to see the girls, took him both a birthday cake and card...and then offered to clean his house for him.
This is the woman who, only 18 months ago, told me that if she had the money, she would hire a mercenary and have him snuffed out like a candle because she despised him so much.
We have had to ask Rosemary to leave this house and return to her father's. Three times she has raised her fist to me: every night she is belligerent, obnoxious, trouble-making, and refuses to kow-tow to the most basic rules of discipline - e.g. wash up your dirty dishes; put your dirty laundry into the basket; let us know where you are and when you will be home...not a lot to ask...my rules were those you would ask of any normal, civilised human being, but she chose to abhor them, raised her hand to me and enough was enough. Whenever she dislikes the rules in this house, she calls her father immediately, who comes running, cajoling and caressing. He has never told her to 'listen to your mother' - he has set up opposition with me consistently.
'Good Cop; Bad Cop'
Or, as he used to term it:
'Dragon; Fun Daddy'.
Ian and I had fun and games with him on the doorstep on Sunday morning. Saturday night, we had been texting him repeatedly, asking when we could drop belongings off for the girls who needed them for Monday morning. No reply. At 9am, Sunday, I was called and told that he would be at our house, 'shortly' and needed X, Y and Z. Our Sunday morning, wherein we were lying in bed, dreaming of having won the lottery and being ordered around to find stuff. I explained that this was NOT convenient and that we would bring the items over later.
But no. No. He has to take control and tells me that Rosemary has a key and they will let themselves in and find what they need.
Well, I am sorry, but that bastard is not getting into my house again - he did it last May...Ian was away at a conference; Rosemary fell out with me, stalked over to her pal's house and, while I was asleep, allowed him access to this house with her key. He told me on the phone he came into my room and saw me pushing out the zeds.
I felt violated. Somebody, totally uninvited, and whom I despise, loathe and detest, came into my house. And he still feels as though he can, even to this day.
Ian called the Police. The laws in the UK state that he couldn't have been done for anything: trespass - nope: he didn't wreck anything...breaking and entering: nope: he had a key...he didn't violate a single law apart from my sanity and peace of mind.
We asked him on Sunday for the return of Rosemary's keys...We are still waiting for them, so it is time to get those locks changed. I don't trust that bastard as far as I can spit him.
This is not helping in any way, to be honest with you. I thought I was putting on weight. After four days of abstaining from the scales, I now discover I have lost five pounds and, once again, those size 6s are feeling a bit loose around the thigh region.
Maybe I felt so heavy due to all the guilt which is resting in my heart, head and upon my shoulders? Because it is weighing me down like a ton of bricks.
I am terrified I am treating Rosemary in the same way that my mother treats me. I discussed this, at length, with my counsellor, yesterday. She believes my treatment is very different because I keep in touch with Rosemary, have spoken to her at length about her behaviour, have given her many opportunities and still tell her that I love her greatly. But the ex sticks his knife in and twists it, slowly, with his 'ever-so-caring-considerate-let's-all-think-of-her-feelings-here...' approach to us and our stance.
During his Sunday Sermon, the ex told us that he was going to ask Rosemary to keep us informed of whenever she wanted to visit - she appears to think that she has to punish us at the moment, which is fair enough...so, I was furious that she pitched up, with undisguised arrogance, unexpectedly, after school yesterday, expecting to be fed, watered and cossetted. I don't believe it is wholly her fault - I believe the ex still thinks of me as 'his property' wherein he can treat me how he pleases. I left a rather snarly voicemail on his phone, asking for a bit of courtesy. It broke me that Rosemary ran out of the house and started walking the streets.
I drove all over our village trying to find her and when I did, I brought her home, made her a hot drink and gave her something to eat. She stayed in her room, but when the time came for her to go and see her boyfriend, I caught a glimpse of my daughter - the nice girl who loves people, cares for them and wants to be pleasant. And I didn't want her to go. But she did, and I fell to pieces over the following hours.
I have been advised by two medical professionals that I have done the 'right thing' for me, my marriage and my relationship with my daughter. My doctor told me that if I hadn't taken her back to her father's already, he would have been strongly urging me to, anyway, as she is a Force of Destruction in this house.
This is not conditional love - I love her without question, but I do not love her behaviour. There is no excuse for physical violence and for treating people like scum because you are allowed to get away with it by others.
It still hurts like I have been beaten by a brick-bat, though...