The Unrelenting Burden of Someone Else's Children
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
I laughed out loud at how ridiculous these people are:
"Erika" and I have been best friends since I was 15. When she was 20, she got pregnant and had a shotgun wedding. She's still married to the guy, and now they have three children. Erika also has a very hectic professional life. They've moved many times, and for years I'd visit on a regular basis. Over time, I began to hate going to her house more and more because her kids are bratty and obnoxious, as is the husband. And the one person that I actually want to speak to (Erika) is too busy breast-feeding or talking to clients on her phone to pay any attention to me. Half the time I end up sitting in the driveway, waiting for her to come home. So I quit making the trips entirely.
Recently we got in a huge argument. She told me I was weird, secretly hated her, that I don't want to know her children, and that she's done with me. At first, I thought our split might be for the best. But I love and miss her. I sent her a copy of Beaches to try and make her realize that friendships change over time. I also sent a letter saying that I'm willing to put in more effort but that changes need to happen on her end, too. She needs to pick up the phone when I call, and give me at least a little of her time without her family around. Every time we try to make plans, she has 900 things she's juggling. If I enjoyed having kids around, I'd have some myself. Why can't she understand that I want to be herfriend and NOT "Auntie Jeanie"?
When you refer to someone's husband as "that guy" and write it off as a shotgun wedding, yes, you do secretly hate her. That's how that works.
I don't understand how people can openly deride parenthood. And therein lies the problem with this country--a self-centered belief in the importance of "relationships" over the desperate need for people to raise their children properly. We are not properly raising children in this country. As much as I would have liked to have been denied custody of my own children, it was not to be. Once the judge made me take Byron and Miranda (the other two boys were on their own by then), I dedicated myself to being a great father. After five days of trying, I gave up and hired a maid and brought on this fellow named Peej--he's really quite handy.
As to the overall piece at Slate, you see the fatal flaw here even before the whole thing unravels--I want time for ME and I want THAT PERSON to subject themselves to MY NEEDS and abandon THEIR CHILDREN so that I can get what I WANT and be the CENTER OF ATTENTION.
What nonsense.
This is the same sort of person who cries all night because they think the government is reading their E-mail. A woman with three small children has more on her plate than the crass neediness of a self-centered humbug of a friend. Next time, don't show up at her home with a plate full of yourself begging to be adored; show up with some diapers, a pair of rubber gloves, and a working snot rag. Pitch in. Play "throw the doll under the couch." Miranda used to love that game.
"Throw the doll under the couch" was a game I invented to keep Miranda from bothering me. She would bring me her doll. I would sidearm the thing under one of the couches, but I wouldn't let her see which one because, just before winging it, I would throw a towel over her head. Then, Miranda would fetch a broom and a flashlight and try to find her doll.
Yes, of course I threw the thing out the window after a few rounds. Who the devil do you think this is?
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