So last night when I calmly stated to my ex-husband that if he thinks ignoring my phone calls and messages for 3 weeks while he’s out of state with my child is acceptable, then the odds of me agreeing to let him take said child out of state again are pretty slim, I got the following gem of a response: **please imagine a screaming, borderline psychotic voice** “I can’t help it if I don’t get reception when we’re camping! And geez, I’m sorry but I can’t help it if my phone isn’t charged, and if I don’t get your messages, I don’t even know you called!”
Let me break down for you the fallacies I see in the above statement. A) You went camping for 2 of the 21 days. Surely the other 19 days allowed SOME reception? At least occasionally? B) Yes, you can help it. Charge. Your. Phone. Problem solved. C) Really? You didn’t get any of my messages? Where did they go? D) Why does your phone hate me and want me dead? It really seems like it’s out to get me and eff up my relationship with my child. Maybe you should get a new phone, one that’s not so evil.
My actual response was: “Xh (ok, I actually said his name), you would be very upset if the roles were reversed here. All I’m saying is that if you want to take him again, you should probably check with your phone provider and see why you didn’t get any of my messages (cause that was surely true), and you should do a better job of keeping in touch like you’d expect me to.” I did not raise my voice. I was not condescending (ok, maybe a little condescending but I tried real hard not to be). I feel I was reasonable in my request.
His actual response. Seriously. With crazy voice again: “OH! See, there you go, there you go, there you go, holding him against me!”
Me, also actual response: “Ummm…wha?” I think I actually scratched my head and held the phone away from my ear, looking at it quizzically. For reals.
Him: “You know what I mean, holding him hostage from me! You just think you can make me do whatever you want, and I have to dance for you, like I’m your little monkey! Dance!”
Me: “Are you…on crack? My monkey? What are you even talking about?” Now instead of looking at my phone quizzically, I am instead trying very hard not to laugh as I picture my ex-husband in harem pants, a jaunty little vest and a tiny cap, crashing cymbals together above his head while he dances a jig to the sounds coming out of my handy music box. I hope people throw spare change our way!
Him: “I’m talking about you thinking you have rights to him all the time!”
Me: “Xh (again, insert name), I think you need to calm down. I don’t understand why everything always has to become a fight with you…”
Him: “It’s not a fight! I’m not arguing with you!” **screamed at the top of his lungs**
Me: “Um, yeah, ok. Please stop screaming at me then. And yes, xh, I do think I have rights to my child all the time. Believe it or not, even when he’s out of town with you he is still technically my child too.”
Him: “Oh, so now you want to get technical?”
Me: "Huh? Are you serious right now? My word (yeah I said "my word"), all you need to say is ‘sorry I didn’t return your calls or have Greg return them. I should have let you talk to him more than twice, and next time I’ll be better about it.’”
Him: “Yeah, I could have said that.” **much calmer now**
Me: “Ok…so…hmmm. Maybe try that next time. Can I talk to Greg again real quick?”
Greg gets on the phone. We chat again. I eventually say, “honey, sorry you had to hear that (as he heard his dad’s screaming, I’m sure). I was just worried about you when I didn’t hear anything for so long and I wish you would have checked in more.”
Greg’s response: “I’m sorry mom, I should have. Next time I’m out of town I’ll try harder to make sure I talk to you more so you don’t worry. And I really missed you.” I am so thrilled that my 13 year-old appears to have officially surpassed his 34 year-old dad on the maturity scale.
On a better note: my life blows! Ok, not really, but kind of. I didn’t get the new job, I thought I was hitting it off with a nice guy, but I’m starting to wonder if I'm just an idiot, and WOW did you guys know dogs can cough up hairballs just like cats do? Only bigger? Much, much bigger.
On an actual better note: my friends rock, my job rocks, my co-workers rock, and last night’s phone conversation made me chuckle off and on for hours. And I think instead of xh I shall now refer to my ex-husband as DM (for Dancing Monkey). I likey.
Disclaimer: I try very hard not to bad-mouth my DM. I generally do a very good job of keeping the peace and of not spreading his business around…but this HAD to be shared for its pure comic relief. And of course to explain why, from now on, he will be called my DM.
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