Wicked Stepmother

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Wicked Stepmother

 

Did you know that Ghost came out 27 years ago today? That’s a fucking long time ago, isn’t it? All of a sudden I feel much older. So old. Groan. I’m only 31. I was only three or four years old when that movie came out. What a classic though. I just wanted to start today’s blog post with a fun fact. The rest of this post won’t be as much fun.

I was hated today. I’m still hated. Bear’s Son, who I shall call BS for the rest of this post, hates me today. We’ve had our first real falling out. We’ve had a few arguments recently, but only where I’ve backed up Bear’s side of the fight and BS expected otherwise. Today, however, I couldn’t get over how rude he was being, not just to Bear, but to me also. I had to say something. I live here too.

I’ve been listening to the pair of them fighting like cat and dog for months now, and I’ve always tried to stay out of it. It’s a sensitive area … he’s not my kid, and it would more than likely break my heart if he were to ever say that to me. I don’t know the rules? I love him. I don’t know if I love him as much as a mother would love her own son, because I don’t have kids, but I do know that I would run in front of a bus to save that boy. That’s what made today quite the unexpected kick in the teeth.

He’s lost four or five phones over the last couple of years. He’s lost two, I’m sure, since Bear and I have been together, and that’s been less than a year. Bear couldn’t afford to buy him yet another brand new iPhone-whatever once again, so I managed to get my hands on a relatively decent Samsung to replace the last one. It was better than the phone BS actually lost.

He lost that phone today. He thinks he left it in someone’s car, but it was that person’s fault, not his, because he’s a snotty teenager. We tried to explain to him that it didn’t matter whether or not the phone was moved from one seat to another, it was still his responsibility to make sure he had it when he got out of the car. If he’d checked for just TWO seconds, he would have realised he didn’t have the phone. And you know what it’s like when a teenager loses their phone. We might as well cut his arm off and be done with it. It’s *that* dramatic. To be fair, I’m *that* dramatic when I lose my phone too, so I’m going to let him have that one.

Even after we explained, it still wasn’t his fault. Nope. He was having none of it. Just like the other phones he’d lost too; always someone else’s fault. I wish I were a teenager again … Blameless. Faultless. I know a few grown-ass men like that too, in all fairness.

BS DID manage to remember to bring home the brand hew Playstation 4 he’d been given though. Convenient, right?

We took the Playstation off him. We didn’t take his Xbox though. We left that there, but we took the controls for it, the lead that plugs it in, and the headset he uses to communicate with his friends. It was my idea. Why? Because I’m gettin’ really bored of buying stuff for that kid for him to think he can just throw it away and not give a shit about it. Not just me, Bear too. He has us both wrapped around his little finger, and I love our little family. But sometimes they BOTH take it too far. I am on BS’s side more often than not, and that’s what annoys me so much about today. He knows I would only be on “Dad’s side” if that side really was the right one, so for him to give me that much attitude …. Nah. Sorry. That’s bullshit. I’ve always had his back.

I watch Bear struggle financially to ensure that lad has everything he wants. He’s a good father. That’s what he’s meant to do. He’s meant to go without, and he does. Many times. I’m the same, to some extent, because I would much rather BS had the things he wanted. He’s a good kid, for the most, but his attitude has turned into something else entirely. It’s much worse than mine was at that age, I’m sure of it.

Screaming and shouting at us, telling us we were wrong and he was right, I had to separate Bear and BS at one point, taking a hot drink to them both and carting Bear off into another room. I can’t just sit there and listen to them screaming at each other. It’s distracting, I couldn’t get any work done, and I can’t stand screaming people. I’m an abuse survivor, if that’s what you like to call it, and that means you need to make a couple of special allowances for me. One of them is that you can’t shout at me. I don’t shout in an argument with someone, and I get massively offended when someone shouts at me. It turns me into a whimpering mess. I wait for a punch in the face that I know won’t come, but for some reason, I still expect. If there are loud, shouting voices in a fight anywhere near me, I’ll be the one in the toilet, hands over ears, trying to pretend it’s not happening.  Probably crying. More than likely rocking away. I hate it. Loud, shouting voices really does something to me. Not a good something.

Bear had to go out for a few hours, and he tried to get BS to apologise to me before he left. He was having none of it. He wouldn’t even look at me. He’s really mad at me, because I took away his toys. Good. Be mad. I do feel guilty and like I want to give in and give the toys back, but how many more phones are we expected to buy him? Come on. It’s one each now … and Bear doesn’t have the funds to replace it, should the same thing happen again. It’ll be me putting my hand in my pocket again, which I don’t mind, but I’m certainly not impressed at the thought of being ignored, hated, and thought of as “Bad Cop” while I’m doing it!

The good news is, the phone was in the back of this dude’s car, but we’re unable to get it back for him for some time. Working, train times, etc. You know how life gets in your way when you really need to get your hands on something.

Bear doesn’t really discipline BS when he does something wrong. I’m shocked by that, but I do understand why. The pair of them have been through so much stuff together, very little of it good stuff, so I’m not surprised they’re both very guarded. Bear is so desperate to keep BS on side, he won’t ever tell him off. Every telling-off is met by a grovelling apology, almost, and the problem is never resolved. We go round and round in circles, and I find myself listening to the same arguments over and over again. Right in front of me, usually while I’m trying to work. Cheers, guys, you’re really making me feel comfortable here.

Lost phones are replaced. Laundry is still left until 10 pm on a Sunday night, even though we tell the kid EVERY week that he needs to bring it to us on Friday when he gets home from school. His attitude had improved a little this week, because he’s on work experience, but tonight he was a bit of a dick. Can I say that about a 15 year old kid? Well, he was and I did. He was acting like a bit of a dick!

I wondered if BS didn’t want me here – living with him and his Dad. I’d talk to him and ask, but trying to get this lad to say anything other than “chicken burger” is virtually impossible. Oh, apart from “yes, please” when he needs a brand new Xbox controller, of course. But Bear has apparently asked him, and BS “loves” me being here.

I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I try to be fair, unbiased, and more than anything, NOT involved, but it’s kinda hard to do that when they’re screaming in each other’s faces right in front of me. I’m royally pissed off that the kid has got the cheek to be angry and refuse to talk / apologise to me. I’ve always had his back, even giving Bear a telling-off when I feel he’s been unfair to the lad. I’ve bought him everything he’s needed, from trainers to school trousers, Xbox games and controllers, you name it. When Bear hasn’t been able to pick up the pieces financially, I have. And I have never complained about it. Not once. I won’t complain about it either. This stuff I’m writing, well, this is where it’ll stay. I can’t say this stuff to anyone. I’m not a parent, and I feel like a bit of a dickhead for having gotten involved in the first place, but I live here. BS asked me to move in, just as Bear did. It was quite cute really.

And now I’m just a wicked stepmother.

Excellent.

To all parents – You are amazing. 

To my parents – I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. 

To me, if I ever become a parent – Good fucking luck.

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