A Weekend
My oldest child no longer lives with me, but the other half of her family - my ex's - is very Catholic as in guilt-induced love. I received nine calls between Friday evening and Saturday morning about my sick daughter. My ex-mother-in-law (and ex-nurse) swore that if I didn't get my child to a hospital, the child (who had vomited a total of six times) would collapse from dehydration. If she had been six or sixty, I would have been concerned. She is 17 and 11 months. Quite resilient and, after keeping an eye on her Saturday evening and Sunday morning, I'd decided she either had the flu or was recovering froma tequila evening that she wouldn't confess to Grandma. Yes, I went to her Grandma's house to gather her up so she could endure a 45 minute automobile ride to recover at my house. I only went to her aid because my husband was tired of the phone calls. K'Leetah even told Grandma she'd be just fine given the chance to lay in her misery a while longer. Sunday morning she (daughter) ate pancakes and bacon and left around 1 p.m. to spend the remainder of the day with a friend.

My only real guilt in all this was that I didn't want to retrieve her in the first place. She has been removed from my home a total of five times, for refusing to follow our program - go to school or get a job. It seems very simple to me, but I am older and maybe my vision is cluttered.

Any how, later that Sunday, Daughter's Grandma called, asking to be included in any birthday celebrations I planned. I really hadn't planned anything. I offered to take her to dinner on the weekend of her birthday. (I even got the brilliant idea to take her go-cart racing to get her more familiar with driving). I really wouldn't ever want to eat a meal with my ex family.