Bitterness and Bad Grace

I am only human right? And I work pretty hard, as does Himself, and we try to provide for everybody in this weird blended family. So will you forgive me if I have a really small minded bitch about the recent judgment against us by the Child Support Agency?

Small Boy's mother put in a claim against us as she feels that we are earning more than her and that she is entitled to some more of it. What she fails to recognise is that Himself and I bought a house, when we married, which would enable the children of three different partnerships (including hers) to live together, without living on top of each other. For this we pay steeply every month, approximately a third of our joint incomes. She on the other hand has a v nice house paid for by her parents, for which she pays no mortgage. She is also buying a new car soon. I wish I could afford a new car :-(
We are currently doing home renos, but they are much needed on the maintenance front and only affordable as a result of a windfall inheritance, most of which went to pay off credit cards and buy boats (OK I'm with her on THAT one). Currently we have not received a full pay for over 6 weeks because, due to the GFC, people are not paying their bills, so the rest of the inheritance is going on day to day living expenses.
The retaining wall is still collapsing. The pool filtration/chlorination system has given up the ghost. The gutters need repair if not complete replacement. The air conditioner is on borrowed time. It is just as well that the BA has transferred from extremely expensive Alma Mater to third of the price St Saviour's because that difference in income is about to go straight out again to Small Boy's mother. The same woman who buys him 'Bullet Storm'.

They have tripled our payments and we can't appeal until we have another tax return done.

Pardon me if I feel a bit bitter.

I hope she chokes on it.

That squeezing sound was us tightening our belts.

If You Want Something Done....

"Your son needs some new trousers," I informed Himself last week. Small Boy had arrived for his holiday visit with nothing but a few pairs of shorts, one pair made of that thin shiny fabric basketballers wear. It has been about 9C in the mornings here lately.
"Doesn't he have some in his drawer here?"
"Yes, but they're all too short for him now and he's refusing to wear them. Take him down to the shopping centre sometime."

I must admit I was surprised when I didn't get too much argument. Himself notoriously loathes all shopping centres and our nearest major shopping centre in particular. It's one of the larger mall complexes and for some reason it never has enough car parks, sin number one in Himself's eyes. It is also deliberately convoluted in order to make you walk past as many shops as possible and past the thousands of determined women shoppers, who, according to Himself, always have their elbows extended.

So I was naturally quietly delighted when he agreed to take on the task. Normally he would handball this sort of thing to me but the week with Small Boy had been a little fraught due to Himself's constant work and even he could see that Small Boy was in need of some serious dad time. You see, no matter how good your relationship with your step mother is, when you're a boy, there's no-one like dad.

Later that day he phoned me, "We've been shopping," he said.
"Great, what kind of trousers did you get?"
"Well, we didn't actually get any trousers."
"What do you mean you didn't get any trousers???"
"Well, we got some wheels for his scooter instead."

You think I make this stuff up don't you?

In Praise Of The Humble Card

Cards are having a tough time of it lately.

I mean, what with email and ecards and online flowers etc, I know my investment in the card industry has plummeted. Heck, I haven't even done Christmas cards for the last two years, a fact which I deeply regret as I have lost contact with some people as a result. This of course brings me to my point. There is nothing like a card really.

There is also nothing like a carefully chosen gift, no matter how seemingly small or insignificant. A carefully chosen gift can demonstrate your intimate knowledge of someone, or at least that you have enough respect for them to find out what they need/like and search it out. Which is what makes kids' birthday parties tricky; especially when you are a step parent and do not know the birthday boy.

Recently I have been landed witha number of last minute 'he's going to a party's. Dad of course makes no effort to buy gifts in advance because he just doesn't think like that >:-( so when I asked Small Boy what we needed to get for someone's present the other day he announced that we simply needed to put money in a card: 'That's what Mum does and anyway, that's what he was asking for.'

This rankles with me. It smacks of laziness. It stinks of not bothering to find out who the child is and what he likes/is interested in. It reeks of materialism. It's like paying to go to a party.

However, my hands were tied a little. It was last minute, it was an 'early start' party and things have not been all sunshine and roses with the Small Boy here this week and I didn't feel like another argument. So off to the shopping centre we went to buy a card and drop Small Boy off at the movies.

Once there I insisted Small Boy have a hand in choosing a card. His initial pick, which involved an analysis of different kinds of farts , I rejected as inappropriate. He then claimed he didn't know where to look for another one (give me strength) and also informed me that he wasn't sure how old his friend actually was! That ruled out the age related cards. Like pulling teeth, we finally and excruciatingly found a safe, cheerful, appropriately amusing card. Upon purchase I found a pen for him to write in the card.

"We don't need to," he snapped, keen to be getting to the party,"It's got writing in it already."

Is the counter of a card shop the place to lecture a child on the importance of a hand written message? Of the emotion that can be communicated through a few well thought out words? Ask the Bestie's mum. When I wrote out the card for her 80th birthday I wrote it through tears of love and she, equally, called me the next day to tell me how much it had meant to her.

Is it just women? Do men not get that? I don't believe that because my ex husband wrote the most beautiful cards to his little daughter as she grew (and he continues to do so). Whatever the reason, I felt it was a sad indictment on...what? Some people? I don't think we can tar the whole Gen Y with this particular brush although speed and immediacy of communication do discourage thoughtful reflection. No, I can't tar them because I know my daughter spends time choosing cards (or even making them and she hates craft), I think this one falls squarely on the shoulders of adult role modelling and is yet another example of where Himself and his ex and I differ.

I've been in at school this week in the holidays painting sets for the Year 12 production. Out of the blue, and much to my surprise, on Wednesday the Year12s arrived with cards and chocolate to say thank you. The chocolates are gone but the card is still here on my desk.

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