Mother’s Day

Not so much happy.

It’s Daddy-week, so The Mook transitioned from my home to his on Friday. And I had arranged with him to “borrow” her on Sunday, post-swim class. She gave me a card and some pansies (to plant), but within hours she was complaining about having to spend some of Daddy-week with me. This, despite being taken out for brunch and getting her bike back from the bike shop where it was getting a tune-up. And despite being taken to the mall so we could shop for summer shoes and t-shirts for her (unsuccessful, since she refused to listen to my [completely reasonable] request to stop treating the fixtures in the kid’s clothing store like her personal playground).

I arranged for The Former Mr to meet up with us at a local grocery store, since our shopping debacle left us short on time. And when The Mook saw him? I might as well have been shit on her shoe. Smiles and giggles and goofing off. How can I possibly compete with a Disney dad who indulges her every 7 days out of 14? I can’t. Sometimes I wonder whether I should just give up and let him raise her.


What I’ll focus on inside is getting a Mother’s Day card from the young mum down the hall, thanking me for my support.

It’s a long story that I never blogged about. It involved holding this stranger in my arms while she cried about not feeling like she was a good mum and then trying to get thru to her (now confirmed emotionally abusive) boyfriend/baby-daddy that it would do him some good to consider that working on their relationship would be cheaper than the child support he would have to pay. It hit close to home. So close to home.

As shitty as it was to have spent un-quality time with The Mook today, B’s card totally made up for it.