Growing up in my household was no easy task; my mother was on the verbally and physically abusive side, whereas my father was on the passive side. My siblings and I learned very quickly that if we were to do something that would displease my mother, we were to lie and keep it under wraps as much as possible. There was never a question of not doing things that could make her upset, but rather, lie as well as you could so that you wouldn’t get called a “little bitch” or get smacked around.

My mother was incredibly restrictive with human interaction outside of school; she claimed that children who visited their friends’ houses were not loved by their parents. In fact, I didn’t go to a school until I was five years old. I never stepped inside of a preschool, and it was traumatizing when I was left by my parents on the first day of Kindergarten. All the other children did just fine, but I silently cried the whole day because I thought my parents abandoned me.

Of course, to say that children that see their friends can’t be loved by their parents is lunacy when you’re a functional adult – foreign human interaction is what we thrive on. But as a small child, probably around eight years old, I blindly believed everything that my mother told me. The one friend that would visit me at my house (I was forbidden to go to her house) always asked me to come over, and I always told her I couldn’t because my mother said no. I was vaguely embarrassed, but I did nothing about it. If I asked my mother, she would scream at me and then guilt trip me by saying I wanted to leave her, that I didn’t love her, etc. I remember that after these experiences, I would keep my personal desires to myself.

Of course, my friendship with my childhood friend diminished, and I was alone until I was about eleven or twelve. At this age, children become more aware of their surroundings and their peers. I vaguely knew that my background was a little off, for lack of a better term. But overall, I thought it was normal for children to be hit by their parents if they used the wrong tone of voice, or you ask for candy or Cheetos one too many times. I remember engaging in a conversation with a close acquaintance about a punishment I had recently endured, and he just gave me a funny look and asked me what the hell was wrong with my mom. I told him that he had to understand she was upset with me because she thought I took her make up but was mistaken. He asked me why she hurt me, and I said “Because that’s what grown-ups do when they’re angry.” He told me no.

After this experience, I held back my own experiences and listened to how other children were treated by their parents. They held their kids in time out, they withheld toy and friend time privileges, but there was no mention of physical abuse unless it was a parent swatting their kid on the head as a joke. I began to feel bitter and resentful and asked “why me?” when my mother flew into one of her many tantrums. One day I asked her why she hit us, and she told me that children don’t learn any other way. I thought of my friends, who weren’t hit by their parents, and they were perfectly normal and functional. I told her she was mistaken, and she should explore other disciplining methods. Ironically, she got upset and hit me with a broom on the stomach and ribs.

However, instead of this teaching me to keep my mouth shut, I became incredibly mouthy, and when she decided to attack either me or my siblings, I would respond back with similar abuse. After an incident that occurred when I was 16, she learned to not lay her hands on me or my siblings again. Though she never did it again, I still have a hard time forgiving her for the hell and torment she put us through. It has caused an ugly dent in our relationship, and though I am older than 20 years, this has affected how I interact with people and how I trust them. I can find nothing positive in the way she “disciplined” me. We have a distant relationship where I tell her almost nothing because I feel like she will do nothing but continue to verbally abuse me.

My story is a lesson for those who do hit their children; even though you may think that smacking your child on the face or butt will do nothing, they will remember. Performing violence on anyone is going to warrant a negative response; doing it to your child will not only yield that, but cause a rift in your relationship for many years. I just ask that next time, before you raise your hand, catch a hold of yourself and your temper and walk away from the situation for a few minutes or hours. When you are more rational, talk to your child instead. You’d be surprised how much good you would be doing for the both of you.

I came out to my dad this weekend.

I didn’t mean to. It just sort of happened.

Let’s start at the beginning.

My parents split up a few years ago. I still don’t know the whole story. I got bits and pieces from the family he had before it happened at the wedding, and I get the basic gist, but it’s obvious there are huge gaps in my knowledge. I’m not sure it matters. They’re split and he’s found someone new.

Early this year, they invited us to their wedding. We knew it would cost a lot of money, and both of us were extremely apprehensive. There are some painful memories, and emotions and opinions I haven’t discussed with my family, so we expected being in a room full of them to be awkward at best. Add to that the fact that we were meeting my niece and stepfamily for the first time ever and I was a nervous wreck.

I guess I forgot the power of family for some is far stronger than any possible bad blood or despicable past.

We touched down in Texas and steeled ourselves for the hour (or so) drive to New Mexico. It went off without a hitch. We gabbed like we’d just seen each other yesterday (minus the whole lot of things we’d missed in each other’s lives), and laughed, and had fun. Dad bought me my first Rt 44 Sonic Cherry Limeade. Holy shit are they humongous. And delicious! And then we were at Dad’s and I played with my niece for the first time ever.

Not long after we got to Dad’s the photographer showed up. She didn’t take pictures that night. We all just sat and talked like old friends even though none of us had ever met her. We ate together and after dinner I snuggled up on the couch with my sister and got her set up with an account on EdenFantasys.

Somehow the subject made its way to the LGBT crowd. Maybe we were discussing my writing for SexIs or something. And I just blurted out, without even thinking about the fact that only my sister and M knew, “I’m bisexual.”

Oops.

It wasn’t even awkward. I’m not sure Dad even heard. We just kept talking like this was everyday conversation, all of us oblivious to whether or not my father was comfortable with the discussion.

Shortly after, we crashed. After three planes and two time zones we were zonked.

I’d like to say the wedding went off without a hitch, but in true [insert family name here] form, you know a few things went wrong. Like the septic tank being so full we had to send a family friend over to clean it out as the reception drew to a close, and Dad’s back bothering him. However, we had such a great time at the ceremony and reception we all put it to the backs of our minds till Dad refused to let anyone help him clean up the mess.

I didn’t have to come out about my job. Everyone already knew! And they all think it’s fantastic! Imagine my surprise.

M had to take a shower at my stepsister’s house. We’d yet to meet them and M’s just as shy as I am. Not to mention, we’re both fully acclimated to this depressing city we live in, and expected everyone to be jerks simply because we’re strangers. And I was staying at Dad’s to finish getting ready. Neither of us was expecting the shower trip to go well. M’s just not good at opening up to strangers, and we’re used to everyone around us being the same way.

M still marvels at how awesome my new big brother was that day. Even tried to feed M the second he got out of the shower. You just don’t see people as awesome as the family we inherited around here.

So I’ve got a new stepmom, stepsister and brother-in-law. They all know what I do for a living, and they’re completely accepting. And with them came the awesomest niece and nephew a person could ever have. Well-behaved, thoughtful, always ready to lend a hand. M and I felt incredibly welcome and loved among literal strangers and it was amazing. We’re already planning another trip. And the plans I’d made to have a kinky vow renewal for our tenth wedding anniversary have been vetoed. M wants Dad and our new family there.

Who could ask for anything more? Life is awesome.

(P.S. That picture up there is one M took on the trip to Albuquerque. About 150 miles of nothing minus that train and a few ranches.)

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… Says the (almost) 32-year-old Woman

I never write about Breast Cancer Awareness. I never know what to say. I usually leave it up to more qualified writers who’ve got experience with the subject beyond just “My aunt died of a malignant brain tumor. Does that count?” I may have actually written exactly that last year on one of the various places I write.

This time, I’ll just say check out our Breast Cancer Awareness category here for some really great reasons to make sure you and everyone you know are at least doing self exams (You too, fellas!). And head on over to EdenTube and check out the awesome videos we’ve got in from all you incredible contributors. Please, please do monthly self exams and pop into a doc if you find something you’re not used to.

This October, my mind is elsewhere. I’ve got a trip to visit my dad in sixteen days. While I’m there, I will be meeting my stepmother, my 5-year-old niece, my step-siblings and all my step-nieces and nephews for the very first time, and watching my father marry someone who isn’t my mother all in the space of a day and a half. And I have to wear a dress.

If you know me even a little bit, you’ve got an idea of what’s going on in my head right now. Every time I think about it, I get nauseous.

Family is not something I do well with. I can relate better to perfect strangers than the people I grew up with. I was going to say “the people who raised me” but nobody raised me. Not for lack of trying. It’s just really difficult to teach me abstract concepts. I have to figure things out for myself. Even today, as a fully grown woman, I’ve been known to say something to the effect of “I don’t care what you say. I think this is the way, and that’s what I’m doing.” Just a little stubborn.

I originally decided to go to this wedding for all the wrong reasons. My sister wasn’t going to go because she felt like she was betraying Mom, so I was going to have a bit of time with Dad and my new extended family to myself. A moment to make my own impression and not spend the entire time trying to outshine my “good” sister or prove I’m not the horrible person my mother and her family believe I am. I was hoping that maybe this time, since it was all about him and his new bride, he wouldn’t spend the entire time on the phone with my sister. Maybe he’d focus a little of his attention on me for a change.

That’s not going to happen. My sister changed her mind, and I’m only going to be there for at most 48 hours. Sixteen of them, we’ll be sleeping. At least eight of them, we’ll be in a car. We’ll say three hours for the ceremony and reception, and at least an hour and a half of getting ready. Maybe more since there will be at least five adults and one child staying at my dad’s place. So that leaves about 25 hours to meet and greet and spend time with my new family. Nowhere near enough time to even scratch the surface of what I really need from my old family to consider trying to rebuild a relationship with them. So it goes on the back burner. Again. And no one knows why I stay away. As usual.

Of course, I know, mentally, that it never should have been about that for me. Timing is everything, and going into my dad’s wedding weekend expecting anything more than celebrating the beginning of what I hope proves to be many years of happiness for him is selfish and mean. Even if there’s never a better time, and even if the conversation goes well, bringing up how I’ve felt pretty much all of my life at his wedding would be a really shitty thing to do.

M has left this situation entirely up to me. That’s a weird feeling. And it shows that we’ve come to a place in our relationship where He trusts me to make major decisions like this while taking into consideration all the things this could affect should it go badly. Of course, part of this, too, is Him knowing that I feel like I have to do this.

This step is a clear indication that we are somewhere we weren’t eight years ago. Eight years ago, had I faltered in my resolve to follow through for even a second, M would have pulled the plug on the whole thing. He’d have told me we weren’t going and would have tied up our purse strings so tight he’d squeeze a booger out of Abe Lincoln’s nose. He would’ve been right to do that, too. And not just for the “He’s the master. His word is law.” reason, either, though that should be the only reason He needs in our relationship. I’ve freely given Him that.

No, He’d be right to do it because eight years ago I couldn’t handle a situation like this like a mature adult should. I wasn’t a mature adult. Hell, I’m probably still not a mature adult. I sang along with Peter Pan and the Lost Boys about never growing up loudest and hardest of all my friends. The Toys R Us jingle was my favorite. I’ll probably drag M in there next year some time in the summer when it tends to have the least people in it.

In a vanilla (In the “There is no hierarchy.” sense, not the “You suck cause you’re not kinky.” sense. The latter is totally not my style.) relationship, that’s probably none of His business. In a vanilla relationship, if M still felt the way He does about this situation, His only recourse would be to express His concerns and wait for me to decide. He wouldn’t have to go or support my decision if he didn’t want to, but ultimately, the decision would be mine. Especially considering my father and I paid for the plane tickets.

This isn’t a vanilla relationship. My money is not my money. The decisions about my life and what I need are only mine to make when M allows me to make them. And when He decides to go against what I want, it’s rarely ever for selfish reasons. I’ll concede that I don’t always understand His logic, but I do know He tries to do what He thinks is best.

He knows that I feel like I really need to go this time. I feel like this is my last chance. I don’t know why. No one’s said anything to make me feel that way. Maybe it’s just part of my “eccentricities”. Whatever it is, He’s letting me lead us down this path. And now I’m really scared, cause there’s a whole bunch of people I’ve never met watching for who knows what, and I feel like I’m leading us into the lion’s den.

Great googly moogly! Why does growing up have to be so hard?

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Yep. I have two moms. My mom and my step mom live happily not far from me. My daughter has two grandmothers and she could care less. It is our normal.

Growing up, I had the typical family life. Mom, Dad, little sister, dog. We drove around in a station wagon and went to the cottage on weekends. When I turned 14, my parents split because my father was a verbally abusive alcoholic, and my mother refused to take the drunken mess and nasty words anymore. It was just a few years after that, we moved into the same building as the woman who would eventually be my mom’s wife.

They hung around a lot. Knowing that this woman was an open lesbian, I questioned my mom many times as to whether she was in a relationship with her or not. My mom always denied it, and although I understand her not being ready to come out, I was pissed that she was lying to me. She said they were just old friends catching up (they went to little school together so they have known each other a long time).

This went on for a long time. Many times, I found future step mom drunk as a skunk and not aware of where she was (she was just beyond the parking lot of the building). I would run home and tell mom I found her, again, and I couldn’t get her home. Mom would go get her, take her to her apartment, get her in bed, and come back to our place.

Eventually the time came. My mother admitted to me that she and future step mom were in a relationship, and they were planning to get a place together. I was fuming. Everyone thought I was mad because my mom was gay. Family members would call me, pleading with me to understand that she is happy regardless of the sex of the person she loved.

No one could understand that I didn’t care if she was gay. If you are happy, that is what counts. What ticked me off something fierce was the fact that my mother went through hell leaving my alcoholic father. Yet here she was getting right back into the same situation, just with another person.

It took me having to write a letter to my mother to get it through her head that I didn’t care if she was gay. I just hated that she left one drunk to be with another. When she finally understood, she came to me and we had a good talk. Future step mom was drinking a lot because she was ticked my mom was lying about their relationship. Now that it is out, she had cut down to just a few weekend beers and it has changed. I wasn’t going to believe it until I saw it with my own eyes, and sure enough it was true. Now that this was not another alcoholic relationship for my mother, I could be happy.

In 2002, they had a union in a friend’s back yard. Friends and family gathered. There was a huge party. It was a wonderful time. A year after that, the legalization of gay marriage was passed here and they quickly planned a ceremony in case it got overturned. My mother called me to dinner and asked if I would stand for her in two weeks time. The ceremony was small, maybe a dozen of us in a United church downtown, and off to drinks afterwards.

I often talk about my mom and step mom and I get the weirdest reactions. “Your mom and step mom hang out? That is a weird situation. It must bother your father.” It is like in this day and age people still cannot process a gay couple as my parents.

We are one big happy family now. Although those two old ladies drive me batty sometimes, I love them dearly. My daughter is proud that she has two grandmothers, and she is not afraid to tell anyone about it. We all live life and have fun, and I wouldn’t change life with my two moms for anything.

As a mother of four children, three of them teens, I pride myself on being available for my them to talk to about whatever they need, whenever they want. Don’t get me wrong, there is a fine line between parenting and being a friend. I am definitely a parent, but I believe that you can be their friends, to an extent. I want them to feel that I really do have their best interest in mind, and that maybe mom does have a little more life knowledge than what they initially think I do. I have raised them to know that they can come talk to me about whatever is going on in their lives. That, even if we don’t see eye to eye on the answers to things, that we can discuss them and they won’t get in trouble for coming to me when they have a question. I try to keep that door open to them.

Today’s teens have a lot of different issues to face than we did when I was a teen. Eating disorders, cutting, increased drug use, and gang activity have all increased, or at least become more widely noticed now, than they were years ago. A lot of parents don’t want to hear that their kids are facing these issues on a daily basis, at school as well as pretty much anywhere that they spend any amount of time. They are faced with just these kinds of things daily. Faced with some of the toughest decisions imaginable, we hope that the values we have taught them will stick with them. But if we don’t keep open lines of communication, how do we know? Simple…we don’t!

A few months ago my 15 year old daughter told me “Mom, I want to talk to you about something, but I don’t want you to be mad at me, and I don’t know how to tell you.” She’s the head cheerleader, popular, a vivacious girl that I absolutely adore. My heart hit the floor. My first thought was ‘Oh God, she’s pregnant, or has an S.T.D’, then 20 other things ran through my head before I could catch my breath. As I braced myself for the worst, I told her “I love you with all my heart and soul and nothing that you tell me is ever going to change that.” She started talking, she told me that even though she had recently had a “boyfriend” that she talked to at school, there was a girl that she had become very close to, and they really liked each other. She said that she thought that she was bi-sexual, and was having really strong feelings for this girl. She was really torn about this and did not want to upset or disappoint anyone. I almost busted out laughing with relief.

We had a long conversation about the fact that…(1) I believe that she is too young to be in a serious relationship, but I do respect her right to have certain privileges that she has earned. (2) We cannot choose who we have feelings for, whether they be male or female.  (3) That I would support her decision in who she is, and she has to be true to herself and not worry about what society may throw her way. I think we both breathed a sigh of relief. After this I decided to do a little research on the subject.

I spent hours reading articles online about different studies that have recently emerged on teenage homosexuality and bisexuality. A lot of people think that this is a stage, researchers disagree, and so do I for the most part. While I think that maybe some kids will try a lot of things simply for the shock value, most truly have these feelings that they can’t squash even if they try. There is a lot of information and support for teens at about.com. Reuters reported in October 2010 that 1 in 10 teens have same sex partners. Two times as many as previous research showed.  According to various websites that have been studying different aspects of teen behavior such as, sciencedaily.com, moneytimes.com and yale.edu , 38-40% of homosexual and bisexual teens are more likely to be singled out for punishment in schools and arrested for crimes. Those statistics frighten me, as they should any parent. What has society been teaching people? You would think that in the year 2011 we would have grown above and beyond this, but new research shows that this is not the case.

I have come to a new understanding with myself now. I vocally and vehemently support my daughter in this decision. Who is society to decide who she can and can’t love? It should be enough that she lives a good life and doesn’t do harm to others. There are so many parents that do not stand beside their children in this choice, but that is exactly what it is…a choice. It isn’t mine, or anyone else’s to make. It’s hers and hers alone. I have talked to the girl that she is seeing, and she is a very nice young lady as well. Her parents aren’t supportive at all, that is sad to me because they have so many others things that they have to deal with. They need the support of the people that they love and trust the most. They should not have to worry about disappointing us for something that they have no control over. I will continue to cheer in my daughter’s corner, and do whatever I can to make this as easy for her as humanly possible. And let it be known that God be with the person that ever does her wrong because of it!

My baby brother is now 17, and is not the person we once knew, at all. It’s hard to lose a family member, but even harder when the loss is just isolation from another family member. My mother walked out on me and my family when I was 16. My youngest brother, Kody, was 8 years old at the time. Things were very hard for us in so many ways. My father was still there, but in a way he wasn’t there. He took the break up extremely hard, and relied on me to take care of the household while he made the money to support us.

We got into a comfortable routine after awhile, but it wasn’t too long before I was off to University. That meant leaving them behind to fend for themselves. They actually didn’t do too bad though, and I came home to visit often when I could. My mother was still away and I never spoke to her. My brothers spoke to her now and then, but it always ended in tears. My parents blamed each other for the break up, and they used us to get at each other, saying whatever they needed to to make someone upset and angry.

Since my mother wasn’t around, I became the legal guardian of my brother after my father. I got him signed up in school, and registered with anything he needed to make thing easier for our father. They moved into the same city I was going to school in, so it made things much easier for us. I did the same with his schooling here, as well. I had to drop out of school for medical reasons, so got to see my bros and father a fair bit.

After awhile, I moved back to a small town to start a new life for myself. I was almost four hours away from my father and brothers, but I needed a break from the city. I got my own place, a new boyfriend, a new job, everything, and established a great life for myself. In this span, my mother also came back, and happened to live just outside the small town I moved to. I started talking to her now and then, as four years had passed since she had left, and I was willing to put some things aside.

About nine months after I had moved there, in December, I found out I was pregnant with my first child. My mother was ecstatic about it and even moved just around the corner from me. It was an easy pregnancy, but my mother was over all the time and helped me out with everything. We started talking a lot and grew closer than we ever had been in my whole life. I was so happy to finally have a relationship with the one person who seemed like she had never wanted me.

We had some issues with our apartment there, and troubles with the landlord. So we had to move. It was July when we did; I was due in August and we got a place literally about four doors away from my mother. This made us even happier and made things better for me, who was getting huge by this point. Being my first pregnancy, I had no idea what I was expecting to happen, so I needed all the support I could get.

Kody had come out from my father’s place in June when school let out to spend the summer with us. He stayed at my mother’s but spent most of his time at my place. When it was summertime, I did a lot of walking, so I was always going somewhere. Kody tagged along everywhere I went. He was about 12 at this point, and was getting a good grasp on life and the things he wanted in it. He hated living with my father. He would call me or my mother, upset all the time, because he had no freedom at his age in the big city. While he was with us, he had more freedom than he knew what to do with. It was no surprise when he finally decided this was where he wanted to stay.

When my son was born, Kody was there every step of the way. Since he was the youngest, he never had any younger siblings, and being so young still, my son was like a little brother to him. Since it was still the summer, I spent a lot of time walking with my new little baby. We would go over to my mother’s, where she could help me out. We started new routines and our lives were never better.

The only issue was, at the end of the summer when it came time for Kody to go back to the city for school, we had to sit my father down and explain to him that Kody was staying. He was, of course, very upset by it all and begged Kody to come back with him, but there was nothing he could do to change his mind. My father had recently started a new relationship and had moved in with his girlfriend. Kody did not particularly like this woman, or how my father had changed since meeting her.

Since the begging didn’t work, my father tried threatening him. He had custody and could use the courts to force Kody back to town with him. That’s where I stepped in. I love my brother and wanted the best for him. If this was where he wanted to be, I would fight what I had to, on his behalf. I went head to head against Dad, but since I was a legal guardian by law, Kody had the choice of coming with me. Since mom only lived a few doors away, he could stay at her place but I would be his guardian.

So, Kody made the move. I set him up in school and everything was set. Mom was thrilled to have Kody around, and I had someone close by all the time. Kody loved the new baby along with everyone else, and we all pretty much became a very close-knit family. He made some new friends and was settled with everything.

Taking care of Kody was a little more than our mother had bargained for, so she got a job at the local KFC. She spent a lot of time working, so he spent even more time with me. We did everything together, and although he was my little brother, he was in a lot of ways my closest friend.

My son was 9 months old when I went to work at the same KFC as my mother. She worked in the kitchen and I worked in the front part. I’m a very ‘people person’ so I spent a lot of time on the cash register, and dealing with customers. My boyfriend was already working, so we had to make schedules that fit our lives. Kody was one of the only people my son trusted enough to stay with for an hour or two. We were a little skeptical about it at first, but we got over it quickly. Our son adored Kody, so there was no questioning it afterward.

This went on for a long time. But our schedules became harder and harder to manage, so we started bringing our son to my boyfriend’s grandmother’s. She had raised him for many years, and was more than willing to babysit for a few hours of the day while we worked. This helped us out a great deal, and left Kody more free time as well. Not that he had minded babysitting, but he was coming up on 14, by this point.

Somewhere in this span of time, my mother had started chatting to men online and had found herself a new boyfriend. He lived a few hours from her but came to see her as often as he could. Kody didn’t like him at first, but didn’t mind it after awhile when he got to know him. My mother had fallen head over heels for this man, and after about six months she decided she was going to move in with him.

I was about four months pregnant with my second child and was not expecting this at all. She came over one evening and told me they were moving in with her new man. I asked when and she told me in three weeks. I was shocked that she would do it so soon, and that she would leave while I was pregnant. We spoke about it a few times after, but it seemed like she didn’t care about me at all, only what she wanted.

She packed up my brother and all her belongings and walked out of my life again. She rarely spoke to me after the move, which didn’t help matters, but I was hopeful for my brother. He hated it right away, and was talking to me constantly. We were arranging having him come and live with us before long. He missed us, and my son especially. Not to mention, he was to be the godfather of my second son. My first son’s middle name was in honor of Kody, so he had a part in both of their lives, and wanted to be there. My second son was born in December, and they came out to see us. They actually got to the hospital five minutes after he was born, due to a snow storm. He was thrilled and spent a week with us then.

In February, we found out our apartment needed a lot work on it, a lot more then we had expected. We had to move out by the first of April. The landlord had other apartments, and even offered a different one to us if we chose. But we decided it was time to move to a different part of town. Things didn’t go as planned, and we ended up having to go to the city instead.

We moved at the end of March, and got settled as best we could. We had only seen Kody and my mother once after they had moved, so Kody decided to spend a week with us after our move. During that week, we noticed things in him that were never there before. He was deceitful, poking around our personal things, and our computers. He was also starting fights between me and my boyfriend, by making up lies to tell behind the other’s back.

We didn’t know what to think. We didn’t believe he would do this to us, so we thought it was all true. It was horrible. He spent a night with my other brother and father, which gave us a chance to talk. It wasn’t long before we realized what had happened. We started watching him very closely, and even set him up in a few things. He fell into them all, thinking we believed him. We let him go on believing it, and decided it would be his last visit like this.

He was taking on traits my mother had. She was like this before she left the first time, and I could see hints of it before she left with her newest boyfriend. She had changed him when he had no influence from us. We were hurt and disturbed by everything. He was such a sweet and loving kid, and now he’s just like my mother with his lies. We left him where he was with her, and didn’t bother inviting him for awhile. There was a lot that had happened in this span of time to influence our decisions in regards to him.

When he hit 16, he found himself a girlfriend. This didn’t help matters at all. He cut himself off from everyone. He was already a carbon copy of my mother, and now he had secluded himself as well. His girlfriend became his world. We were happy for him, of course, but still longed for the person he used to be.

We still haven’t seen him since that week he stayed and disrupted us, and it’s been almost a year. He has made his choice in what he wants to do and be. We are very disappointed, of course, and miss him dearly. I try to talk to him when I can, but he has no interest at all. I wish my mother hadn’t changed him when she got a hold of him. It feels like he is no longer there at all. My brother is still alive, but it’s just as well to say he is gone for now. We are hopeful that one day he will see what she has done by secluding him away from the world, and I do blame her for the changes in him. He will always be my baby brother, but I wish we had him back to the way he was.

Keeping a happy household is a task in itself, but when you have people interfering in areas that have no bearing on them, everyone suffers. My family is very simple, it’s just me, my spouse Justin, and our two sons, Dante and Dj. We lived in a small town pretty much on our own when both kids were born, so were comfortable in our lives, routines, and each other.

Not long after Dj was born, there were some issues in the building we were living in and we had to move. Instead of moving to another place within the small town, we decided to move to the big city where we’d be closer to my father and brother. There were a lot more opportunities for us here so we thought this move was the best thing for us and our family. Plus, having my father nearby meant we could have some help that we didn’t have beforehand.

We made the move in March of 2010 into a beautiful basement apartment. The landlord was the kindest lady, and we even had one of the biggest children’s parks nearby, as well. We were in a prime spot close to amenities but off the main highway, so it was safer for our kids here.

It was still cold at this point and even had snow on the ground for a few weeks after, but we made every effort to explore the area with the kids. Justin had lived his whole life in a small town, and I moved around a lot, so this city was new to both of us. We explored the park that was just around the corner, went to the malls, and just strolled the back roads to get our bearings of our location. We tried to have the freedom we had in our previous place, but with the city being so much bigger, it was hard without our own means of transportation. My father came over regularly to see the kids and he had a little Suzuki Swift for a car, but it was not big enough for all of us to go, at all. That took away from our family outings significantly. Since it was my Dad, Justin was usually left behind. He didn’t usually mind it, but it bothered me a bit that he was missing out on so much.

Around June, Justin finally managed to get a job not too far from home and worked from 8am-5pm, mon-fri. My father worked from 4pm-11pm, sun-thu, so this lessened our outings even more. One thing to understand with my father is that he doesn’t handle children in public very well. My brothers and I are all grown up now so it’s been many years since he dealt with very small kids like mine. He could handle it as long as both Justin and I were there, so we could take them off his hands if something went wrong. This wasn’t a very big deal really, but it made our outings so hard to organize. He did eventually get a new Ford Escape 2011 model, so there was then plenty of room for all of us to go anywhere and tons of room to spare. There was still the scheduling issue, but at least the ride issue wasn’t so bad anymore. The first little while everything was okay, but then the real fun started.

My father is a very opinionated person, which is something I grew up with my whole life, so was not surprised. However, after spending so much time around us, he started nitpicking every little aspect of our lives. Everything we did was wrong in his eyes. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but he would go back to his even more opinionated girlfriend and tell her everything. My father also tended to exaggerate as well, which didn’t help matters.

Just an example of what I mean; it was summertime and we had a small kiddie pool in the backyard for Dante. He had been out there most of the afternoon with me on the step with Dj watching him and enjoying the sun. Running around in the grass, any child would get a bit of dirt on the bottoms of their feet.

Anyway, we came inside for supper and went straight to the table. I didn’t realize how dirty Dante’s feet had gotten outside, and assumed he must have stepped into a little patch of mud. While eating supper, my father came over and sat in the living room just off the kitchen. He was nagging about toys on the floor, and how the kids need to spend more time outside. I told him they had been out all afternoon, but since he wasn’t there to see it, he didn’t believe me. Dante was very excited that he was here to visit, and hopped up from the table to run in to him. Whatever was on his feet had dried on already, and when he climbed into his grandfather’s lap, he immediately noticed the dirt.

The first thing he assumed was since the kids ‘never go outside’ then this dirt was from somewhere inside the house. We are not the most tidy of people, and with kids it’s even harder, but dirt is one thing I don’t leave around. I’m a bit of a ‘germaphobe’ so I would not tolerate it for any length of time. Not to mention, after spending all day in the grass and playing in his pool, Dante was going to be having a bath right after supper anyways, until his grandfather had shown up.

My father, of course, went ballistic over the bit of dirt, which in all honesty wasn’t as bad as it sounds to be. He said everything to me, about how I should be cleaning them regularly and bathing them, the floors should be scrubbed constantly and dirt shouldn’t be a factor. I tried to explain to him about Dante being outdoors all day, but again, he didn’t see it so didn’t believe me, and even went around looking for dirt on my floors.

I had never been so embarrassed and degraded in all my life. Justin came home from work not long into this and Dad gave him the same going over that he had given me. Justin of course bit his tongue and just went about his business. He knows I get very stressed out when the two of them butt heads, so whenever it arises, he tries to avoid conflict as much as possible. This was very straining on our relationship after awhile because my father liked to be the ‘dominant male’ on any premises, and was coming into our home and acting like he was the boss. Poor Justin didn’t say much about it, but he drifted away from me for awhile.

During this particular rant, my father pushed a few boundaries, though. He made digs at me being schizophrenic, at Justin being a bit overweight, and at the fact that Dante preferred not to speak to him. It’s not that he couldn’t talk, he just had his own means of communicating and spoke when he needed to. It was even confirmed by the public health nurses, but this did not satisfy my father. He didn’t speak to him, so he couldn’t talk, and it was my fault because I neglected and ignored him constantly, apparently.

We were completely appalled by him and everything he got on with. I’d finally had enough and told him to mind his own business, to which he decided it was better he left. We agreed, of course. He was only gone a few minutes when Justin asked me what had happened. He still didn’t know what was going on or why he was doing this. I told him about being out, Dante’s feet and Dad showing up, etc. This all upset Justin, because there was no need for any of it. I tried to tell him I would deal with my father when he cooled down a bit, but since this wasn’t the first time my father had done this, Justin was very frustrated with him, and also with me for putting up with it.

The strain of my father’s constant picking and nagging about every little aspect of our lives started to make me depressed for a long time. I stopped talking to friends. I stopped going out to the malls on my own, and started trying to push my kids as much as I could just to satisfy him. The biggest issue, though, was Justin having to deal with me. He had a hard time dealing with me because when Dad would come over in the afternoons Justin would be at work, and I would get the full brunt of Dad’s nagging. Then when Justin would come home, he would have to deal with the aftermath of my father. I was blaming him for not helping me around the house more, and he blamed me for not telling my father off.

It was so hard to deal with then, and even now. We talked to him many times and told him to leave us alone, and mind his own business, but week after week he starts on something. Justin doesn’t keep quiet so much anymore, and my father is the one who is disgruntled by it. I still get stressed now and then as well, but Justin and I talk it over. We decide how we are going to handle it and what to do, and then together as a family, we deal with it, instead of individually.

Personally, I think the only thing saving my relationship right now, is the fact that we communicate as much as possible. Even if we think it might be hard on the other, or start a fight, if we approach it together we can face anything, including my father. My biggest word of advice to anyone dealing with those pesky in-laws, communicate with your partner, and together anything can be overcome. I love Justin with all my heart, and even though my father is a pain a lot of the time, he’s still my father and I love him too. Now that we are handling him as a couple, it’s much easier on us both.

I’ve never had much of a relationship with my mother, growing up. It wasn’t until I was in my early 20′s, with my first child, that we became very close. She helped me with everything around the house and with my son.

My parents had divorced many years before, and although she had had relationships after, none of them really lasted. Most of her boyfriends we’re people she met online or through family.

She had a life of her own, and I had my life up until this point. Having my baby brought us closer together and gave her something to do, rather than live online talking to men she’d probably never meet. We talked about everything, and were the best company for each other. My boyfriend was working all the time, so it made me much more comfortable with raising my son when she was around.

My mom was a very social person, on or offline. The town we lived in had just built a new club that was supposed to be a dance club. It seemed people closer to her age were more attracted to the place, so she was eager to check it out. She didn’t want to go by herself, so she talked me into going with her.

We got ready one Saturday night, dressed up appropriately, makeup and all. It had been years since I had been to a club, so I was a bit eager to go as well. I was a bit skeptical though, due to the age group that preferred to be there. But I wasn’t going alone, so put it all aside.

We had a blast! We danced the night away, had a few drinks, and just overall had a great time there. She knew a lot of the people there, and there were even some people I knew as well. It wasn’t very far from home, so stumbling back to our doorsteps wasn’t an issue either.

A few weeks went by and my mother decided she wanted to go out again. Lucky for me, my boyfriend didn’t mind staying home with our then 8 month old baby, and he had no problem with me going out with my mom. I was with my mother for god sake. This particular night, one of my mother’s friends was coming with us. I had no problem with it. We got ready and went to the club, had our few drinks, and were rocking the dance floor. My mother was a little braver this time. She grabbed random guys to dance with, and was a little more confident in her dancing as well. She was only 40, still young in this age group. The more she drank, the ‘friendlier’ she got. After a few hours, I called a cab and helped her stumble into her door, alone. Her friend was her next door neighbor, so I helped her home as well. I lived just up the road a bit, so I walked home myself.

I didn’t know what to think of that night, but I chalked it up to her having a few too many drinks. We went out on a regular basis after this outing, and every time was very similar. I didn’t have anything to do with the men though, so I wasn’t too worried. She was a grown woman and she was single, so there really wasn’t anything wrong with having a bit of fun.

I didn’t notice right away that some of the men seemed like they were dancing more with me than they were with her. I know my way around the dance floor and am very confident in my moves, but I know my limits when it comes to other people. The more we went out, the more we saw the same groups of people. We danced with the same guys a lot of the time.

I believe there was a Lady Gaga song playing, and we were shaking it on the dance floor. Mom had grabbed a few guys to dance with, and I was just tagging along. One of the men wrapped his arms around me and said “What would it take to get you to do that to me?” I was appalled! I told him I had a boyfriend, and moved closer to my mother, away from him. He was drunk, so it didn’t even bother him that I had walked away. He came closer again and said it louder. My mother heard him this time, and instead of defending me, she told him to buy her another drink and find out. He looked from me to her and grinned. My mother and I could pass for sisters. She looks very young for her age, and he was willing to go along with it, probably assuming she was my sister. I couldn’t believe it! I kept to myself a lot that night, staying away from the men and even passing on dances. My mother tried to get me to dance again, but I couldn’t. It bothered me too much.

I was reluctant to go out again after that night. My mother went every week religiously at this point, with or without me. After awhile, she begged me to go with her. I couldn’t figure out why she wanted me to go so badly when she had gone so much on her own and with her friends. I agreed one night and got ready to go out. I never wore revealing clothes but I did dress up a bit. We went just before midnight, and as soon as we got there we got drinks and started dancing. She didn’t bother with any men and it seemed so odd. We had a good time, so I figured maybe I was hasty in turning her away all those other times. She convinced me to go out the following weekend as well, and this time I noticed her talking to people at the bar when I was coming back from the bathroom. I didn’t think much of it, maybe it was just people she knew.

We danced through for awhile, just her and I, then the men started coming out. Mom was a lot braver now than she was originally, and was leading me in the dancing, which was getting very provocative. It was fun for awhile, but then the men came around. The closer they got, the worse she got. She was very suggestive, making gestures to them, and leading me closer to them on the dance floor. It seemed the more she got me to dance, the worse she got, and the closer they got, until finally they were dancing with us. They would get close to me, and she would gesture them or grab them in a dance move. The only thing you could call it was dirty dancing. It was like vertical sex with clothes on. It seriously got to be way too much for me, so I told her I was going home. She waved me off and stayed with the men.

A few days later, I was talking to mom about that weekend, and her friend happened to be there. Her friend was a little miffed that mom had gone out without her. Mom just laughed, and said she had missed a few good ones. I just laughed, but it sounded funny to me. We went out again that weekend, me reluctant again, and mom’s friend joined us. While there, Mom acted the exact same as the previous weekend. When the men started coming around, mom’s friend asked me to hit on one of the guys she liked so he would come dance with us, and she could get closer to him. I said, no way, so mom did it instead. After some time of this, I got tired of it and left to go home. Mom stayed with her friend. I told my boyfriend about it when I came home, and he laughed saying she was using me as bait. It was so obvious! I felt pretty dumb and blind by this point. But she was my mother, why would she use me like that?

I told my mother the next day that I didn’t want to go there anymore because the men creeped me out, and she even admitted to needing me so the men would come around. She apparently wasn’t brave enough to approach them on her own, so she was using me to lure them in. It was so disturbing. I was not very happy about it at all. My own mother, a cougar, was using me as bait so she could get men to come home with her. I didn’t bother going out with her after that. Not if she was only trying to show me a good time so she could get some man to sleep with. What if things went too far? What if he got the wrong idea, and wouldn’t take no from me as an answer? It disturbed me beyond belief.

To this day, I still haven’t gone out with her since. I miss the first days when she wanted to just go out for fun, but the fun is gone for me now. I’m too paranoid that she would risk anything happening to me for her own personal gain. She told me in the end, that she got men to go home with her mostly on the nights I left early; saying they didn’t have to end their fun because I was gone, and that she was willing to show them a good time. I never would have thought, though. My mother was a prowling cougar, and she dangled me in front of the things she wanted. I was her bait, but I won’t be used anymore.

I have a lot of siblings. My biological father was married once. Besides me, he has two other children. My younger brother is actually about 5 months younger than I am. I guess he was pretty busy. My mother was married four times, and has four biological children by three different fathers.
When she married my step dad I gained three more step-siblings. All together, that’s eight. If you couldn’t keep up, I don’t blame you. It’s complicated.

We’re not all one big happy family either. Shit is complicated enough when you’ve got one couple that splits and has to share custody. When you’ve got three dads, and the step-dad’s ex-wife, juggling custody of nine kids around, it gets even worse.

I didn’t actually meet my brother and sister, through my biological father, until I was 18. But that’s a story for another day. My youngest brother and sister, the ones my mom had with her second husband (Just stop trying to sort the timeline out now. You will be confused.) went to live with their biological father. They came for visits infrequently, due to the distance between us all, so we didn’t really have that close of a relationship.

It was my step-siblings, and my mother’s child from her first marriage, that wound up growing up closest to me. As the oldest, I took the role of the babysitter. I was the one who was left in charge when we were left at home. I often got called the Mother Hen. I’ve never really found my way out of that role. I’m the one who gets called when they are having problems, financial or personal, and I help them work through it. I still behave like I’m their mother. It’s probably because I grew up so fast, having my first child when I was 19, getting married, and doing the whole grown up thing.

I’m stable. So they call me when they need that. They’ve all had to live with me at some point. My youngest step-sister actually moved in with me, off and on, for the past 3 or 4 years. She graduated from high school while living in my house. I had to take care of her because my parents were taking care of my step-dad’s parents, who had Alzheimer’s. Senior year is a big deal to teenagers, and she was able to participate more while living with me.

It was a difficult adjustment though, having her move in. I wound up having to get a job to help make ends meet. I also had to navigate a very bumpy road, taking on the role of her mother while still trying to be her sister. I’m 27 and she’s 19, and we’ve always had a close relationship despite the age difference. I didn’t want to lose that by having to become someone who was telling her what to do at the most hard-headed time of her life. She was at the point in her life where she thought she was grown, and she thought she was ready to be on her own. She thought she knew it all. We all go through that stage. Ya know, where we think our parents are idiots. Only, I wasn’t her parent. I was her sister. I didn’t want her to think I was an idiot, though I might make some dumb decisions now and again. There was huge potential for this situation to royally fuck up our entire relationship.

It almost did.

We had a huge fight about 4 months after she graduated. I was working 40 hours a week. She was babysitting and keeping house so I could make enough money for her to live with us. She was tired of being at home. I know the feeling. I loved my new job and freedom, but it was also necessary for me to have those if she was going to live with us. We had talked about me cutting back to part-time hours so she could get a job, and we could work around each other’s schedules.

Teenagers aren’t the most patient of creatures, though.

She was developing an itch, and she couldn’t scratch it fast enough. She told me I was a bad mother because I worked, and she saw my children more than me. I was hurt. That stung. I explained that I got a job because she moved in, and that my job bought her prom dress, and paid for all the fun things she got to go do her senior year. It also paid for the food she ate and clothes on her back. I tried to remind her that the agreement was for her to look after the kids during the hours I worked. She shot back with the fact that she was tired of being home with the kids all the time. I told her that I knew that feeling well.

She said “They’re your kids, your responsibility. Not mine. I shouldn’t have to feel like that.”

Ouch.

She moved out while I was at work the next day. Our relationship was strained for a few months. She realized that being a grown up was a lot harder than she thought. Her best friend from high school kicked her out after a big fight about bills. Temporary jobs weren’t cutting it. She moved back in with me at the beginning of 2010. She got the job this time, and paid us rent. I tried to help her adjust to being an adult. I gave her financial advice, and helped her get her first credit accounts, making sure she didn’t get talked into bad deals.

Things were going better this time. She began dating, and towards the end of 2010 she found a guy she was pretty serious about. I thought they were moving too fast, but she was ready to move in with him. There was a bit more fighting, this time it was more about our brother. We had agreed to take him in before Thanksgiving, and share the burden of trying to get him a job and on his feet. I felt like she was trying to leave me to deal with him. She took him with her when she moved out.

Now, I’ve got my house back. It’s just Chad, the kids, and me. No more trying to walk the line of being my sister and brother’s parent/sibling. She comes over and we watch movies. We hang out and paint each other’s toe nails. We cook new recipes. We gossip. We go shopping and go out to eat. We get to act like sisters again, which is awesome, because I’m better at being her sister than I am at being her mother.