Heidi's Hell Hole

 
Dear Assesor,

Thank you for not listening to a damn thing I had to say. Every time I would try and point something out or say something helpful, I was poo-pooed. "We're the professionals, we know what we're doing." That little statement made me doubt everything I'd ever done as a Mother, and everything I'd done to help her speech along.

You gave me the results and tore my world apart. Four months?! I was crushed, and I was angry at the world. I was so mad that someone had dared to tell me my baby girl, my heart, my soul, my world, my EVERYTHING was anything less than perfect. But at the same time, I thought to myself that I was justified, that something was wrong. Anyone who dared contradict me brought my full wrath upon them. I even wrote into my favorite advice column, Alpha Mom, twice about it! I feel like I need to write in and apologize, "Sorry, false alarm! I'm a jackass! Thanks for publishing my questions, and having people respond! Love your blogs, though!"

For three weeks we waited for the second appointment. Three very long, very torturous weeks. Three weeks of living in a self-created hell. I doubted everything I'd ever done when I was pregnant, in labor, or as a parent. Was it because I drank coffee when I was pregnant? Was it the two epidurals? Did I not work with her enough? I picked fights with everyone. It was not a pleasant time in my household, and now I owe just about everyone I know an apology for being such a snatch.

Only to find out last night, you didn't even DO THE DAMN TEST RIGHT AND DIDN'T READ THE DAMN DIRECTIONS! The second assesor, Paula, apologized on your behalf. She apologized that we had to go through this, she apologized that you didn't give the test right. Come to find out, you didn't give her credit for things, when you had them noted on the test that SHE FREAKING DID THEM! What the hell, tester?! Needlessly Bryan and I wondered if Pook would be alright in the end. I spent three weeks trying to figure out how we'd afford her therapy. THREE WEEKS, YOU BITCH.  Paula was so upset that she put in a call to your office to ream your ass out. You haven't returned her phone call, I doubt that you will. You're damn lucky Bryan wasn't there at the testing, he would've left you in tears. While I stood back and laughed.

Next time, why don't you READ THE DIRECTIONS, ADMINISTER THE TEST CORRECTLY, and here's a novel idea...LISTEN TO THE PARENTS. Hopefully some other family doesn't need to go through what we went through due to your mistakes. As I write this, I am trying to refrain from cursing too much. It's taking quite a bit. When I am as furious as I am now, I swear quite profusely. But I will say this, a parting curse: FUCK OFF, BITCH.
 
 
If I had to put a word to how I'm feeling, I couldn't. There's so many emotions running through me right now...Anger, relief, frustration, happiness.

We had Pooks second, more in depth assesment tonight. Basically, she is NOT that delayed. She's got the abilities of a 15 month old. Basically, the person who administered the first test not only didn't do it right, she didn't follow the directions of the test, and knows little to nothing about the development of an infant.

I am SO happy & relieved that she isn't delayed. I was crying with happiness. The assesor tonight said she'd like to see her around 18 months to make sure she is on track then as well.

I am so fucking pissed off at the initial assesment. When they told me their results, I shut down. I bawled and I was heartbroken, and I was angry. How dare they say my baby girl is anything less than perfect? Why didn't they do it right the first time?

When they tested her the first time, they set her in a chair and buckled her in. And basically forced her to perform. Because she didn't perform, they didn't give her credit for things I told them she does!

For three weeks, I've been torturing myself, living in my own hell. Blaming myself, fighting with everyone else who said "She's FINE." Bryan and I fought about it. He was saying she was fine, while I would screech that she's not. He was the voice of reason. But three goddamn weeks of wondering if I did something wrong. Did I do something while I was pregnant? In labor? Have I done something wrong as a parent? As a mother? All to find out we're doing everything we should be. We're doing "it" just fine.

The assesor tonight, Paula, (if you ever read this thank you for...everything.) was so ticked off at how the initial assesment and how it was handled that she is placing a call to the initial person to, more or less, ream her out. She personally apologized for us having to go through all of this, and how it was handled, and how that person is a discredit to the profession.

While I apologized to Bryan for more or less being a bitch, I will absolutely not apologize for following my gut. I refuse to apologize for acting on the instinct that something was wrong with my child. I would do it no matter if it was a fever, or a developmental delay. No mother should ever apologize for making sure their child is healthy.

And I won't.
 
 
As I write this, it is barely 1300 hours. I have been up for six hours and I’m ready to crawl into a dark hole.

 

My day started out crappy and has continued to be crap. First of all, I woke up with a headache, which I still have. Bryan and I were grouchy with each other this morning, since work for us has been hell. I felt bad when he left. (I love you, baby!)

 

I have been rather lax about laundry of late. Because of my laziness, I had to root around for ten minutes to find panties. I did find panties, though I wouldn’t use that term. More like big-as-a-banner granny panties. (Side note to underwear manufacturers: panties shouldn’t come up to just below my boobs. FYI.) (Side side note: why do I own these again? Oh, right, I wore them in the hospital when Pook was born.)

 

 I left early for work since it’s raining out, and traffic can be a bear. My route to work involves driving by a river. A river with little duckies. I almost ran over one of those little duckies. I swerved to avoid hitting it, but it rattled me.

 

I got to work, and my computer decided to run super slowly. My morning report normally takes 20 minutes to run, code, analyze, print, and distribute. But, this morning it took an hour. When I printed it out, my printer used a ream of paper spewing gibberish. Lovely, so I spent another hour doing it again. Meanwhile, I’ve got management on my ass about where the hell that report is! I ended up having to show them the ream of paper so they’d shut the hell up.

 

That fiasco over with, corporate sent us their idea of a flu prevention kit…A box of single ply, 20 grit sandpaper…Um, I mean Kleenex. I am not making this up. This is how corporate tells its employees they care. I’m pretty sure the next round of cutbacks are right around the corner.

 

Riiiight about that time, my email decides to take a complete dump and crash. So, any hopes I had about those important emails I had sent reaching their intended recipients crashed with it. So, pretty much, since my offices lives and dies on email, communication wise, my day just got screwed. I rebooted and tried again. No dice. Well, fuck me sideways. And of course, once again, I’ve got people all but screaming “WHERE IS THAT EMAIL?!” By this time, it’s roughly ten AM…

 

My receptionist catches me on my way upstairs, “Heidi there’s a call for you. She’s a real bitch.” Gee, thanks. The customer was a bitch and a half. See, our billing is driven off of metered data that our customer provides. She said her metered data was wrong. I suggested maybe someone read the data wrong and she flew off the handle about how dare I suggest her employees aren’t trained! The entire time I was on the phone with her, she stopped just short of calling me a horrid, stupid slut. She ended by saying she was going to cancel her contract. I didn’t try to dissuade her.

 

The final straw of my day came about lunch time. My boss decided to heat up “tuna surprise”. Let me tell everyone a little secret: when you work in an office, you never heat up anything stinky or smelly. Tuna STINKS. It smells like the inside of Satan’s ass. My boss, bless ‘is heart, never got that damn memo. He is noshing away in his office, and might I add, with an alarming level of enjoyment. Who the hell likes leftover tuna surprise?! I asked him to shut his door, as it’s starting to make me ill. He tells me to quit being dramatic. I started my rebuttal but I was interrupted by throwing up in my trashcan. I raced downstairs to throw up in the bathroom. People saw me hurl. People heard me hurl. My other boss screeched, “YOU’VE GOT SWINE FLUUUUU! LEAVE THIS PLACE!! GO HOME! OH MAH GAWD, EWW!”  I was all too happy to oblige.

 

I get home, plop down on the couch and Kiera comes over and looks at me sympathetically. She then proceeded to hurl. On my shoes. Damn dog.

 

Tonight, we have Pookers second evaluation. I am beyond nervous. I’m worried the people will judge me as a mother, like I have FAILED my child. Just another way my day can suck, and another way Mommy Guilt can wrack me yet again.

 

Considering my day so far, I’m going to apologize in advance for any drunk texting later on….



 
 
Well, shit. 09/25/2009
 
I've been thinking for months that Pooker is speech delayed. Yet everyone told me I was overreacting, every child is different, and how I need to calm down. I cannot effectively articulate how much those statements frustrated and angered me. I knew something was wrong with her. I knew her speech was off, I knew that she wasn't as developed as she was supposed to be. And yet everyone told me to shut up, she's fine.

Finally, I philosophically gave everyone the finger and scheduled her to be evaluated by the county. "You're just wasting your time" they said. I said they could shove it up their asses, I was going to test her anyway.

They were WRONG, internets!

As it turned out, she is indeed speech delayed. As of this posting, she is 16 months old. She has the speech abilities of a 9 month old. She should have at least 2-3 words in her vocabulary, and trying to mimic what we say. She will try to sound out consonants, but she doesn't say WORDS. When the evaluator asked her where I was, and who I was she just shrieked.

So where does this leave me? Well, the nurse is coming to our house next Thursday to do a more in-depth evaluation. From there, she'll keep coming to the house and to daycare to work with her. For once, I was right. But I wish I was wrong, that she was normal.

This is my Pooker Butt. The baby I fought so hard to keep healthy when I was pregnant, despite my body working against me. The little girl who has my heart, melting every time I see her smile.  The baby who is so upbeat, who runs as fast as her little legs can carry her to give me a big hug. She is my heart. She is my soul. She is my life. She's....just...she's everything.
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Ever have one of those days where you wake up just itchin’ for a drink, but you’re so tired you’re afraid you’d drown in your rum and Coke? Really? Just me? Oh, well okay then.

 

I woke up late because I could not sleep last night. I suspect it’s because my Mother gave Bryan and I a new king sized bed, and I’m still getting used to it. The mattress is a heck of a lot firmer than our old one, and I’m not used to having so much room. I’m used to having Bryan smooshed right up against me, and now I can lie on the bed, like the Vitruvian man and still not touch him.

 

I also had a freaky dream about my delivery driver and the in house technician. The driver was King of Scotland, wearing a kilt and the uniform shirt, while the tech was a court jester…In a Spandex leotard. I need professional help.

 

I had all of five minutes to shower, get dressed, do my hair and makeup, and get to work on time. I ended up taking a 2 second shower, pulling my still dripping-wet hair into a ponytail, eschewing makeup, grabbed the first pair of clean pants & shirt I could find and literally ran out the damn door.

 

 On the way to work, a guy next to me was honkin’ up a storm. I turned, and it’s one of the guys I used to work with years ago. He knew my name, asked how Bryan as doing while I….Couldn’t for the life of me remember his name. He wanted to chat; as I was driving down the road, resisting the urge to just speed up and speed off. When he (finally) turned off, I was stuck behind Father Time in a caravan. Behind me was some kid who looks like he just graduated from wearing Scooby Doo underwear in an Accord. I dropped a gear, switched lanes, and passed him. The Scooby Dooby Doo kid pulled up next to me and shouted, “OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOUR MERCEDES! MARRY ME!”

 

Um, dude. It’s a BMW. It says so on the back. Can you not read the alphabet? Did you see the BMW logo and confuse it with Mercedes-Benz? I mean, seriously, WTF?

 

I got to work, and nearly wept with joy at the sight of coffee in the coffee pot. I poured myself a big mug, and took a long swallow, only to find out it was yesterdays brew that was kept warm and no one has made a fresh pot yet. I nearly wept again, but not for joy.

 

Then I got into a fight with a rep who submitted six different contracts for ONE account, so they’d have different rates throughout the year. When I told the customer it doesn’t work like that, she called the rep who informed her, verbatim, “Heidi doesn’t know shit.” Excuuuuse me? Who’s been here longer, and who’s dealt with contracts exclusively for that time? Oh, that’s right: ME. Screw you, bud. Y’know what? Screw you twice.

 

Finally, lunch time rolled around. I had $5 to my name, and thank God Boons Wine was one sale for $3.99. Yes, I did drink my lunch. I also found out that the Bimmer I’ve been RAVING about, showing off, and generally acting better than you in? It came thisclose to overheating while I was driving back from Ye Olde Liquor Store. That’ll teach me to be humble, won’t it? It wasn’t even 1:00PM yet, and I painted a pretty pathetic picture: hiding out in the back parking lot, drinking cheap wine from the bottle, chain smoking, and wishing I could take a spork from the break room to slit my damn wrists.

 

After lunch, I found out that I owe some company from years ago close to $350. For a bill that my ex-husband created, but it was in my name. When we divorced, he told me he’d take care of it, but the douchebag clearly never did. So, it went to collections, who took it to court. They tried serving me papers, at a job I haven’t worked at in over 4 years. Finally, someone over there wised up, because I got a notice in the mail about it, and I now have to find $350 somewhere and pay these douchetards, or they’ll garnish my wages. Aaaand since my ex and I never had anything more than a verbal agreement and it’s in my name, guess who’s stuck with the bill no matter what?

 

I found out we have 2 Coronas, and a bit o’ whiskey and tequila at the house. I’m thinking about just mixing all three together when I get home.

 
 
 

This week has been craptastic. Several little things that have happened have made me want to explode. Here's a run down:

 

-The guy who has the Blazer refused to give is our $100 deposit back since we decided not to buy it. Even though he told us he would. I've filed complaints with the BBB and the Washington Attorney Generals Office. (Who has a Twitter, BTW. That's just weird.)

-On the way home, I almost hit a guy in a BMW 328i who was turning left and didn't see me. I had the right of way, and yet I got reamed out for it. Um, excuse me? Hows abouts I just run you over outta spite?

-My computer at work has taken upwards of 15 minutes to boot up every morning. I'm told it needs more memory. Yet the office can't buy any, since we're on a purchasing freeze. Yet the reps want everything NOW. Then tell corporate to buy me more memory, OK?

-Wednesday my company released a press release saying they're laying off something like 3,600 employees company wide. They didn't send out an e-Mail to US. THEIR EMPLOYEES. Nope. A press release. Yet we're still getting wages and benefits cut. Screw you too, corporate.

-Pooker had 3 screaming, back arching tantrums Wednesday. Because Mama's mean and won't let her teeth on electrical cords. Thursday, we visited a friend of ours where she was a perfect little angel. We get home...Tantrums. Yay for behaving in public, I guess?

-Wednesday night I mended the lining in my favorite skirt, since it had torn. I've had this skirt for at least 5 years. Thursday, I'm walking out of the office and it rips up the back. At least I was wearing panties that day, no?

-We stopped by my friends house. This suck-ass Serb, Senecha was there. Number one, quit staring at my chest so blatantly. Especially in front of your cute GF. Two, if you're going to offer everyone else a cold one, it's generally considered courtesy to offer me one, too. Douche. Also, THINK BEFORE YOU OPEN YOUR TRAP. I ended up telling him, verbatim, "Do you ever thinkg before you open your mouth? I mean, do you intentionally try to be a stupid, suckass douchebag or does it come naturally? Also, when you're offering everyone a beer, don't walk right past someone and ignore them. [As I go and get one myself.] God, I swear, you're such a f**cking douchebag! How you've managed to snag a cute, sweet little girlfriend is beyond me. Aside from the fact that you're a douchebag, you smell like you've never made the acquaintance of SOAP and you've got the worst acne I've ever seen." Everyone was rolling with mirth, since they all agreed, he had it coming. I felt better after that.

-Today, my friend Kevin texts me. He landed a PLUM financial analyst job making like $50k a year. He's got ZERO experience in the field, and no qualifications. But his Mom's BF has connections. I've been applying for jobs like that and I get the cold shoulder! Who in Karma land did I piss off?!

-Today, I checked my financial aid status. It says they're missing documents. Under the MISSING: list, there's nothing. I called and emailed them but I haven't heard anything. Okay, well then I guess I go to school elsewhere and they get my federal funding dollars.

 

I'm trying to keep a lid on my negativity, and keep things in perspective. At least I didn't hit the guy. At least my skirt didn't rip in the middle of the day. At least I have a job. At least Bryan isn't a douche. At least Bryan knows WTH soap is. Breathe, Heidi, breathe.

 
 

Most everyone knows that I swear. A lot. Heck, even my friend K's husband didn't know who I she was talking about until she said, "You know, Heidi? The one that swears a lot?" "Oh, you mean Heidi Goddamnit?"

 

I'm trying to quit, I am. But unlike smoking, there's no patch for this. Just a little toddler to remind you that she IS listening, and IS learning to talk.

So Saturday she got into something she wasn't supposed to, I think it was Bryan's computer stuff. I'm not sure. Anywhoodles, what I do remember is saying, "Well, f***. This is GREAT." Pook just sat there, looking at me. She then slowly sounded out the word I just uttered. In a shining moment of grace, classiness, and all around MATURITY I then said "Oh SHIT, you just repeated it!"

 

I'm that classy, y'all.

 
 
Paragraph.

My dear, lovely, sweet receptionist had the day off today, so I had to fill in for because “Didn’t you start off as a receptionist like eleventy-gazillion years ago?” What a day it was. To give you an idea of how craptacular my day was…I drank my lunch at a bar down the street. Seriously. For realz, yo.

 

For starters, just because I have to fill in for the receptionist doesn’t mean I can take a day off from my shit. Nope, still gotta do that too. On a good day, I’m lucky if I can do all my work by five and have time for lunch. Naturally, the phones are busy as hell today. Everyone’s machine seems to break down on today, of all days.

 

I’m also busy doing my collection calls, which no matter how polite I am, someone has to bitch about it. “She called me and she actually DEMANDED to know when payment would be sent!” (I know, I’m such a bitch! The nerve! Considering you’re four months behind and haven’t been returning my calls, yeah, I need to know. It’s my JOB.)

 

We also have this stupid survey that we have to do now. After a service call, we have to call the customer and survey them on their “experience”. Which, naturally, just opens the flood gates for any bitch they may have ever had. Here’s a handful of the responses I got today, and what I wanted to say is italicized.

 

“How would you rate the pleasantness of your experience today?”

“Well, you actually had the nerve to tell me a tech would have to pick up a check!”

Bitch, you were six months past due. You’re fucking lucky I even placed the damn call.

 

“How would you rate the overall experience today?”

“I have to tell you, I hate the way your invoices are laid out.”

What the FUCK?! How does that relate to how we got your shit fixed?!

 

“Is there any other comments you’d like to add in conclusion?”

“This machine is a piece of shit. It jams every time I load gummed envelopes!”

That’s because the machine isn’t DESIGNED to take gummed envelopes and you’ve been told THREE times by THREE SEPARATE techs to QUIT USING THEM!

 

You can see why by lunch I was ready to hook up an IV filled with vodka to my arm.

 

Also, I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the people in this office are fuck-eyed assmonkeys.

 

For one, one manager left rather early without telling anyone. I strongly suspect  he was out golfing, considering he showed up today with his clubs in the backseat of his overpriced Jag. Another manager just simply disappeared for over two hours, again, with nobody knowing where he went. Good to know we’re all working so hard since they’ve threatened layoffs, and all. Good to see we’re all concerned. One rep called and proceeded to tear me a new one because, “OH MY GOD WHY HASN’T THIS CUSTOMER GOTTEN CREDIT APPROVAL, YOU LAZY SLUT!” I let her go on until after about five minutes I calmly said, “Carla, kinda shut your damn pie-hole. I told your customer I needed a 2008 tax return. Guess what I have yet to receive? Until then, I can’t process this for credit. Next time you want to ream me out, check the facts first. In the mean time, shut the hell up. And don’t forget to have a nice day.”  

 

By the time five o’clock rolled around, I laid rubber getting out of there like the Devil Himself was after me.

 

And people wonder why I can’t quit smoking. Hunh.

 
 

Up until now, the recession hadn’t really affected Bryan and I. Sure, we shopped a little smarter, and things like that. But we both had our jobs, and our full pay.

 

That changed this morning after a little meeting I had.

 

My company is cutting base salaries all around by 9%. But wait! We want to make it up to you! We’ll give you ten, count ‘em, ten extra paid vacation days!

 

Um, thanks? So we have an extra two weeks of vacation but we have less money to enjoy them with. What do you expect me to do? Vacation time doesn’t pay my bills, folks.

 

First payroll admits they didn’t process my return to work paperwork on time, and delays my check for two weeks. Thusly, I’m going a full month without pay. Now this. My loyalty to this company is plummeting.

 

I’m not sayin’ I’m gonna up and quit. I need all the moolah I can get. But if something better were to come along….Let’s just say it won’t be a hard decision, y’know?

 



If they’re going to do this, they should at least let us drink at work. It’d make my collection process more interesting.

 

So, yeah…..HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND TO ME.

 
 

To say that I am mad, furious, angry, upset, or livid right now would be such a gross understatement. I am so engraged right now that my hands are shaking to the point where it's hard to even type.

Angel sent me an e-Mail saying that she had a proposition for me, that I should call her. Curious, I sent her a text message asking what was up. What followed makes me so fucking furious I can barely speak coherently.

She asked me to convince Bryan to give up ALL of his parental rights to the kids. She tried to tell me that it would be better since we could concentrate on us, devote all our time to Pook, and it would save us money, how the kids more or less hate me, and how he's a horrible father anyway, and he listens to me, so why don't I just put a bug in his ear?

I have several issues with her request. Number one, you do NOT drag my child into this unless you want to suffer a horrible death. You want to drag our innocent child into this mess? Sweety pie, you're going to open Pandoras box. You fuck with my child you fuck with me and trust me, when my temper flares up, Satan himself hides from me. Don't try to tell me how to parent MY DAUGHTER, and don't try to tell me how Bryan should parent OUR DAUGHTER. Don't try to tell me what she does and does not deserve. If you mention my child again, I swear to everything I hold dear you'll be eating from a straw for the rest of your miserable existence.

Secondly, my relationship with Bryan is none of her damn business. Have we hit a rough patch? Sure we have. Like all couples. But we're working through it, and I sincerely believe we will come out stronger for it. Unless and until our relationship starts damaging the kids in some way butt out of it.

Seriously? You're seriously trying to play the money angle with this? Let me tell you something, Twat Face, it wouldn't matter if he paid $6,000 a month in child support and we were eating ramen noodles every night. He will never, never, EVER give up his kids. Would it save us money? I'm sure it would. But those kids are worth every single fucking penny he/we spend on them, and more. Unlike you, Twat Face, we don't put a price on the love we have for them.

The kids DO NOT hate me. Oh, they say I'm mean do they? To be honest, in the beginning, I was overly harsh with them. I was 21 years old, had never dealt with kids before, and I was dealing with two kids who were CONVINCED (thanks to you) that I was here to replace their Mother. Over time, with just plain ole trial and error, guidance from Bryan, and listening & observing the kids, I've gotten MUCH better. I've learned that Bubs is a very sensitive little boy, and that he needs to be parented accordingly. I've learned that T is high spirited, and needs to be handled WORLDS differently than her brother. I've made mistakes but I've admitted to them and learned from them.

Twat Face, you seem to think that Bryan is the worlds worst father. Namely, because he missed a few of T's softball games. But let's examine the facts, shall we? He asked you repeatedly for a game schedule so we could be there. You only told him that she had games on Saturday. When, in reality, she actually played two games a week. But again, something you failed to mention. We still don't have a softball schedule. Oh, he doesn't stay home with them when they're sick? Well, golly, Twat Face, it'd be nice if you'd tell us WHEN THEY'RE SICK. The phone calls at 1800 hours of "Bubs was sick today and I stayed home with him, by the way." is crap. How the hell do you expect him to stay home with them if you don't tell him? I know, I know it's a novel concept.

Speaking of model parenting, let's examine you for a moment. No, no, Twat Face, despite what you think, you're not without blame here. Remember a few years ago? I know most of it is a drunken blur, and that is what I'm pointing out. You wanted absolutely nothing to do with YOUR KIDS unless it was a holiday when you could dress them up and show them off and Oh, aren't you just the perfect little (well, not anymore you're not little) Super Single Mom?! All you did was drink and party. Now, to your credit, you don't do that as much anymore. But again for the first part of their lives all you did was drink and left Bryan to deal with and raise your kids. Great parenting. I mean, honestly, you should write a book. I know!! You could call it, "What To Do If You Want To Scar Your Kids For Life...By Twat Face" Has a nice ring to it, don't it?

Furthermore, you bitch, if you have an issue with Bryans parenting, you need to bring it up with him. Not me. Texting me and sending me e-Mails behind his back is beyond chickenshit. Trying to recruit me into your bullshit plan is beyond stupid. Did you honestly think I'd go along with this? Did you really think I'd not tell Bryan?! How stupid are you? You're either A) incredibly stupid, B) incredibly drunk, C) incredibly high, or D) all of the above.

Lastly, Twat Face, don't ever try to tell me you love your kids again. If you truly loved them, you would not take them away from the father they absolutely ADORE and love. There's a damn good reason every time they see him they run up to him as fast as they can and give him bear hugs. Because they LOVE him. He is NOT a bad parent. He's not the perfect parent, but then again neither am I, and you're the furthest from perfect I've ever seen. You're right up there with my mother, which is scary to say the least. If you loved your kids even one iota, you'd never even think to take those kids away from him. And frankly, taking away those kids would kill Bryan. Literally. He loves all three of his kids with everything he has, and so do I.

If it weren't for the fact that it's illegal, and it would crush the kids, I swear to God I'd have no problems bitch slapping your pockmarked face until you finally got it. If you were laying in the gutter on fire, I wouldn't piss on you to save your life. I'd probably take a nice, healthy dump in your mouth. I hate you that much. You've enraged me to a point I've never been at before. You screwed with my kid. You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Twat Face.