Archive for April, 2010

The Outlaws

I made a terrible mistake a couple of weeks ago, not one that will be forgiven easily, but one that is so easy to do.  I forgot that although I do not use our names my blog is not anonymous.  They is always a way so someone to find out and also I post pictures of us on the blog, so really should have known better.

I blogged about an incident with my mother in law and it has come back to bite me and mine on the backside.  So let this be a lesson to you all.

The hardest thing about all of this is it is not me that has or is suffering, but my husband.  Yes he is angry at me for “washing our dirty laundry in public”, but more than that he is angry, upset and in fact devastated by the betrayal of his brother.

You see his brother told his parents about the post and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him.  Oh yes we got a phone call about 3 minutes before the one from his mother, but that was telling him to rein in his wife!

I feel terrible, I have never had the best of relationship with his mother or brother, but I have always put up and shut up, so as not to cause any discomfort or disquiet.  My husband knows this and in some ways I think is thankful for it, but this is something else.

We were threatened with libel, sue their own son, what does that say to the wider world?

I understand the pain I have caused, if I knew that MIL was reading I would never have written, well I would, but I never would have published.  Writing is my way of processing things, of event and emotions of getting it all out of my system.

So let this be a word of warning to you all, unless you are very, very careful, you are not just words on a laptop or PC screen, these words have power, more power than you could imagine.  So harness them, use them for all the right reasons and I hope with all my heart that you do not get caught out like I did.


Dear Dad

This is the letter that I often contemplating writing to my father. The words that I want to say but know will only add fire to an already turbulent family. See how I call him my father, to me a dad is someone much more caring, considerate, dependable and reliable. A father is just that, the man who fathered you and brought you into the world.


You have now been out of my life longer than you were part of it. It has been 17 years and yet I still recall going to sleep in my bedroom yet waking up in bed with mum while you slept in mine. One rare morning I woke up in my own bed, you returned later that day to explain that you and mum were separating, you promised you would be there for me but you haven’t been. Weekends were supposed to be our time together, you were supposed to come and collect me. Occasionally you were late, more often you called to say something had some up but more often than not you simply did not turn up. Each week, without fail I waited and waited, sat on the living room window ledge waiting to see your car pull around the corner to collect me. Week after week, no matter how often you let me down, there I sat.

You were against me having a job and against me dating. You felt they would both disrupt my college studies, I tried to show you they would not. My tutor could not fault my work, efforts or grades yet still this was not enough for you.

We drifted apart, meeting became fewer and fewer, when we did meet it was more a meeting of necessity than desire.

Predictably you made new promises after the birth of your first grandchild. It seems that yet again your promises will be broken. Each time you visit neither of us can remember when we last saw each other. You regret that we do not see enough of each other, you assure me that things will change. But then the days and weeks and months pass by and your promises are forgotten.

You dream of a day when you can take my son out to the park, I doubt this day will ever come. Each visit is like starting from scratch, my son trying to work out who you are and how you fit into his life. You do not know his likes and dislikes, his little ways, what he is asking for, I doubt he would go with you let alone me be happy to send him with you.

Despite all of this I still seem to crave something from you, acceptance? Love? Pride? I do not know. What annoys me even more is that you can still make me feel like this, I still look for you for approval, I know that it will never come and I know that if it ever does it will not change how we are.

I often wonder if parting would be better than the polite exchange of hurried visits which we currently make.

He has a name, you know.

My mother in law refuses to call my son by his name. It’s Sonny.  

I don’t mind if you work out who this is, I name him on my blog (but in case you’re wondering it’s not Mummytips who has a son of the same name). But I couldn’t have this post on my blog in case you know…it backfires.  

When he was born and we told her what we’d decided to call him, she point blank refused to acknowledge it was a real name. Never mind that we chose it from a name book, there are people like Sonny Liston and Sonny Rollins and of course good old Sonny and Cher. When we had a girl, I’d have loved to have called her Cher just to spite her.

 Where I live, the name is positively normal. There are far weirder things.

 Instead she calls him Little’Un. God, it’s annoying.

 She never signs birthday or Christmas cards with his name.

When we had another, I felt sure she would have to start calling him by his name, to distinguish between the two. But no.

It’s disrespectful. Maybe going behind her back and bitching like I’m doing now is also disrespectful. It probably is. This is actually the tip of the iceberg as to what else she does. I used to play a game where  I’d try and get her to say his name but now I’ve given up. It is not a case of reasoning with her. Or saying that it’s hurtful. That would be like water off the proverbial duck’s back.

And to end on a pun, in her book, Sonny seems to be the hardest word.

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