Mom, Remember That Time???

I'm probably so 2010, but I've just discovered Mama Kat and her fan-tabulous Writer's Workshop.  I like her writing prompts.  Since I'm not a writer, I don't do fiction.  Nor do I do self help stuff.  No informative nonfiction either.  I just like to ramble...um...I mean, write about me and all the craziness in my head.  Because I'm a bit of a narcissist.  And I have no life.  And my husband doesn't care to talk about all the crap spiraling around in my great, big brain.

Shit, there I go again.  Where was I???

Mama Kat.  So I'm tagging along with Mama Kat because I find her prompts intriguing.  They aren't fantasy but real questions.  More like playing Truth or Dare.  And I'm out of material.  It's been a slow week in LB Land.

My parents didn't whip my siblings and I very much.  Although corporal punishment was the preferred method in the South in 1971, I was lucky enough to have lazy parents who liked to holler instead.  However, I do remember getting a severe beating once.  My sister and I both.  We had to be about 4 and 5 years old.  Maybe even younger.

In those days, my mother was obsessed with order.  Everything had its place.  Away.  Out of sight.  There was nothing on the floor of the room shared by my sister and me.  Nothing under the bed or on the floor of the closet.  The dresser was clear of everything except for two small jewelry boxes.  Our bed was always made; our house was always clean.

For those of you who knew my mother, you can pick your jaws up from the floor now.  She was a neat freak at one time.  Real talk.

As I said, our room was immaculate.  The decor was typical of the 70s with the white dresser and matching white bed.  Our bedspread (no comforters back then) was bright yellow.  We had tile floors covered with a fuzzy little rug in the shape of feet.  Our closet doors were also decorated with decals of those fuzzy little feet.  The feet were arranged so that it looked as though they were climbing the closet doors.  Pairs in yellow, pink, green, orange.  Fuzzy.  Very 70s retro.

One morning, my mother came to inspect our room.  We were not allowed to come out until our bed was made and we were dressed.  When my mom entered, I could see her face drop.  Her smile quickly turned to a grimace with pouting lips, clenched teeth, and furrowing brows.

Who did this??  She snapped.

My little innocent eyes became as big as saucers as I looked over towards my sister.  What?  What did we do, Mama?  I had no idea to what she was referring but I was certain that my sister must have done something wrong.  I knew I hadn't done anything.  Besides, she was always getting into trouble.

She pointed to the closet doors where one of the fuzzy feet had been removed.  All that was left was the adhesive backing used to affix the decal.

Who did it???

Not me, Mama, I said. 

Well, I didn't do it either, came from my sister.

Well, I know one of you did it.  It didn't just fall off the closet door, she growled angrily.

My sister and I both stared at each other then stared back at her.  But we didn't do it, Mama!  We replied in unison.

Well, one of you is lying.  You are both going to get a spanking until I find out the truth.  She went to her bedroom and came back with my daddy's belt.  Bend over!

I can remember being so pissed at my sister.  After all, who else could it have been?  She had to have done it.  Now I was going to get a whipping because she wouldn't admit to it.  I remember saying to her, "just tell her the truth, Mi Mi."

After the first round of licks, my mom asked us again who took the decal off the door.  And again, we both denied any wrongdoing so she proceeded to give us a couple more licks.  This went on for what felt like an eternity.  We were screaming and crying and begging.

Finally, my dad came back to our bedroom after having heard all the commotion.  What's going on back here?  Why are you whipping them?  What did they do???

My mom told him the story about how the fuzzy decal was pulled off our closet door and how we refused to tell her the truth.  She was so angry.  My sister and I were inconsolable.


You mean that fuzzy decal?  He pointed to the spot where only the adhesive remained.

Yes, my mom replied.

My sister and I were unable to speak through the hysterics.  Our butts were on fire from that leather belt.

Well, I pulled it off, said my dad.  It was starting to come apart around the edges so I just pulled it off.  They didn't do it.  Besides, that foot is too high for them to even reach!

I was so mad.  And remorseful for blaming my little sister.  I could not understand why my dad would do something like that.  Or how my mom could be so pissed off about a damn wall decal.

Later on, I found my mom crying like a baby.  She had been in a blind rage, and was just then realizing what she'd done.  She hugged my sister and I both so tight I thought my guts were going to come out.  I almost felt bad for her.

That was the last time I got a spanking.  And I never let my mom live it down.  Of course, my reminders of that day were always in jest.  I picked on her a lot about it.  Remember that time when you whipped us for that??? ha ha ha... 

I suspect, though, she got an ill feeling in the pit of stomach every time I mentioned it.

Still I wonder if my dad did, in fact, remove that decal or if he just admitted to it so that my mom would stop.  I didn't consider it then, but my dad never really had a reason to go into our bedroom.  Nor was he the type to care about something as insignificant as decorative decals.

I suppose the truth will remain a mystery for all of eternity.  My sister is gone now so there will be no confession from her.  My mom is too.  And I doubt seriously my dad even remembers the incident.  It's etched in my memory forever, though.    

The Ugly Truth -- It Ain't Pretty

Alright, I've calmed down a little, very little, so this is going to be a long one.  You've been warned...

The MIL struck again.  I'm not sure how I will be able to keep from slapping the shit out of her maintain my composure much longer.  I know I have to for the sake of my family.

HATE is really such a strong term, and I do not like to use it when describing my feelings for someone.  However, it's all I got!  Towards the MIL, that is.  She is a horrible, despicable woman!  She is a complete narcissist who lives in a fantasy world where she is wonderful and everyone who crosses her is evil.  She has absolutely NO life because no one wants to be around her.  She is TOXIC!  According to Dr. Phil and Mrs. LB, you cannot have a relationship with toxic people if you want to be happy.  

What he forgot to add, though, is that once you get rid of said toxic relationship, you'll have to hunker down for the aftermath.  Ya see, toxic narcissists love for the attention to be on them.  If you take that away, they will go to great lengths to get your attention again.  Negative attention is as good as anything.  In fact, the more drama the better.  The MIL is a great victim!!!  It is her favorite role.  Poor, poor Judy...  Her son is being so mean to her.  She can't even see her grandchildren.  Ya damn skippy, she can't!!!

Instead of being PC and keeping it cryptic, I think it's time I lay out the details and expose her for the horrible creature she is.  As you may remember, a few weeks back she came for a visit, she allowed her dog to shit in my son's room, and she and my husband got into because she 1.) let the dog in against our wishes, and 2.) asked our children to lie about it.  It still pisses me off just thinking about it.  The dog shit can be cleaned up, but expecting my kids to lie for you????  That's crossing the freakin' line, lady!

After a complete throw down full of "I hate yous," that looney tune decides to call our pastor and DHS to report that we'd been abusing our kids!!!!

Back up to the her visit.  As usual, she came to our house and sat her fass ass in the recliner where she probably stayed until she left again.  If the kids wanted to hug her, they had to get in the recliner.  My poor recliner...

That evening, my daughter was extremely tired and irritable.  She cried all afternoon.  It was seriously one tantrum after another.  As it got closer to bedtime, I put her in the tub for a bath.  Of course, she screamed and cried the entire time.  I got her out after washing her hair and brought her into my bedroom.  This is our usual routine.  Except G was in full hysterics by this time.  She hates to have her hair washed.  Moreover, there is nothing you can do to make her happy when she is mid-tantrum. 

So there she was, throwing herself on the floor, kicking and screaming bloody murder.  My sweet baby girl turns into Freddy Krueger when she's tired and ill.  AnyCalgontakemeaway, I finally managed to get a pull up on her.  But she refused to let me get her dressed.  At this point, I was frustrated.  I spanked her.  With my hand.  On her bottom.  Completely covered with thick, cotton padding from a night time pull up.  Of course, she immediately poured on the hysterics.

Now if you aren't a spanker, I completely understand your opposition.  I've always been on the fence about it myself. I don't really like it, and don't do it very often. I'm more apt to yell. I'm not opposed to using a spanking as a form of discipline in extreme instances, though, and I certainly don't believe a spanking is abuse.  In my opinion, this was an extreme situation so I gave G a spanking.

After that, I was finally able to wrestle on her pajamas.  That's when her daddy came in to "save the day!"  He always does that shit and it pisses me off!  I let him know it, too.  You cannot come in here and rescue her from punishment when she misbehaves!!!  But she'd been throwing a temper tantrum for a good 30-45 minutes by then.  Consequently, I relented.  It was getting too dramatic and way too frustrating.  JP put her to bed, but ended up giving her another spanking. With his hand. On her bottom. Completely covered with thick, cotton padding from a night time pull up. 

All the while, the MIL kept her big, fat ass herself in the recliner.  She never moved!  She never got up.  She has no idea what transpired since her big ass was all the way in the living room sitting comfortably in our recliner!!! 

Furthermore, she never uttered a word about it...UNTIL my husband pissed her off!

I don't have the exact wording, but this is pretty much what was alleged according to the DHS worker who showed up at my house unexpectedly one evening:

1. I am an alcoholic with a long history of alcohol abuse.  WTF?!?!  Are you freakin' serious?  When I was in college, I did like to party and drink.  So eff'n what!  I was over 21 years old and entitled to live how I chose to live.  I had no responsibilities!  Since I've been married with kids, though, I may have a drink once or twice a year.  If you ask my husband, though, that's not nearly enough...  Perve!
2. I beat my children so hard with a spoon that I've left marks.  Again, WTF?!?!  Yes, I do have a spanking spoon.  It's mostly for effect, though.  I use it to threaten.  I rarely pull it out anymore because my kids aren't really afraid.  I can count on one hand how many times I've actually used it to spank (more like to "swat").  Never have I hit hard enough to leave a mark.  I spank to get their attention, NOT to hurt them.
3. My husband is OCD and has anger issues with extreme mood swings.  I will not deny (nor will JP) that my husband is a bit OCD.  He is very routine oriented.  He likes to follow steps and processes.  Pretty harmless OCD, in my opinion.  It may be annoying sometimes, but it is certainly not disruptive to the family.  I will admit, also, that my husband gets mad a lot easier than I do.  Hell, what man doesn't act like a baby from time-to-time?  He is a push-over, though.  He would never, EVER hurt one of our kids.  Would he give a spanking if warranted???  Absolutely!  As far as I know, however, it is not illegal to spank your children.

We were interviewed.  Our kids were interviewed.  The school teachers were interviewed.  Upon investigating, DHS determined there was absolutely NO proof to support the claims.  Case closed!  We were humiliated nonetheless.

As if that isn't enough, that stupid crazy psycho bitch woman has continued to harass our pastor with her incessant calling and crazy messages.  In addition, she's called my husband's aunt, and her sister, daily to dig for information about us.  Our pastor refuses to accept her calls.  Aunt G doesn't have anything to say.  The MIL is pissed because she has no control over the situation.

As I should have suspected, being the nosey-ass busy body and malicious narcissist is, she cannot stand being out of the loop.  She hates when things don't go the way she wants or when people don't do things as she says.  Consequently, I should have known that she'd try to get things stirred up again.

She did.  She called the DHS hotline on us. Again.  We haven't spoken to or seen her in several weeks, but she reported us again.  Luckily, the case worker at DHS called us about it.  Everyone has kind of figured out her little game.   

My husband called his lawyer and spoke with the police department yesterday.  A police report has been filed.  This is definitely harassment.  In addition, the lawyers want us to sue her for slander, libel, and filing a false report. 

Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think I'd ever end up in a People's Court-type situation suing a relative.  I'd love to call the producers of Judge Judy.  For one, we'd probably make the show because of the unbelievability of this story.  And two, I'd love to see Judge Judy rip the MIL a new asshole.  I know it's not very Christian-like, but I would THOROUGHLY enjoy that.