The Gauntlet is hereby thrown down...

Once again I received my dose of weekly lack of understanding from my ex-husband. Surprised? Nope. But now I'm gonna start writing this stuff down. It seems innocuous enough, doesn't it? I'm informed by my not-quite-3-year-old that camping is around the corner. Ok. So what's wrong? I wasn't informed of said camping trip, but the very small boy (hereafter known as VSB) was. And now said wee one has to watch daddy drive away because daddy is incapable of adult cognitive proccessing when he's got a FUN DAY planned. Ok. I'll accept that I married and divorced a 5 year old. But to have to go home with a heartbroken, dramatic, crying kid and he gets to skip merrily along buying camping equipment... Not accepted. It would be one thing if it were once. But for the better part of our year and a half separation, that's what I've been met with sporadically. And consistently for the last month. Twice a week for a month I get to try to explain to the wee one that a) his daddy isn't leaving him forever and b) it's ok to have fun at mommy's too. Jackass. I don't set him up for this stuff. I'm getting bruised shins falling down on that higher ground.The Good Friday that my divorce was finalized on was, indeed, a Good Friday.

Oh, and here's the icing on the cake. I was handed the wee one covered in orange Cheetos dusting gripping an orange juice juice box (get a mental tasting of that combination... bleck). Of course the wipes were directed at me. *grit teeth and smile charmingly* K. But as I gently pried open VSB's fingers and handed X the juice box I got a blank look. Now, nevermind the OLD rule that I prefer VSB to be handed back empty-handed (I patiently explained that any liquid after, say, 7pm would reappear in the form of sloshy sheets after, say, 7am) was patently ignored. I'll deal with that. But the NEW rule is VSB cannot have anything in his hands in any vehicle I'm driving. Ever. I (and my father) have had sippy cups and toys of all makes, models, weights, masses, and densities chucked at me at varying speeds and I, oh I, have learned my lesson. My VSB will be chucking air for a very long time. Met with "well, he doesn't do that in MY car." K. I. don't. care. Really. My car, my rules, your bed of the truck will now receive liquid refreshment in the form of Cheeorange juice by your own hand. Because, high class X that he is, he took the juice box calmly and with understanding and placed it in the cupholder, right? Nope. Ripped out of my hands, tossed in the back of the truck and I get to add "my mommy took my juice away" to the list of "why VSB hates to come back to mommy's house."When I'm back from dropping the VSB off at school I'll have to think of the comprehensive list of Why VSB hates to come back to mommy's house.Stay tuned.