Before she came out, I was kind of worried that she’d be aghast at the sheer volume of neglect in this house. Because basically I had come to the point where I weighed everything I have to do against my own sanity. Like this:
and so on. I felt a need to remind her kindly that nowhere in the paperwork said that she was a “mandatory reporter,” meaning, that no one could hold her legally responsible for not reporting the crap that went down. Not that we’re abusive or anything, I just like to see it as having my priorities straight, or rather, taking the whole Martha and Mary story from the New Testament to an entirely different level. I choose the better part. Like internet Spades and trashy daytime television (that last part is a lie, unless you count Dr. Phil, and that doesn’t technically come on until the late afternoon).
“When I was a teenager I used to play The Sims. I don’t know how it went down, but one day the Sims Social Worker came walking up to my house. She was going to take my baby away. I yelled, “You can’t have my BAYBAY!” and then built walls around her and kept her locked in until she died.”
….so, we’re good here. Right?