So far, I have just one.
A boomerang baby is a baby you care for and nurture until s/he’s grown, send out into the world when it’s time, only to have him/her return home again.
And again.
And again.
Mmmmm hmmmm…
Funny thing is, I was wondering what I was going to write about this month because things have been (knock on wood) pretty quiet around here since the step-daughter and granddaughter moved out last month.
I just love how the Universe provides for me. Yesterday, just in the nick of time, It dropped a helluva situation into my lap and said, “Here you go, Suz…write about this!”
Yesterday morning, I went to pick up my granddaughter (my oldest son’s daughter) for the weekend, something that was previously arranged and agreed upon. When I got there, my son was calmly packing up his stuff and putting it in his car while his girlfriend, my granddaughter’s mother, was screeching like a banchee at him.
My granddaughter ran to me when she saw me pull up, and I swooped her up while looking quizzically at my son. I walked in the apartment and tried to talk to the girlfriend to calm her down. After several tries, I finally got out of her that she was kicking my son out, yes, but was presently screaming at him because he refused to give her $11 to get a prescription she needed filled before he left.
So, I looked at her other two kids (son, 5; daughter 4), then at her and said, “Ok…every body in Grandma’s car. Let’s go.” I took her to MedX and got her prescription filled, all the while praying, “Please God…let my son know that this is his opportunity to get his stuff out without drama. Help him hurry it along, please.”
Unfortunately, he wasn’t gone when we got back, but she and the older two kids got out of the car after which my granddaughter and I beat a path back to my house before Mommy changed her mind. I figured my son would call me later and let me know where he re-settled.
Mmmmm…
About 15 mins after we got back here…I hear the stereo in his car…he was coming down my street.
O. M. G. Please. No.
Yes…he calls himself moving back home.
About an hour later, the girlfriend calls me, still crying, saying she’s done the stupidest thing ever: She called Parkside (our psychiatric hospital,) told them she needed someone to talk to and told that person that she’d been thinking lately that everyone would be better off – including her – if she was dead.
When they started questioning her about the whereabouts of her children, she hung up on them.
Now there was a police officer at her door.
I heard him say she had two choices:
- Get in the car with him so he could take her to Parkside and he’d get a DHS worker to take the kids.
- Call Parkside back and talk to them. If they tell him to leave, he will leave.
I told her to choose #2. So, she did.
Meanwhile, both my son and his daughter had fallen asleep on my younger son’s bed.
This morning, the girlfriend called me again to let me know she was at Parkside, would be there until Sunday or Monday, and would I mind keeping my granddaughter until she got out? (The other two kids were with her mother.)
No lack of risks ahead…
But, I’m so grateful.
- Grateful the girlfriend is getting the help she needs.
- Grateful she let me leave with my granddaughter when she did and that my sweet baby girl is here with me.
- Grateful that my son was uncharacteristically calm about getting kicked out and left peacefully instead of digging in his heels over his daughter and getting embroiled in some kind of domestic disturbance charges, or worse.
- Grateful that the girlfriend called the helpline instead of hurting herself, her kids or my son.
Really, my gratitude goes on and on.
I hope my patience does, too.
Suzanne Bird-Harris would like to say she made the leap from Corporate America to web coach / WordPress developer on her own terms...but no, she lost her job after the CEO ran off with the 401K funds and went to jail. So, she started her own business with 3 kids, 2 dogs and a cat in tow on Dec. 6, 2002. It's been a wild ride, worth every risk, and she now proudly deems herself "pyschologically unemployable".
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