Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
It goes without saying that Principal Harris’s words weren’t ones I was happy to hear, but without a shadow of a doubt, they’re words I was expecting. Not only has Seth been a constant distraction for his class, his teacher, and himself this year, but today, he told his entire elementary school and its Career Day guests that my sister writes sex books for a living while her seven-months-pregnant, frequent-fainting, vasovagal syncope-suffering ass was on the stage.
Forget suspension. I was considering strangulation.
I love my son, obviously, but my patience is half past tried.
I’ve been through the wringer since my shitty ex-husband Todd underwent a pathetic midlife crisis and decided he wanted a life that didn’t include his wife and kids. In an instant, I went from being a stay-at-home mom to a forty-one-year-old single mom trying to find her way again with two young boys in tow.
Before my sister’s generosity and vacant apartment made it possible for me to move myself and my kids to New York, I was living in Hometown, Ohio, with my parents and had no career prospects to count on. Between my complete and utter lack of direction and my dad’s shock and horror every time my children acted like children, it was a nightmare. And while relocating to the Big Apple has helped me find my freedom, it’s still been hard.
And I know that Seth must be suffering too, but I’m trying with everything I have to give him—and Grant—the kind of life they can be proud of. I want to be supportive and easygoing and loving, but my God, most days I feel like I’m on the brink of collapse.
Since the moment he started to toddle, Seth’s been hell on wheels. And my ex was a walking, talking red flag from the moment I met him, but I was too young and naïve to notice.
Basically, I’ve been the primary parent every step of the way. Todd barely knew his kids existed even when they were right under his nose, and now, I have full custody—that he didn’t even fight me on. And while he does have visitation rights, he’s pretty much MIA from their lives and off doing only God knows what in Cincinnati, Ohio.
“Mommy, when am I supposed to see Ms. Sandy Rose?” Seth asks, and I gently grab the back of his jacket to guide him away from a huge puddle on the sidewalk.
“You’re going to hang out with her for about an hour, twice a week, for the rest of the school year.”
Counseling sessions with Ms. Sandy Rose, the school’s psychologist, are what Principal Harris and I settled on for Seth in lieu of strangulation.
It’s the best answer when I consider that maybe his acting-out is deeper rooted than I can imagine. Divorces can be hard on kids. And while Grant appears to be taking it all in stride, he’s only five. Seth is seven and far more aware than his little brother.
Plus, a little therapy can’t hurt, no matter what’s causing Seth’s wild behavior. Hell, I’m pretty sure I could use some of my own.
“Do I get to miss school for it?” he questions further. “I want to skip science.”
“No, buddy. You’ll talk with her after school.”
He groans, but his attention is otherwise diverted toward a taxicab driver who is loudly honking his horn at a delivery truck illegally parked on the street.
“I want to drive a taxicab. Or a big truck like that,” he announces, pointing toward the scene. “And I definitely want to be able to honk my horn like that too! I bet it’s fun!”
Pretty sure neither driver is having the time of their lives right now, but I keep that information to myself. Just because adulthood has broken me, doesn’t mean it should break him. He still believes in Santa and fairy tales and that being a grown-up means you get to do whatever you want—just like I did when I was a kid.
It doesn’t even matter, though, because before I can even finish my thought, Seth is already on to the next thing. Abruptly, he bobs and weaves on the sidewalk, fake-punching the air like he’s some kind of ninja, and it takes everything in me not to roar at him like the Indominus Rex from Jurassic World.
I hate to be this way as a mother—it’s literally the least flattering image of myself I can visualize—but some days, I swear it’s all I can do to survive.
“Seth! Watch out!” I shout, just as an older man stumbles because my child juked in front of his trouser-covered legs. Instantly, I grab Seth by the shoulder and pull him back in front of me. He has the decency to look sheepish, but if someone were staring at me the way I’m staring at him, I’d tuck my tail too.