Category Archives: parenting
Wednesday (with some Thursday edits):
My plan with these “journal entries” was two-fold:
— keep with the Free Write element, making the train of thought a bit more personal, as in some other wonderful blogs that I will no doubt share (I’m waiting for permission on an especially good one and still hoping to ask a writer at The Write Practice a few questions)
— get rid of the numerous drafts that are taking up room by incorporating them into the journal posts.
Nikita, Pythons, Schizophrenia, Life and Spring Cleaning for those in Chronic Pain (maybe not the last part)
In the U.S. we have gold (not real gold but real currency) dollar coins. I give my son a couple of those pretending that they’re fairy gold. You can get them from the MTA in NYC. Or I check with local stores and ask if I can buy any gold dollars they have. I try to keep a couple on hand just in case of emergency tooth loss.
Once I was caught without enough coins when my son found the three teeth he’d lost during his stay with his two dads. He received an IOU note written with letters that all had swirls and spirals on each letter (my hand was so sore the next day!) explaining that the Tooth Fairy Assistant 544237 was unable to give him all the money that was owed for the teeth and she would return the following night. It used up all of the ink in my glitter tattoo pens but it was worth it to see his face! The following day he awoke to the rest of his fairy gold coins plus another letter from the Tooth Fairy herself. (I had to ice my hand after that letter!)
For those who don’t know, fairies can take something like a leaf and make it look like real money using glamour. Humans have to spend it that day or it will turn back into it’s original form.
I remember when I came up with that nickname, “Beloved”. It was from a book by Robin Hobb. The Fool, who had been in many of her books, sometimes as a male, sometimes female, had been captured and was being slowly tortured in a frozen wasteland. He had no hope if being saved. As his skin was being slowly stripped away from his back, he was delerious with pain, and he began mumbling, “Beloved, My Beloved, ” or something like that. And even tho we’d just found each other after a decade, I knew that if I was in the same situation, I’d be calling out your name. Beloved. My Beloved. Because it has always been you.
Read the rest of this entry
I think knowledge is the key.
My son’s father dated a bipolar girl. My introduction to her was a text saying, “when I see your son, I’m going to hurt him”. My son was three years old. I showed it to his dad, but dad claimed he didn’t know the number it was from. That weekend, bipolar girl shoved my son into a closet door. At ten, my son still has a scar on his forehead.
It soon escalated to the girlfriend stalking me, texting repeatedly (I had three phones at one point since I was court ordered to give my son’s dad my phone number.) I received almost 400 emails in a 24 hour period from bipolar girl — after she had shut off my son’s dad’s phone while he had my son.
I now think that, with help, and without my son’s dad egging on her moods, things might have been different.
But they weren’t.
I was harassed, my son beaten and scarred, and the courts and children’s services did nothing.
Repost because the original seems to have gone missing.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Google+ : Perverts Paradise!
I will freely admit that in this New World of everyone vomiting their personal guts up — “Look at my kid! Here he is two seconds later, isn’t he adorable? And, here, same pose, same outfit, same day. Amazing, isn’t it?” — or the, “I need you to unfriend and block C—-. He’s stalking me. Again.” — etc, etc, — this whole, let’s put it ALL out there and then some, people will think we’re making it up anyway — is baffling to me.
Kids under ten are posted all over for child molesters (they’re out there. They may sit in front of you in Sex Ed. They may help your kids onto animals at the Bronx Zoo, copping a feel. They may wear lots of buttons on their Toys R Us vest to attract more kids. Yes, I’m talking about you, Mr. N.L.). Kids with Facebook accounts that parents swear they’re watching. Hell, I can’t even watch my own FB account all the time!
But the worst violation I have come across is Google➕.
I was required to get a gmail account when I got my phone. I was NEVER told I would be automatically signed up for Google➕ account.
I never posted, so I never received notification that it was there.
I was watching YouTube with my son (no pictures of him; I say it’s because he’s too gorgeous, and that’s part of it. The other part is, if I know you, you’ll get your own pictures of him. If you don’t know him, you don’t need pictures of him. I don’t need your comments to let me know he’s amazing; I KNOW he’s awesome!). Somehow, they link me thru YouTube to Google ➕.
And there I find every picture I’ve ever taken on my cell phone, every photo and video sent to my cell phone, it’s all there for people to see and download.
I immediately shut down the sites — Google ➕ & YouTube.
I felt dirty.
It’s one thing to CHOOSE to show my breasts; it’s another when they’re just put out there.
Eventually, I was able to reuse the accounts, and (supposedly) the pictures are for “my eyes only”.
If you ever see photos on Google ➕ that aren’t individually posted, PLEASE TELL ME.
I’d do the same for you, but, sad to say, I doubt that most of you will care.
D. K. Stevens at 5:40 PM
My (sorely neglected) Free Write blog: http://www.dkstevens327.WordPress.com
He showed up early for his weekend with your son.
You’d told him to call from the train. That way you could have your son dressed. That way, he wouldn’t see the crying, the begging, the pleading of your son not to have to go with his dad.
You know what is happening there. You see the bruises on your son. You take photos before and after.
You have your own bruises, now healed, and missing teeth, and carvings. But the court insists on the visitation, so you lie, you lie so well to convince your son, to convince yourself, that it’s not so bad and when he gets older, he’ll see, his dad will realize how wrong he was and he’ll be so sorry. So very sorry for what he’s done.
This is what it’s like to have your son abused by his father.
Hell, his father has bragged about beating your son; how he lets his girlfriends beat on your son.
His dad doesn’t even want custody. When you asked what he would o if you gave him full custody, he shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Give him to my mom?”
You ask why he’s dragging you thru court, wasting tax payer dollars, and he laughs. He tells you that he’s hurting your son as revenge because you didn’t love him enough. And your son gets the worst of it.
You tell Childrens Services, your lawyer, the court. But two liars are more believable than one telling the truth. They say you are jealous; that you are upset about the “break up”. Explaining that you ended it, and never loved him in the first place falls on deaf ears. And now he’s here early.
This is what it’s like to be scared of your son’s father.
You stand in the doorway and urge your son to hurry. Your son is 6, and is crying he doesn’t want to go. In the hallway, his father hears and, maybe, for the first time…
You hear, from behind you, “Fuck this,” and then an arm around your throat pulling you down, down, it’s all so slow, and then the *crack* as your lower spine hits his knee and there’s this blast of pain your spine is on fire and then everything goes black.
This is what it’s like to be crippled by your son’s dad, in front of your son.
When you come to, you are lying in the public hallway of your building with your son standing at your head as if he is blocking you, protecting you, and he is screaming, “I hate you! I hate you, dad! I never want to see you again!” And his dad is standing there, silent, holding up his phone to record the entire thing.
You know you have to get up but your whole body is Pain and there is a terrifying numbness below your waist but you need to get up you have to protect your son so you roll onto your stomach and fight your body and force yourself to stand and you pull your child into the apartment and you call the police.
The police come and cuff both you and your son’s father and they bring you downstairs and your baby, your only child is clinging to you, shaking and crying and they crowd all of you into the same small elevator and your body is trying to collapse under you but you must stand, you have to stay up for your son.
Downstairs they let you sit on a stoop, with your son, while they watch the video. The sound is muffled, but you hear the crack, the snap that was your spine.
As they put him in the police car, he tells you, “Your lucky I’m so nice or else I’d have them arrest you, too.” Three police officers laugh. They laugh so hard, two have to lean on the hood of the car. They remove your cuffs, and your son begins crying anew when he sees the marks they’ve left and you comfort him, and you watch your arms hold your son, and rub his back, but there’s this strange mix of pain and numbness.
This is what it’s like to lie to your son.
You now have your son for the weekend, so you refuse the ambulance that is scaring your son, everything is scaring him and you want to tell him that you can’t hold him up, you can barely hold yourself up, but you are his Mother and you hold him even as you are barely holding on yourself.
You tell your son you’re fine, that it was nothing, that the sound he heard was something, anything, but not your spine. You suggest a “Lazy Weekend” in bed so that your son won’t notice that you can barely walk, that you have to lean on furniture, hold onto the walls. But he sees, and he knows.
You get tests done: CT scans, MRI’s, electric pulses that check for nerve damage.
You are told you now have three herniated and two bulging discs in your lower spine. The pain will be a constant companion to your recently diagnosed Fibromyalgia.
You bring the medical and police records to court. But there is no restraining order issued. No end to the visitation. Instead, the court decides your son should be picked up by his father st school giving him an extra three hours.
Your son regresses, again.
This is what it’s like when the court treats all cases the same.
This is what it’s like for many single parents.
If you have been or currently are in an abusive relationship, get help. My biggest fear growing up was being in a homeless shelter. But I did it. So can you. Remember: the people in a Domestic Violence shelter are there to help you; if I’d listened to them, and cut off contact with my son’s dad back then, I wouldn’t be permanently crippled and, most importantly, my son would never have been so horribly abused.
If you’re in NYC, contact Safe Horizon.. Nationally, you can call the National Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
YOU ARE NOT ALONE!!
I’m spending a lovely valentines with my son, the best Valentine ever!
I was going to finish my Stalkers post, but we’re a bit busy with video games, Netflix, and the Annotated Sandman, so here are a few things for you to watch:
Charlie Brown Be My Valentine
And, some Tom Hiddleston…
MTV After Hours With Tom Hiddleston
And as I posted on Twitter and Facebook,
Happy VD to those who celebrate! (Older people will get the reference. Younger people need to wait until Saint Thomas’ Day.)