Strike two

26 11 2012

A few days passed, and when I went to take out the trash (because someone else had failed to do it after being asked 3 times) there were several empty bottles of vodka and torn up wine casks (cheap cheap stuff) in the outside bin.    I had to catch my breath, although I felt I could breathe fire.

We started what would become a little routine over the ensuing weeks.  I would walk into the room with an upbeat demeanour for the girls to mask the silent scream trapped in my chest.  I would then direct Mort to “come and have a word with me”….he would then give me this slightly bewildered look and with much deep sighing and eye rolling follow me out of the room.

We would then walk back into the bedroom (I would close door behind us) and then I would perch myself on the edge of the bed while he sat (lower) on the sofa facing it.  This became the equivalent of the ‘naughty corner’ as I glared at him and almost bruised myself with how tightly I folded my arms.

He vehemently denied having anything to do with the empty bottles saying that he hadn’t had a drink in days and simply couldn’t imagine how they got there. Someone else must have put it there. (yes, I am sure that someone came up our recessed driveway to jump our fence and stash their debris into our bin).

I started to get the giggles.  As I have previously pointed out in stressful situations I tend to laugh, besides the fact that this was so absurd that he would sit there and deny the bottles.  He read it wrong and thought that I had given up on the quest of the truth and found it all funny, he got a smile on his face thinking that he was off the hook….mistake.

I was about to completely unleash when there was a knock on the door by the girls asking to have a swim in the pool.  He was momentarily saved.  I volunteered up Mort as he needed to be engaged with the girls and I needed a minute to myself to process what was going on.  He was no doubt wishing he’d taken the trash out in the first place.

I took the girls up to their room to get changed, but then there was something that I needed to grab back in my closet.  When I walked back Mort had a large bottle of water and he had quickly concealed something in his top drawer.  I instantly felt my heartbeat behind my eyes and when I opened my mouth a voice akin to Darth Vadar came out, “what are you doing.”  When I was answered with a blank expression I also had the strength of Darth to push Mort out of the way and open the drawer.  Surprise guess what I found…….vodka bottle.

The realization that he was filling his water bottle with vodka to take the girls for a swim was untterly incomprehensible.  I wanted to scream, punch, swear (ok I did swear) but I was exceptionally calm as I said “pack your bag and get the fuck out.”

photo courtesy: http://blog.kenexa.com/theres-no-crying-in-australia-say-on-pay-strike-two/

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4 responses

27 11 2012
sarahjbugg

I’ve been waiting desperately for the next installment! Don’t keep me waiting again! Sx

27 11 2012
leavethegrindbehind

What a wonderful thing motherly instinct is – breaking trust is one thing but putting your kids at risk with reckless behaviour definitely merits a ‘get the fuck out’! I need the ‘Strike 3’ instalment pronto please!!

6 12 2012
ASuburbanLife

Wow, what courage you have. Bravo!

10 12 2012
theboldthebeautifulandtheunexpected

Thank you so much for reading and your comment. It’s amazing when you are backed into a corner protecting your kids how much mental strength you can summon up!

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