I want to finish the story of the Gav, his injury, and my undue arrest. And, I will.
Right now, my hours at work have been hacked by the evil economy, and, my boss wants me to actually do a project to earn my keep, even. So, that's a little time consuming for the moment. I am so spoiled by the leisure of my office. That's one thing I've never stopped being grateful for, that this job has enabled me to go through all this hubbub without ever worrying I'd get fired for trip # 3456 to court or something. Now, well...eh. The firing may go down, but not for missed time, rather, for bumpy economic times.
Yesterday Ro came home with his own home haircut---yes, for anyone counting, that is all the Sherifflings chopped by Grabby and their complete lack of skill. It's very white trash. I swiftly took the boys to get real haircuts to fix the embarrassing predicament. Ro was so ashamed of his inch long super thick crooked bangs. It's hard not to feel like that's being done deliberately, as I've specifically asked for a cease cutting. Ah, happy people, happy times.
Gav also had another breakdown. Greg wrote in the log this time that he thinks Gav just doesn't like to wipe his bum, and that's why he craps his pants. Sure, let's ignore the forty thousand other cues of his rough times, like pulling his pants down on the bus, spitting on kids, kicking, scratching and mauling Ro and me...he just doesn't like to wipe his bottom, and prefers to sit in it.
Last night, he not only pooped his pants, but then, for good measure, pooped on the floor, and then screamed for 2.5 hours solid. Which got Ro all worried, and made the baby cry. I think it subtracted approximately 6 years from my life.
This is so absurd for the children to go through this. It has to stop, and the responsibility for it and the fault of it lies on Greg and me. Which is why we are currently under court order to be working on our communication---a process he declines to do. I hope our new judge takes a hard look @ that.
It's just....bah. Two years of a public relationship and this is the best Grabby's got? Again, I can't stress enough how little I envy city bus riding Abby.
11.19.2009
11.16.2009
Part 1: The Story Of Gav's Hurt
A few weeks ago I finally went to criminal court.
Back around Father's Day, when my Gav got that horrible bruise on his neck, and said his father did it, and it was investigated...things took a turn. Badly.
The officer the hospital called to the scene declined to arrest Greg, even though Gav and Ro both said he caused the injury, and at the time, Greg was in the CHANGE abuser treatment program and on probation for domestic violence. A detective was assigned to investigate instead.
The dude called me up, and complained bitterly that the cop called in hadn't just made the arrest. He said he had a desk heaped with files for felony child abuse cases that he needed to solve, and this case, no matter the outcome, was only a misdemeanor. He talked about cops who forget they have the power to make arrests, cops who don't want to be bothered with the possibility of being called in to court, basically, compared to him, it seemed every other cop in this world was a coward.
I told him I was scared. Greg had called me, yelling, angry, but not once showing concern about our son. He did much blaming. I expressed over and over to this guy that the father of my children had walked many times before for hurting me, even when I was pregnant, and I was terrified of it happening again, because as long as he can get away with it, he will do it. Also, his anger makes him less helpful in every way regarding our children. I was scared, but I took the risk, because bottom line, my Gav was hurt.
The officer bathed me in reassurances. Of COURSE, he absolutely, positively, no other way about it, was making an arrest on Greg. First, he needed to interview the kids though, so, when could they come in? In addition, he didn't have any hospital records, and wanted those too. I filled out all the forms to get the paperwork to him as quickly as I possibly could.
Gav had a follow up appointment at the child abuse clinic place, so I scheduled to meet with the detective afterwards. This meant leaving work, and picking both Ro and Gav up from daycare. Except, when I got there, Ro's class had left for some field trip...meaning I drove Gav across town to his review with the child abuse people, then drove back to daycare for Ro boy, then back to the PD to meet the detective. All that aside (and a large freak out from my old man neighbor in the midst of it), we made it. Except, once we actually were there, the detective came out and said he didn't want to talk to any of us. He wanted to just wait to read the report from the child abuse people, but, hey, thanks.
We left.
And I waited.
I don't think I can convey the level of heartsick and hurt I felt for my kids in this situation. I felt angry at myself, because I picked, out of all the vital sperm in this world, the semen of a ne'er do well to help create my kids. Angry that I'd allowed all the grabbing and hurting of me for so long, and really been helpless and powerless to get Greg to address it. At the time, I thought simply getting him to confess his acts to his family would like, shame it out of him? Yeah, it just doesn't work that way. And, here was my quietest, most introverted, wounded son being grabbed now too. I wanted this to be different---I wanted to not be a weak victim, but instead, take a stand to ensure nothing ever happened to my wee Sherifflings again. But, the process was slow...and, due to Greg's free walking ways in the past, the slower it got, the scarier.
In the meantime, the social worker assigned to investigate us called me with this helpful advice," Well, I think you just need to learn to trust him." This, after she sat in my kitchen and talked to all my children, who all told stories of Greg hurting them or me, either personally experienced or witnessed. After she said it seemed this man had a pattern, that maybe didn't rise to the level of severe abuse, but, historically, these things, they build. She was soft, compassionate, eager to help. I was skeptical, and told her that once she met him, he'd change her mind. Social worker scoffed, because, she knew how these people were and was trained to avoid being taken in. Then...well...she got took.
At least the officer was still working hard, and assuring me at every turn that though the injury wasn't as severe as some, it mattered, and needed to be taken care of, and absolutely, positively---he'd make the arrest. Now, he'd read the reports, but his major need was to meet with Greg, something they had scheduled. Again, I voiced my fears, because Greg is a convincing liar. Period. Again, officer assured me, he is a professional, and he wasn't going to be taken in, because he'd talked to the child abuse people and read the report, and he knew Greg's history.
But, alas! Another professional met with Greg, and once more...his take took. Despite all the proof and evidence of the injury, the detective made his arrest on the case. Of me. Not for hurting my child, mind you, but, instead....for making it all up?
Yup.
Back around Father's Day, when my Gav got that horrible bruise on his neck, and said his father did it, and it was investigated...things took a turn. Badly.
The officer the hospital called to the scene declined to arrest Greg, even though Gav and Ro both said he caused the injury, and at the time, Greg was in the CHANGE abuser treatment program and on probation for domestic violence. A detective was assigned to investigate instead.
The dude called me up, and complained bitterly that the cop called in hadn't just made the arrest. He said he had a desk heaped with files for felony child abuse cases that he needed to solve, and this case, no matter the outcome, was only a misdemeanor. He talked about cops who forget they have the power to make arrests, cops who don't want to be bothered with the possibility of being called in to court, basically, compared to him, it seemed every other cop in this world was a coward.
I told him I was scared. Greg had called me, yelling, angry, but not once showing concern about our son. He did much blaming. I expressed over and over to this guy that the father of my children had walked many times before for hurting me, even when I was pregnant, and I was terrified of it happening again, because as long as he can get away with it, he will do it. Also, his anger makes him less helpful in every way regarding our children. I was scared, but I took the risk, because bottom line, my Gav was hurt.
The officer bathed me in reassurances. Of COURSE, he absolutely, positively, no other way about it, was making an arrest on Greg. First, he needed to interview the kids though, so, when could they come in? In addition, he didn't have any hospital records, and wanted those too. I filled out all the forms to get the paperwork to him as quickly as I possibly could.
Gav had a follow up appointment at the child abuse clinic place, so I scheduled to meet with the detective afterwards. This meant leaving work, and picking both Ro and Gav up from daycare. Except, when I got there, Ro's class had left for some field trip...meaning I drove Gav across town to his review with the child abuse people, then drove back to daycare for Ro boy, then back to the PD to meet the detective. All that aside (and a large freak out from my old man neighbor in the midst of it), we made it. Except, once we actually were there, the detective came out and said he didn't want to talk to any of us. He wanted to just wait to read the report from the child abuse people, but, hey, thanks.
We left.
And I waited.
I don't think I can convey the level of heartsick and hurt I felt for my kids in this situation. I felt angry at myself, because I picked, out of all the vital sperm in this world, the semen of a ne'er do well to help create my kids. Angry that I'd allowed all the grabbing and hurting of me for so long, and really been helpless and powerless to get Greg to address it. At the time, I thought simply getting him to confess his acts to his family would like, shame it out of him? Yeah, it just doesn't work that way. And, here was my quietest, most introverted, wounded son being grabbed now too. I wanted this to be different---I wanted to not be a weak victim, but instead, take a stand to ensure nothing ever happened to my wee Sherifflings again. But, the process was slow...and, due to Greg's free walking ways in the past, the slower it got, the scarier.
In the meantime, the social worker assigned to investigate us called me with this helpful advice," Well, I think you just need to learn to trust him." This, after she sat in my kitchen and talked to all my children, who all told stories of Greg hurting them or me, either personally experienced or witnessed. After she said it seemed this man had a pattern, that maybe didn't rise to the level of severe abuse, but, historically, these things, they build. She was soft, compassionate, eager to help. I was skeptical, and told her that once she met him, he'd change her mind. Social worker scoffed, because, she knew how these people were and was trained to avoid being taken in. Then...well...she got took.
At least the officer was still working hard, and assuring me at every turn that though the injury wasn't as severe as some, it mattered, and needed to be taken care of, and absolutely, positively---he'd make the arrest. Now, he'd read the reports, but his major need was to meet with Greg, something they had scheduled. Again, I voiced my fears, because Greg is a convincing liar. Period. Again, officer assured me, he is a professional, and he wasn't going to be taken in, because he'd talked to the child abuse people and read the report, and he knew Greg's history.
But, alas! Another professional met with Greg, and once more...his take took. Despite all the proof and evidence of the injury, the detective made his arrest on the case. Of me. Not for hurting my child, mind you, but, instead....for making it all up?
Yup.
11.13.2009
Cracked
This AM, I was wiping up pee from the floor (a surprising amount of my time involves similar activities), and out of nowhere, Ro said "Did you know Daddy and Abby don't even have a mop? They only have a broom to push the dirt around, but they just leave the floors dirty all the time!" (This was in a high pitched, conspiratorial/excited voice, like he couldn't believe the audacity.)
I said, "Really? They don't?" or something, to which Ro said "No! It's just dirty on the floor all the time there!"
I laughed to myself, for many reasons. Yes, there is an endearing hint of the Greg Sheriff I remember without fondness. That dude was filthy, to an extent that no matter how clean I wanted to be, I just couldn't keep up...like a skinny, hipster Pigpen. I mean, even if they did spring the $10 for a mop, Greg would never do it...or if he did deign to, he wouldn't rinse the mop beforehand, and would do such a poor, half hearted job, I'd say Gav could do it about equally. And he's 5. I guess Abby is equally a dirtbag, or, just can't keep up with all the ins and outs of Gregcare. I know, after a time, I couldn't, because it's neverending and exhausting.
The second train of thought this put me on was also personality related. Greg was so filthy, that for say, two years, he lived in a trailer with thick carpets with some chick...and they never owned a vaccuum. He'd tell this story wistfully, all smiling eyes and quiet chuckles, because they were just that dirty. He at the time totally blamed it on the roommate. I'd be like, well, why didn't you buy a sweeper? At that time in his life, he only had a bike, so, that was the excuse. Shrug, what else could he do? Besides, he'd been such a pothead, he'd been able to mostly live with it by ignoring it.
Part of this tale included a door to door salesman. Namely, one showed up when Greg was home from work, bored, stoned, and, due to the bike, couldn't easily go anywhere. Greg knew he'd never buy a thing, but allowed the guy to demonstrate the vaccuum. This story was also told bemusedly, because Greg's main objective had been to see how much of the house he could get the poor guy to clean for him. I found that a little cruel, which Greg shrugged off, saying, "Hey, it was his job."
Stories like that abounded. And, it struck me today. He was a giant pot head, and still mean spirited enough to be inconsiderate, manipulative, cold...and blame his mess on someone else. If pot didn't even ease his mean---what would? Why couldn't I see it all those years? Why did I make excuses, like, it was before, he realizes now, blah blah blah blah. Abby wears those blinders now, and for that, I do pity her.
She texted me last weekend. See, several months ago, Abby cut my only daughter's hair. I was really upset by it, because, hey, that's my baby girl. And, two, Abby is as skillful with scissors as she is with the rest of her life, aka, she's awful at it. My baby looked like a hobo. At the time, Greg simply denied it happened. He didn't know what I was talking about, or what that meant, or anything. Huh? What? Where would I ever get such an idea? That kind of dismissive nonsense....crazymaking talk. Refusing to acknowledge what I saw, right there, and knew to be true.
So, I asked in the log, in spite of his protests, please don't cut her hair again. Further baffling is, we let Ro and Gav grow and grow their hair out. But now, we have a girl, and hers has already been cut, at Abby's hands and choice? The baby went to her dad's...and came home with a haircut again. Inches off the bottom, uneven and just...bad. Gav also had a haircut, very sloppy, choppy and homeless kid looking. He showed me proudly that his daddy cut his hair, and Abby cut Baby's.
I was so upset. I texted Abby telling her that she had no right to cut MY daughter's hair...and maybe, if she had children of her own, she'd understand and respect such things. She texted me back, to my surprise.
She said, "I'm not reading your texts, but it doesn't matter bc you are a broken record. I'm an awful person? Check. How dare I? Check. Greg is still secretly in love with you? Check. You"
Uhm, Greg is still secretly in love with me? I'd say that flys about her insecurities more than anything I've ever said. Unresolved feelings, unaddressed issues, unneeded conflict and feelings that should be dealt with? Yeah, Greg and I have those between us in abundance, which is why I feel they should be dealt with. After all, they are coming up on their 2 years in public anniversary. I've merely said that I would respect myself too much to want to be involved with a man with so much heavy, heavy, bursting at the seams baggage. I'd want to be the one he poured his attentions and energies onto...and I'd think she'd want the same, too. Especially as she's paid such a high price within her soul to have the great honor of standing at his side. That's not the same thing. But, guess she can't see it.
It's like the Pinhook. I said I was going to the Halloween thing, and clearly, it was to try to talk to Greg. Much like the zombie lurch, also done just to try to hang out with him. Those people, they really believe that.
I did go to the Pinhook, and it was a little awesome. I met my friend Scarfy there, who's just moved back recently from CO. He and Abby platonically lived together years ago, and basically, when she and Greg were running around, she said nothing but horrible, awful, nasty things about him. He was a little more mean/neutral...and back then, when I told Greg it bothered me she had such foul things to say about my friends, he laughed it off. In spite of that, when I went in to the bar, there was my friend...and Abby and Greg were chatting him up. I really couldn't have planned it better. I had been totally open to going alone, but as Scarfy happened to be going too, we met up, as he stood there talking to Grabby.
Ok, it's also more accurate to say that Abby was fake chatting him up. Greg stood like a lump, staring into space. And, between the two of them? The air felt disjointed and dead. Their show, and they didn't have any friends there, except their bandmates and Abby's sister. No friends to support them, just this person Abby's done nothing to disparage that she just had to socially clamber around. Fake, fake, fake. I approached them, and she and Greg ran like cowardly cowards that they are. I can say, if I felt totally cool in my life, and I was standing around talking to someone, I wouldn't flee because I saw a person I didn't like or something. Running looks like cowardice; the cowardice likely linked to boatloads of shame.
I watched the first band play, and then the people I was with decided to leave.
Greg was moving towards the stage, and we crossed paths. I took his arm, and said, "Hey! Have a great show!" or something, and patted him. I hoped to encounter Abby, so I could tell her, "Hey! Give my daughter a kiss for me!" but, alas, the fates didn't allow. Incidentally, she looked about as much like Debbie Harry that night as I do any time. She was wearing like, maybe an Urban Outfitters style dress, and black tights and boots...again, looking more like maybe 1996 than Blondie. I want to say she was wearing her glasses too. The sad thing is, I think that's just something from her regular wardrobe.
I bet that show was rocking. For me, it was a great experience. I've never encountered them socially, and I wanted to get it out of the way. This was a great way to know where and when and basically be able to plan it. Now I understand all those articles when Jennifer Aniston presented at the Oscars when Brangelina were nominated. Stuff said she was showing she wasn't afraid of them, and they didn't intimidate her, and that she'd moved forward. Having no personal experience to compare, at the time, I was like, uh, okkkkayyy? But, now that I've typed it, I feel like I'm insulting Brangelina to in any way compare such mediocre people as Grabby to them.
It's also funny that when Greg and I were together, the tabloids would run all the stories about Brad Pitt losing his mind over having so many children to take care of. Every time I'd see one, I'd be like, "Look, Greg. If Brad Pitt has the career he wants, tons of money, nannies, all that, and he's cracking, it's ok if it's hard for you too!" I had no idea how cracked anything was.
I said, "Really? They don't?" or something, to which Ro said "No! It's just dirty on the floor all the time there!"
I laughed to myself, for many reasons. Yes, there is an endearing hint of the Greg Sheriff I remember without fondness. That dude was filthy, to an extent that no matter how clean I wanted to be, I just couldn't keep up...like a skinny, hipster Pigpen. I mean, even if they did spring the $10 for a mop, Greg would never do it...or if he did deign to, he wouldn't rinse the mop beforehand, and would do such a poor, half hearted job, I'd say Gav could do it about equally. And he's 5. I guess Abby is equally a dirtbag, or, just can't keep up with all the ins and outs of Gregcare. I know, after a time, I couldn't, because it's neverending and exhausting.
The second train of thought this put me on was also personality related. Greg was so filthy, that for say, two years, he lived in a trailer with thick carpets with some chick...and they never owned a vaccuum. He'd tell this story wistfully, all smiling eyes and quiet chuckles, because they were just that dirty. He at the time totally blamed it on the roommate. I'd be like, well, why didn't you buy a sweeper? At that time in his life, he only had a bike, so, that was the excuse. Shrug, what else could he do? Besides, he'd been such a pothead, he'd been able to mostly live with it by ignoring it.
Part of this tale included a door to door salesman. Namely, one showed up when Greg was home from work, bored, stoned, and, due to the bike, couldn't easily go anywhere. Greg knew he'd never buy a thing, but allowed the guy to demonstrate the vaccuum. This story was also told bemusedly, because Greg's main objective had been to see how much of the house he could get the poor guy to clean for him. I found that a little cruel, which Greg shrugged off, saying, "Hey, it was his job."
Stories like that abounded. And, it struck me today. He was a giant pot head, and still mean spirited enough to be inconsiderate, manipulative, cold...and blame his mess on someone else. If pot didn't even ease his mean---what would? Why couldn't I see it all those years? Why did I make excuses, like, it was before, he realizes now, blah blah blah blah. Abby wears those blinders now, and for that, I do pity her.
She texted me last weekend. See, several months ago, Abby cut my only daughter's hair. I was really upset by it, because, hey, that's my baby girl. And, two, Abby is as skillful with scissors as she is with the rest of her life, aka, she's awful at it. My baby looked like a hobo. At the time, Greg simply denied it happened. He didn't know what I was talking about, or what that meant, or anything. Huh? What? Where would I ever get such an idea? That kind of dismissive nonsense....crazymaking talk. Refusing to acknowledge what I saw, right there, and knew to be true.
So, I asked in the log, in spite of his protests, please don't cut her hair again. Further baffling is, we let Ro and Gav grow and grow their hair out. But now, we have a girl, and hers has already been cut, at Abby's hands and choice? The baby went to her dad's...and came home with a haircut again. Inches off the bottom, uneven and just...bad. Gav also had a haircut, very sloppy, choppy and homeless kid looking. He showed me proudly that his daddy cut his hair, and Abby cut Baby's.
I was so upset. I texted Abby telling her that she had no right to cut MY daughter's hair...and maybe, if she had children of her own, she'd understand and respect such things. She texted me back, to my surprise.
She said, "I'm not reading your texts, but it doesn't matter bc you are a broken record. I'm an awful person? Check. How dare I? Check. Greg is still secretly in love with you? Check. You"
Uhm, Greg is still secretly in love with me? I'd say that flys about her insecurities more than anything I've ever said. Unresolved feelings, unaddressed issues, unneeded conflict and feelings that should be dealt with? Yeah, Greg and I have those between us in abundance, which is why I feel they should be dealt with. After all, they are coming up on their 2 years in public anniversary. I've merely said that I would respect myself too much to want to be involved with a man with so much heavy, heavy, bursting at the seams baggage. I'd want to be the one he poured his attentions and energies onto...and I'd think she'd want the same, too. Especially as she's paid such a high price within her soul to have the great honor of standing at his side. That's not the same thing. But, guess she can't see it.
It's like the Pinhook. I said I was going to the Halloween thing, and clearly, it was to try to talk to Greg. Much like the zombie lurch, also done just to try to hang out with him. Those people, they really believe that.
I did go to the Pinhook, and it was a little awesome. I met my friend Scarfy there, who's just moved back recently from CO. He and Abby platonically lived together years ago, and basically, when she and Greg were running around, she said nothing but horrible, awful, nasty things about him. He was a little more mean/neutral...and back then, when I told Greg it bothered me she had such foul things to say about my friends, he laughed it off. In spite of that, when I went in to the bar, there was my friend...and Abby and Greg were chatting him up. I really couldn't have planned it better. I had been totally open to going alone, but as Scarfy happened to be going too, we met up, as he stood there talking to Grabby.
Ok, it's also more accurate to say that Abby was fake chatting him up. Greg stood like a lump, staring into space. And, between the two of them? The air felt disjointed and dead. Their show, and they didn't have any friends there, except their bandmates and Abby's sister. No friends to support them, just this person Abby's done nothing to disparage that she just had to socially clamber around. Fake, fake, fake. I approached them, and she and Greg ran like cowardly cowards that they are. I can say, if I felt totally cool in my life, and I was standing around talking to someone, I wouldn't flee because I saw a person I didn't like or something. Running looks like cowardice; the cowardice likely linked to boatloads of shame.
I watched the first band play, and then the people I was with decided to leave.
Greg was moving towards the stage, and we crossed paths. I took his arm, and said, "Hey! Have a great show!" or something, and patted him. I hoped to encounter Abby, so I could tell her, "Hey! Give my daughter a kiss for me!" but, alas, the fates didn't allow. Incidentally, she looked about as much like Debbie Harry that night as I do any time. She was wearing like, maybe an Urban Outfitters style dress, and black tights and boots...again, looking more like maybe 1996 than Blondie. I want to say she was wearing her glasses too. The sad thing is, I think that's just something from her regular wardrobe.
I bet that show was rocking. For me, it was a great experience. I've never encountered them socially, and I wanted to get it out of the way. This was a great way to know where and when and basically be able to plan it. Now I understand all those articles when Jennifer Aniston presented at the Oscars when Brangelina were nominated. Stuff said she was showing she wasn't afraid of them, and they didn't intimidate her, and that she'd moved forward. Having no personal experience to compare, at the time, I was like, uh, okkkkayyy? But, now that I've typed it, I feel like I'm insulting Brangelina to in any way compare such mediocre people as Grabby to them.
It's also funny that when Greg and I were together, the tabloids would run all the stories about Brad Pitt losing his mind over having so many children to take care of. Every time I'd see one, I'd be like, "Look, Greg. If Brad Pitt has the career he wants, tons of money, nannies, all that, and he's cracking, it's ok if it's hard for you too!" I had no idea how cracked anything was.
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