Can of Worms

I have been so neglectful of this blog. I have hardly logged in to blogger over the past few weeks to check up on how all my friends are doing. And ironically, it is not because things are going well. In fact, I probably could have written a relevant post for every day of the past few weeks. But between work and life, I just haven't had the energy.
I try not to focus on the negative anyway, because if I did then this would be a black hole of negativity. Though I must admit, most days, the advice I receive from you makes the negativity melt away.
On that note, thank you for all your kind words about our little trip up north. I expected comments along the lines of, "Act your age, you're the adult..." so it was nice to read some support. I still do feel that I could have been a bit more graceful in the situation, that I could have taken the whole thing less personally. It's something to work on, I guess.

Today, I want to share about a can of worms I fear I opened yesterday. In total ignorance, mind you. I suppose I won't know the consequences until this weekend...

The Kid's grades have been slipping lately. There are numerous of reasons behind this, one of which is lack of parental supervision on homework. Generally, this is something I stay out of unless my help is needed on an assignment. This is not easy for me. I'm a former teacher and watching him slack drives me batty!
His worst grade right now is English. (Did I mention I was an English teacher?!?) He failed his last book report because he did not read the book. He didn't even start the book until two days before the report was due. And it's not for lack of material; we have more books in our house than furniture.
He now has one month to read a new book of his choice and complete another book report. This time, I wasn't standing idly by.
Yesterday, I left work early and went home (he's with us for school vacation). I ordered his shoes and socks on, threw him in my car and off we went to the bookstore to pick a new book. We rarely spend time together, just me and The Kid. But when we do, I notice that he opens up. I don't know if its because he knows I'll relay anything important back to his father or if he just feels comfortable being honest because I'm not really a parent.
We were driving along and he was telling me about some of the drama at his mother's house. It's a little out of control, but it has nothing to do with me (well, not directly) so I'm not going to elaborate. He then said he doesn't consider that house "home," that his home is our house.
"I just want to live with Dad all the time. I don't want to be at Mom's," he sighed.
"Well have you told Dad that?" I asked.
He looked down at his feet for some time, then replied. "No. Should I?"
"I think you should definitely talk to Dad about that. But honestly, I don't know if there's anything he can do. Your mom has all the decision making power. She has full custody."
"But when I'm 16 I can say what I want, right?" he asked.
I thought about it for a minute. I know the laws well in our state, as I'm sure any stepmom who has had to help her partner fight for his rights does.
"Twelve actually. You have a say as to where you live, go to school, all that stuff when you're twelve."
"Are you sure?" he asked, perking up.
"Yeah, I'm sure. I looked this stuff up a few years back. You know..." I didn't need to elaborate why. We both remember.
The Kid was quiet for a long while. "Twelve. Twelve. At twelve I could have said I want to live at Dad's? At twelve I could have had my name changed back*?"
"I'm not sure about the name thing. But I know twelve is the age of recognition in the court for custody issues. It all depends on what is in your best interests," I answered, honestly and carefully.
Have you ever seen the look of rage that flashes into a teenage boy's eyes when he realizes he has been lied to? Like, seriously lied to?
I have.
"MY MOTHER SAID I COULD HAVE A SAY WHEN I WAS 16! SHE SAID THAT WAS THE AGE. SHE TOLD ME I HAD TO LIVE WITH HER UNTIL I WAS 16 THEN WE COULD CHANGE IF I WANTED TO," he screamed at me.
Oh shit.
"Er. Um. Maybe she didn't know," I stuttered.
"SHE KNOWS. SHE FUCKING KNOWS. IT'S HER JOB TO KNOW THAT SHIT," he snapped back. Then, in a whisper, "She lied to me." There were tears in his eyes.
He's right. His mom is a child and family therapist (yipes!). She's in the court all the time for work. She knows what the deal is.
I had to do everything in my power not to cry. If he wasn't screaming so loudly, I'm quite sure the sound of my heart cracking in half for him would have been audible. His hurt, dense and thick, filled the cabin of the car. I know I wasn't the one to cause the hurt, but I sure felt like it.
Eventually he calmed down. I took the long way to the bookstore so he could regain his composure. We tried to talk it out, and I tried as best I know how to be impartial. Truthfully, I don't know that I want him with us full-time. It's a big change, especially as The Husband and I discuss growing our family with more children. Of course, I will do whatever is best for him, and living with us just might be it.
I cheered him up (bribed him?) with an amazing cupcake and he ended up picking a book that he's already read three chapters of. The issue didn't come up again. I haven't had much more than a whispered conversation with my husband about it, as we haven't had time or privacy to talk.
The Kid will see his mother today.
Should I be worried?
'Cos I am.


*When The Kid was 9 The Ex changed her name and his name back to her maiden name. I have written about this before, but to no great extent. It is a huge issue of conflict between all members of the first family. It is also the primary reason that I changed my last name upon marriage; the heartbreak my husband suffered over his child being stripped of his name was incomparable. No one else has his last name; he never met his father. It just him. Now me.