Morning nightmares...part II

I did everything as usual: put the towels on the seats for Dillon and Ella, don't bang the cabinets, don't clang the dishes, set them down silently. Put the drinks on the placemats and not on the glass table, don't bang the microwave, even though it doesn't close without a bit of a banging. Wipe the sink down after I use the faucet. EVERY TIME after I use the faucet, even if I'm about to use it again. DON'T TALK. And don't let the children talk. Don't talk to the children. Don't let them talk to one another. No interaction whatsoever. I'm to stand over them and police their manners, as Derek stands behind me and polices me. And as much as I can I talk to them anyway. And because it's perfectly normal, Dillon talks to Ella. And Ella talks back to her brother. "QUIET!" Derek booms, startling all three of us. "It's eating time! Not talking time! Turn around and eat!"

And so it goes, but that's nothing. He usually takes time to come over to Dillon himself and lean over him intimidatingly, pulling his ears and hissing at him to sit up right and chew with his mouth closed. It's not the actual corrections that are necessarily wrong; I think all parents tell their children to sit up and chew with their mouths closed, but it's the venomous hatred with which he does it that is so horrifying. He seems to have no love for his son, only the desire to control him.

I try not to add fuel to the fire by responding, but when he attacks my babies I have to. That's when he accuses me of undermining him, stabbing him in the back, and making him look bad in front of his children. Then he threatens to kick me out of the house to raise two children on my own on the street.

That's how our mornings begin. If we're lucky, he stays in the bedroom, but he listens to us, and provides a never-ending battery of criticism of every noise he hears.

And every morning when the kids and I finally get into the car and drive out into the sunshine, we say, "Good morning, God, good morning, Jesus -- thank you for this beautiful day!" And then we sing songs and laugh and even yell and scream as loud as we can. For now that gets them smiling. For now. But not for long.