The Dreaded Drop-Off

If you have a stepchild or have a custody agreement with an ex, then you know what I am referring to. The drop-off. The dreaded drop-off.

My stepson sees his mother after school until 7:30 PM one day a week. Tomorrow will be that day.

That means she gets to drop him off at our house. That means we may get to see her. Let the fun begin.

Now that my stepson is old enough to get himself out of the car, get his stuff, and walk to the door, she doesn't make any effort to walk to our door.

She used to subject my stepson (and us, but mainly my husband, who was my boyfriend at the time) to some soap-opera-style drama when my stepson was too young to say too much...around 2-4 years old. Watch out Susan Lucci.

Here's a classic example...

She'd come to our door at 11 PM (this is when my husband first kicked her to the curb and they didn't have a custody agreement in place...by the way, they were never married) with my stepson, who was 2 years old at the time, and say, "Tell Daddy what you told me. Tell him." (Yes, tell him how tired you are and how you should be in bed!)

My stepson wouldn't say anything. She would then say to my husband, "He told me that he hates you. He doesn't want to stay at your place."

She then said to my stepson, "Oh! Don't cry! I know you don't want to come here!"

My stepson would just sit there, not a tear in his eyes.

She would then storm off to her car with my stepson and leave.

At 11:20 PM, she would come back to the door and say,"Oh, he is hysterical! He doesn't want to come here. But I guess I am going to have to leave him here."

She would leave my stepson with my husband and leave.

Then she would drive to the nearby bar to meet her friends.

And you are probably asking yourself, "Did she stalk her? How does she know this?"

Because she would proceed to call my husband's place every 5 minutes for at least 2 hours. Sometimes she would be yelling expletives about me. Sometimes she would yell expletives about my husband. And if she was drunk, she would start crying and begging my husband to get back with her. Classy. Who wouldn't jump at that?

So, needless to say, I have some disturbing memories of those drop-offs from the past.

Things have mellowed out, but there is always that anticipation when the doorbell rings that there may be an explosion greeting you at the door.