The secret diary of a single parent bloke
I’m getting increasingly annoyed with Katrina’s attitude towards Natalia and Jack. She’s constantly promising to take them to places during her time with them. Fun things, like days out. She gets them all excited throughout the week, then at the last minute they have to spend the Saturday in the shopping centre doing urgent clothes shopping (for her and Dave, not the kids). Then they usually have to go to a different mall on Sunday because they’ve forgotten something on the Saturday.
And this happens every weekend. In fact, their promised trip to Cadbury World has passed into myth- she’s been promising them there nearly every weekend for over a year and a half, and it still hasn’t happened (and as I type this up in 2011, it still hasn’t happened).
Broken promises and boring weekends are one thing, but the lack of general care is another. Despite the fact that Natalia and Jack have been staying with Katrina and Dave every other weekend for nearly 18 months, they’re still sharing the same single bed. And just to make matters worse, Jack’s bedwetting has restarted!
Today, the kids walked in, and they reeked. Actually, they usually stink when they come back, but today was worse. They told me about their usual weekend trudging around the mall whilst I shepherded them into the bath. While they were in there, I opened their clothes bag to sort out their washing. The acrid stench of urine hit me. Jack’s sodden pyjamas has been just thrown into the bag. As usual, most of the clothes I’d packed remained unworn, but now everything was wet. Poor kids.
I waited until they’d gone to bed, and I phoned Katrina. She didn’t have an answer about why she’d dumped Jack’s wet PJs into the bag, but I told her that it was never to happen again or I’d stop sending them with a weekend bag. I also said that she’d got a month to sort out the sleeping arrangements or I’d stop her seeing them. She tried to argue that it was a small house and there wasn’t room for a second bed, I said that where there’s room for a single, there’s room for a bunk. She then tried to argue that it wasn’t her house. I said “tough”.
Update: After their next weekend there, the clothes came back neatly laundered. It took her another two months to buy an inflatable bed (and lots of broken promises and a further ultimatum from me).