Then again . . . .

So yeah, just kicked my brother out of the house tonight. It wasn't a big huge fight, although I did have my say. It was actually a pretty good day for the most part. Tom was, for once, out of my hair all day (and that might of been a contributing factor, finally having my home to myself again reminded me what home is supposed to be like) because he was working his first day for the exterminator business that hired him. He gets home at seven, relaxes for a few minutes and then takes a shower. Almost as soon as he is out of the shower he starts in, on everyone. Some one stole a soda of his out of the fridge. Someone used up all his chocolat milk syrup, the meal mix I used for dinner may have been purchased by him (forget the fact that every time I've made a meal he's helped himself to more then my whole little family can handle, that he's cooked up weird, gassy foods in my kitchen and left vile leftovers in my fridge, that I had declared it sandwich season and he ate more deli meat and cheese then I did), and then he starts in on Isaiah. He's been told he isn't to ride Isaiah's butt. Isaiah is my son, I know how to handle him and I know what chores I want him doing, when.

So you can imagine how I felt about him assigning Isaiah to do dishes and then sending him back into the kitchen over and over and over agian all evening. I finally, quietly, firmly, told TOm to JUST LEAVE HIM ALONE. And I thought it was over. Then Isaiah makes an innocent, not insulting, just silly comment, that the over sized, sagging jeans TOm is wearing (that were falling off his behind) made him loook like a hobo.

He did not say tom was a hobo, he did not call tom a hobo or say he was dirty, it was a comment that those made him look like a hobo. And TOm starts growling at me to control my son, that if a comment like that is made again he's going to be in a rage and that I need to shut Isaiah up right now.

And I was finished. Irealized right then and there that nothing I could provide TOm was worth letting him run my home with his manipulation and temper tantrums. I told him I was finished and he needed to leave, right then. He stalled and did this whole speak very calmly very rationally thing that was supposed to make me seem out of control and make me rethink it. But I wasn't out of control. I was telling him to leave, that family loyalty stops with my sons, not with my idiot brothers. He says I think I am better then peopel, and he's right, I am better then he is, and mike is and the theives, drug abusers and conartists he hangs out with. And I am certainly better then he is.

I hate the fact that my kiddos bonded to him so fast (just evidence that they crave a male influence in their lives, but where the hell do I find that) and I hate that Isaiah was so hurt by it all. It isn't Isaiah's fault. It's Toms.

i have the right to tell someone not to nag my son all night over a chore I never assigned. I have the right to feed my children with goods in my kitchen. i have the right to dictate the contents of my kitchen and say that sugar isn't allowed. I have the right to insist he treat me with respect (and being a bellegerent woman hater who waxes philisophical about how women are whores who want men to worship them is directly insulting to me- a powerful woman).

I have to right to take note of the fact that a house guest is slowly, systematically trying to take over my home, take over my stuff and change the dynamic of my household. I have the right as an adult to put a stop to it. I tried speaking to him, telling him what TV shows, manners of dress and topics of conversation were not apropriate. When telling and setting rules failed, I put an end to the arrangment.

I refuse to be caught up in a codependent nightmare of a situation like I have been in the past with my brothers or dad or both.

HE says we aren't family any more. I told him to come by when he didn't want to borrow money for tobacco (or steal loose change for it), or a ride somewhere, or a place to stay. When he wants to visit family, and then leave, I want to hear from him again. Until then, not interested.

And even though I knew immediately that letting him stay was a mistake and even though I am glad to have him gone, I'm sad.

I mourn the fact that I do not have a normal family relationship with any of my family members. I mourn the fact that this means that I will probably never be capable of maintaining an adult romantic relationship that is based on anything more then getting together for sex. (don't ask). I mourn the fact that my sons will be that much more messed up for uncle tom coming into and then going out of their lives. (I have avoided dating because of that very thing, now I've done it to them anyway). I mourn the fact that my sons will also probably have difficult, if not impossible, times building relationships as adults.

I mourn the fact that despite my best efforts, I ruin everything that goes well. I sometimes think I have some sort of poison in my spirit that attracts these sorts of problems.