Dysfunctional Parenting

Dysfunctional Parenting

I haven’t been the best Mom, in fact I got so busy trying to make a living that we became a dysfunctional family and my disabled husband became the domestic caretaker.  We liked to call it Foreign Affairs (being the breadwinner) and Domestic Affairs (putting dinner on the table and laundry control).  Being the working farmer lady probably didn’t fit the “Mom Mold” and unsettled a few of daughter’s suitors and while I can laugh now, I doubt they think it funny to this day. 

Our daughter was about 14 at the time when Nick came to visit that day after school.  He showed up in the height of non-fashion with trousers showing every last stitch of his boxers and the hat crooked on his head.  First thing at hand was noting that at our house, I did not care to know the color of his underwear and was that his head crooked, or the hat? As we got the fashion statement nailed down to our acceptability, with his pants raised to a less precarious perch, I proceeded to return to my task at hand outside, burying one of our geriatric goats that had passed away. 

The day had turned into dusk and Nick and my daughter were inside watching television.    His reputation preceded him as the make-out king on the MySpace circuit. From my backyard vantage point, I noticed the light go out I had turned on when I passed through.  Several times I made the trip inside to turn that light back on.  And a few minutes later it would be extinguished.

The time to say goodbye to our beloved Flirty was at hand.  I had dug a grave roughly 4′ deep, big enough for a 150 pound goat.  I was dirty, smelly, really tired and grumpier than a hungry grizzly awaken early from his hibernation.   When the light went out again, I furiously returned inside and told Nick to come help me with something.  The poor city boy was mortified when I had him help me load a dead goat into the wheelbarrow for her last trip across the pasture to her final resting place.  We arrived at the grave to discover that I had left the shovel back at the barn.  Sending daughter to retrieve the shovel I had my words of prayer with Nick.  Some small talk about respectability, husband’s sharpshooter accomplishments and just before daughter showed up I inferred how he could join poor Flirty at the bottom of that hole should he turn the light out again. 

Nick never did come back for any more after school television.  I wonder why? 

Moms rule!

About The Dancing Goat

A Yuppie turned Farmer in the middle of suburban Tampa!! Green is the color, sustainable is the lifestyle. Reuse, recycle and re-purpose!!!
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1 Response to Dysfunctional Parenting

  1. Angela colesanti says:

    And I wonder why you say you are not a good mom???

    Your handling iof the NICK/LIGHTS OUT situation when your daughters ONLY 14 years old, tells me YOU ARE A GREAT MOM!

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