I was wondering how long it would be before I could bring myself back to this blog. Look at that face. There's some guilt there. Some maturity, maybe. Our relationship is not the same, and it never will be. I only tell Malachi things once now. If he falls on his face, I only reach out a helping hand if he asks for one. I am willing to let him wallow. I am willing to watch him fail. I permit him to walk around needing help and too proud to request it, and it's not that hard on me, either.
Welcome to adulthood, Malachi, where even your own mamma will leave you to the consequences of your actions if you become sufficiently unappreciative and self-absorbed.
I need a vacation. All this sacrificing has turned me into a whiny, blaming, hostile BORE, and I don't like it. It's ME TIME now, and I hope I have not alienated many.
Malachi is still a good kid. He got a job, and I know part of the reason his heart was not in going to Europe this past summer is because he did not want to leave me and his brother in our current situation. I am still despondent though, because I couldn't make him realize that his breakthrough was going to be the door I walked through after he'd had his once-in-a-lifetime adventure. I wanted to know that I could pull this off for him, and plant my flag as a bona fide social media influencer. I gave it my best, and now I'll be giving my best to my own endeavors--though I'll be available to this child of mine for help whenever he needs me. He may have to wait, communicate, delegate, or MARINATE, but I'm still there for him.
Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.
