Third Verse, Same as the First

Can I just say that I never want to be a single mother? Mr. WG spent a week in Israel at his brother's wedding, and then he came home for about 12 hours, and then he spent a week in L.A. for work. My parents were in for the first week, to "help," but for the second week, it was all WG. And holy God, was it exhausting.

Anyway, so my parents were here for a week, and then the day after they left, the day that Mr. WG was here for a few hours in between jet-setting about the world, my dad called Mr. WG. And told him that he feels that D is two to three years delayed. Now, this isn't the first time my dad has come up with something like this. But again, as before, I just don't get what he's trying to say.

Is it that he thinks we don't know that our son has issues, that he feels he needs to scare us into taking action? Getting therapy? Doing something, as opposed to sitting around with our rose-colored glasses on commenting on how very pink the world looks today?

Or is it something more sinister, like that he thinks we should just stop trying and accept that D. will never catch up?

Mr. WG votes for option three: he just wants to be mean.

I don't get it, and I've been putting off dealing with it, because he's my dad. But D. is my kid. And Mr. WG is my husband. And this has to stop.

So yesterday, in an attempt to escape our troubles and cares, the boys and I went to the park. And guess who was there? DevilChild! This time he had a rake, a toy plastic rake. After a few minutes, he put it down and headed for the swings. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw D. pick up the rake and examine it, so he jumped off the swing, ran over and grabbed it back. "I'm using that," he said. "Sorry, D.," I explained. "DevilChild doesn't want to share. Maybe later he'll want to share."

His mother continued her critically important cell phone conversation on the far side of the park.

Lather, rinse, repeat. DevilChild would toss the rake aside and head off to do something else. D. would pick up the rake, and DevilChild would immediately insist that he was using it.

"That's not very nice," I told him. "Just remember that D. lives RIGHT HERE, right next to the park and brings a lot of good snacks and cool toys. And if you don't share with him, he won't share with you."

He was unfazed.

But then, sweet karma intervened. When DevilChild's mother ran out of people to call, she gathered her children and loaded them into the car. And I noticed, as she pulled out of the park, that DevilChild had forgotten his rake. I watched as the car pulled out and turned down the street. I think I even smiled and waved. And when they were out of sight, I picked up the rake and presented it to D. with a flourish.

And I didn't even feel bad when he broke it.