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"Don't make me call your grampa."

(I wrote this last week and was so out of it, I didn't remember it)

It's a mixed blessing being the biggest threat someone can levy at the kids. That lastest one has been dropped on the kids by their teachers, their afterschool supervisors, and - their father. Most recently while I was on the phone to the afterschool councellor I could hear Kit cleaning up his act at the other end of the room.

Grammo and Buddy are catching up this spring, taking no prisoners, offering no deals so the kids will do what's expected of them. But the one thing that stops them in their tracks is my name as used in the blog title. It's partly because they know I follow through on threats (and promises) I make, partly because they now have a long enough ingrained history, but mostly because they need it. They need a wall that they can't bend, something that brings them back from the abyss of doing something stupid or dangerous that can't be undone.

Lately, as you've seen in some posts lately, what with the poisons I've been drinking, I can be as cranky as the next parent. But I've apologized when I go too far and told them that being in a long term rotton mood is something completely new to me. They said they understand, but the real proof is how well I improve. It's getting better.

However, bumps in the road notwithstanding, one other irony about my being the tough one you don't get past is that both of the older boy would rather deal with me than what Grammo and Buddy offer. You see, I stood my ground, but there was a way to make it work for them too.

I'm off to watch Tio play baseball and then make homemade chicken tostados for supper. I think I can handle the hard rap I get along as I mix it with good stuff, too.