Cause at this point, my children don’t need me.
No, they’re not paying the bills or picking up the groceries (they rarely pick up the toilet seat) or maintaining the car.
Anyway, they don’t need me.
And they know it.
Don’t believe me? Let me give you an example.
Remember when your children ran to the door when you came in. They yelled out daddy or mommy. They hugged you as if you were a lifeboat, and they were adrift at sea.
Yeah that hasn’t happened in I don’t know how long. Seriously – WAY PAST THAT STAGE!
I’m lucky if they actually get up to answer the door.
Here’s what BR is thinking when I knock at the door. I don’t hear anything. Maybe, I do hear something. I’ll just ignore it. Let someone else get it.
SJ would rather not get up from what he is doing. Yet, he feels more obligated. Bless his 8-year-old self. Yeah, I give it another year or two. Anyway, when the actually answers the door, I walk in. All I see is his back as he is running off to continue doing whatever it was he was doing before I disturbed him.