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Monday, April 6, 2015

"This is cozy, dad," says Bubs 2 as he sinks himself deeper into the blankets and pillows around and on top of him. "You're a good boy," I tell him. "You're a good dad," he unsolicitedly responds.

That's hard to measure, because I doubt my skills all too much. It's part of my growing up in an alcoholic home. I continually need to be reaffirmed that I'm doing "ok" on my off days, but quickly recognize this dysfunctional thought process on my good ones.

How do I explain to the bubs about "what happened" to my side of the family? Do I tell them their pop pop (my father) is a "dry drunk" who decided to halt all communication with us because he is unwilling to take ownership of his past life which severely impacts his current one? What about their nonnie's (my step mother) refusal to get honest about a tense family issue she quietly shared and then denied ever saying, and in doing so, has turned the table on who is "being honest" towards me and barring my family from her home? I struggled to reestablish communication between they and the bubs. No luck. The bub's paternal grandparents have simply given up on being functional family members. This is no surprise for individuals suffering from alcoholism. This is what alcoholic families do best.

I feel much healthier as I continue to distance myself from these people. I only think of them when my thinking falls off course, which doesn't last long nowadays. For example, at dinner last night, mom and I watched Bubs 2 acting a bit like a spaz. Background: Bubs 2 is now wearing undies and doing well making his way to the "pottie" throughout the day. However, that's with #1. He struggles with the feelings involved with #2 (that's my assumption). Anyway, he's running back and forth, to and from the bathroom. Mom and I continue to watch. He wines and yelps as he frantically runs back and forth while both of his hands are clenching his butt cheeks. Finally, Bubs 1 steps into the picture and yells, "(Bubs 2) run to the pottie! Quick!"

And he does. He listens to his big brother. With hands on butt cheeks, running full speed through the kitchen towards the bathroom, Bubs 2 lets out a rebel yell the entire way. In the bathroom finally. It's quiet. Then a cheer. He's pooped his fifth consecutive poop (outside of the diaper and not in his new undies).

We're all high-fiving and giving Bubs 2 congrats. He's turned the corner on this pottie training thing. Finally.

But is it if the family is dysfunctional?


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