In the CSA this week, we were given for the first time this season, an eggplant with a bunch of collard greens. We wait for this always, and that was the last eggplant, for certain.
This is sauteed eggplant (the greens variation) from Bittman's How to Cook Everything, natch.
After all the hullabaloo at the beginning of the month, with the authorities and the rest, Garçon (Ike Turner) is finally in the county's juvenile justice system. This is 90% because Mari does not want Garçon living in our house anymore, not since after the incident we found out that I was [redacted]. The rest is because ever have we told him that no parent is obligated to live with a rotten child.
This time, after the news of my injury sunk in, I sat him down & said to him, clear & serene: You are our little baby & our only son & we've known you since before you were born & we love you, but we can not tolerate an incorrigible child.
I continued by explaining that he has a choice, and many children do not -- he can live with us here in our home, following our rules & cheerfully accepting corrections intended for his betterment, or he can live in foster care or a group home, but no one has to give a loving home to a defiant, disobedient, intractable child. This is a hard truth of life, and so whatever. We are on a path where he is remanded to the oversight of the State & if he does not follow along, making progress with support, then he can be gone. This is a move to protect three of us, and godspeed to him if it should come to that. Bon vent. Hasta nunca.
Family court was satisfying, to me, not least because Garçon -- having twisted the region's developmental "experts" into useless and condescending knots lo, these past many, many years -- is old news to this system. (The first officer asked me, "Does he have a diagnosis of something?" No. He is just an asshole, is what I told him & vraiment, already. I mean, let us think back to a time, before all the rich people of the world were having late-egg babies on purpose, when kids could just be good, old-fashioned jerks. We're so lucky!)
Whatever the case -- and in particular as he has been vetted all these years, over & over, by the region's finest children's hospitals -- the system is happy to receive him. Today he is our problem, but tomorrow he will be the world's problem & they know this. They are happy -- thrilled & mystified, it could be -- to have a supportive, 2-parent, well-educated, drug-free family of mostly-happy people on this team for this child.
Although, for the first intake rendezvous for every arm of this, it seems, I have had to break the news that the child is not available, due to the scheduled activities attending his ridiculously-privileged life of the well-kitted teen aristocracy. But, I have to say, in this ken it reflects nothing but mud on his name. Individuals in official capacities have been very frank with him about his egregious ingratitude. At the same time, every one turns back to me, whispery & shocked, This child would have never come so far in a school setting.
No kidding, guys! I know, right! Like, I mean, LOLOL, how does anyone think I made the decision to homeschool from the start?
Oh, and this poor little boy, who would be so glad to do Garçon's five freaking daily chores, five. Whatever. What a jerk. I thought of importing that little boy into our family just to have him to show Garçon up, but I would have to start giving handjobs at Turnpike rest stops to afford to feed that boy & mine, too. Oof.
Anyhow. Hm, Google has revealed to me that the orphaned child has a home. Or he will. Well, good!
I was talking, today, to the nurse at the retinal specialist's office, who was adorable & telling me about her sister's kid, who was the exact same as mine! Just a jerk, jerky, jerkly, jerkface, even as a baby! Yes! Mystifying experts! Yes! Got on fine, until he didn't! Preach! So contrary that even if you showed interest in a thing he loved, he would fuck it up right then. I know about it!
She told me the bad news, that he didn't grow out of it. That he can't hold down a job, blames everyone else for everything, on and on. After a fat lot of this depress-o-gram, she said to me, sweetly & a little sotto voce, that her sister finally had to go tough love on him. Just last year, she cut him off. "He is 29," she said. "Good for you for being 50% quicker with yours."
You guys! Nurses, right? OMG. Fingers crossed for my little baby, or not, you know. Whichever. It reminds me of that dog, you know? Or a million guys I had sense enough not to marry. Not you! I love you! Shhh! Be mine! xoxoxox