@Gypsy wrote: "Folks end up in LimboLand because the alternative is far too scary for one party or the other."
That's pretty smart stuff right there.
I think that hits the old nail on the head, as a matter of fact. Last night I was talking to S about his regular goofing off behavior at bed time, and WAW kept coming in to his room demanding to know "what - is - going - ON?"
Finally I turned, looked her in the eyes, and said, "I am speaking to my son, thank you!" pretty sharply, and she retreated to the master bed.
I went downstairs to the guest room, settled in to bed, and about 5 minutes later heard her get in her car and drive off. She's spending the night in her new house. Literal LimboLand -- no fridge, no bed even.
But the alternative -- confronting the fact that I'm raising MY son in MY house -- too difficult to cope with perhaps.
Her aggregate level of outwardly manifested stress and sadness increases each day. Her movers will be here in 76 hours. I don't envy her what that must feel like one bit.
