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The stbx is supposed to have the kids this weekend. The eight year old is refusing to go (she's been refusing to talk to him at all since she came home after being with him over Christmas).
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
Last edited by JustShakey; Jan 15, 2016 at 11:54 PM.
Reason: Oops...
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