And the Award for Most Unfounded Police Reports Goes To…

It’s laundry. It’s always laundry.

One minute, I’m asking Space Cadet to put away his clothes. The next, he’s staging a full-scale action sequence, kicking the door like he's auditioning for Steven Seagal’s Kidz Bop.

Since this isn’t my first rodeo in the Tantrum Olympics, I go straight into The Bear Hug—our patented method of keeping small bodies from breaking bones, walls, or each other.

And let’s be clear: The Bear Hug isn’t a Hallmark moment. It’s me pinning his arms across his chest, locking his wrists down, and bracing for the incoming headbutts while his legs attempt a tactical strike on any solid object within range.

Parenting. Just like the pamphlets promised.

Crisis over. No injuries. No bruises. No police.
…Yet.

I ask Space Cadet if he’s okay. Twice.
He says he’s fine. Twice.
High five. Move on.

Except, of course, not in this family.

Because the second he gets into Richard Cranium’s truck—my personal hero—he suddenly remembers he was choked.

Three. Days. Later.

Not immediately after the meltdown.
Not at therapy.
Not during a whole overnight visit at Richard’s house.
Nope.

Only when he gets into Richard’s truck, parked at the police station during our exchange (because of course it is), does the memory conveniently return.

And Richard Cranium? Oh, Richard lives for this.

This man has kept a divorce dragging for four years because signing papers means giving up control, and we just can't have that.

He still refuses to deny paternity of a child that isn’t his.
He only parents when there’s an opportunity to center himself in a dramatic performance.
And if you’re wondering if he has the hero complex to match?
Big. Ol’. Check.

This guy is the final boss of douchery.

We’ve handed him security footage.
We’ve offered sit-downs, walk-throughs, and actual adult conversations.
We’ve explained exactly what a Bear Hug is and why we use it.

But Richard doesn’t want truth.
Richard wants attention.

And hey—bonus points if Space Cadet plays along this weekend.

For those keeping track at home, that’s welfare check number three this year.

But wait. It gets worse.

Enter Jessica—absentee parent, full-time victim, part-time Instagram mom.

You might remember Jessica as the woman who thinks passing an alcohol test means that picture of her double-fisting Coronas during parenting time was just for the aesthetic.

She’s the founding member of the "Drinks Before Discipline" club.
No custody.
No shame.
No self-awareness.

And now? She’s furious.

Why? Because I didn’t deliver her hourly update on Big Feelings’ moods from residential care, like she’s running quality control on a product launch.

And because being left out of the drama is somehow worse than being a bad mom, she hops on the "Liam Is Satan" bandwagon and starts rallying the troops.

And who’s on her team?

Oh, just Richard Cranium and Felicia.

Because in the most pathetic plot twist of the year, these three have officially formed the Holy Trinity of Dysfunction and turned my life into their group hobby.

And speaking of Felicia…

Friday night. Blocked number.
"Some people don’t deserve to live."

A literal death threat. From a woman who barely tolerates the kids’ existence but is apparently willing to go full Dateline over their stepdad.

So, in case you’re struggling to keep track, here’s your player roster:
Richard Cranium: Divorce hobbyist, professional victim, 911’s biggest fan.
Jessica: Keyboard warrior, no custody, full-time Instagram mom.
Felicia: Side chick turned chaos coordinator with a flair for felonies.

And while all this is happening?

The Storyteller, who spent years being coached by Richard to feed false allegations, has finally realized honesty is easier.

He watched the Bear Hug.
He told Richard there was no choking.
He called his brother an idiot.
And then he sat there, genuinely confused why his dad didn’t seem interested in the truth.

Because why let facts get in the way of another police report?
Let’s recap:

Three police visits.
Multiple threats.
Zero accountability.
A supporting cast so delusional they’d need a map, a compass, and divine intervention to find reality.

But hey.
We’re still here.
Still raising these kids.
Still dodging flying accusations and death threats like it’s just another Tuesday.

Because it’s fine.

We’re fine.

Everything’s fine.