Do you know what it is like to be afraid of your own child? I know that maybe I haven't been the best mother, but to have to sleep with a baseball bat for fear that your own son is going to break into your house. It started innocently, with him just sneaking into the house when no one was home to get some food. But now he just breaks in all of the time to get whatever: money, clothes, everything is fair game. The last time he broke in, we were home. Mike caught him sneaking in through Austin's bedroom window on the second floor with a ladder. He told him to get out, that he wasn't welcome, and he wasn't, as much as I miss him at times. They started screaming at each other. Mike ended up punching him in the face, and with that Brian left quietly through the front door. I thank God everyday for keeping us safe, but I just don't know how long it is going to be before Brian cracks.

(go home)