Who knew?

While we were all rushing towards independence, pretending we didn't need anyone, that we were smarter, more self sufficient, scornful of family attitudes, didn't we think that one day we might have regrets?

We woke up one morning and wished that for a single hour we could go back to rebellion, instead of the hollow emptiness of responsibility.

Surrender, conformity was never an option. Given a choice between accepting the vulnerable side of denial and the ensuing loneliness of creating our own reality, I probably wouldn't have done anything differently.

But today, in a manner of speaking, I had to tell my somewhat innocent grandson, that there is no such thing as Santa Claus.

Yes, in case you are confused, I didn't wake up and destroy his or my own illusions about magic. I told my seven year old boy the truth.

It was a bitter barb.

There was no satisfaction in demanding that he grow up, face the world in its ugliness. I was used to revealing the wonders, helping him face his fears, while denying my own, but for the last week his distant and distracted mother has pretended to be in a hospital, suffering from some exotic disease. She catalogued her excuses, likely boning up on symptoms by sitting for hours in front of the TV, watching re-runs of House, Private Practice or Dr. Kildare.

We, as in her family, were prepared to allow her to get away with it, until she made promises, strokes at responsibility.

Perhaps she got distracted, forgot she birthed two children, forgot they were human. That is the most charitable thing I can say. She never hung around long enough to toilet train her premature daughter, never bought her a pair of panties or told her she was loved.

Yes, I fully acknowledge this is a rant, but now I need help.

Her name is Candiss Pettitte. She married my son, Michael Thomson. She married another guy in March, a man named Scott, but I don't know his last name. She never bothered to divorce my son. At some point she met a man named Andrew Powell and married him this spring or summer, apparently living in Harrah, Oklahoma.

He is an airline mechanic, working at some air force base near Oklahoma City.

Now, poor Andrew probably has no idea that Candiss is a psychopath and that he is an innocent victim in her web of deceit. He may have treated his vows seriously, perhaps not even knowing the meaning of bigamy. I regret his new-found dellusions. No, Andrew, there is no Easter Bunny.

She is wanted in Canada for fraud charges. Pretty lame stuff in the overall picture, but she advertised and got fifteen kids to defraud HR block by filing phoney income tax statements and getting instant refunds, turning over the averaged refund of fifteen hundred dollars to her that she rewarded with a kick-back of one hundred dollars. Those are the ones they've found so far. And this isn't a rumour. Revenue Canada came to see my son.

Give her a chance. She can yet turn into a hardened criminal. Don't look for a woman with a perfect body or a plastic veneer. She is burdened by mediocrity.

How charming that Candiss can re-invent herself, take on a new name and affiliation by marrying an American.

I told Aiden that he was going to see his mommy today. I told him that she was a liar and that forever I would never lie to him and not to be disappointed in case mommy wasn't where she said she was.

Guess what?

The minute my little baby, my thirty-seven year old son, strapped his kids in the car and headed off to where she claimed to be, she made up another lie.

Aiden knows the truth. I hurt. It wasn't my job to prove my love or respect for truth. So America, will you help me find her?

I'm not going to punish her. I'll help you dispose of US trash and turn her over to authorities. We don't own guns in Canada.

My son was about seven years old when he started questioning Santa Claus. I told him then that if you stop believing in Santa, he stops coming. At this age, HE PREFERS to believe in Santa. I did my job, but I destroyed my grandson's illusions. What's next...the tooth fairy?