I just got home from another week of listening to my grandparents curse at each other, smelling smoke every time I entered the house, and smelling smoke every time I I went out, while listening to my sister complain about my father every five minutes. This was life for me every two weeks at my father's. I never knew, though, that that night of my mother's week would be the worst night of my life. That night began like any other Sunday night. I threw my stuff in the room, got something to eat, but instead went to bed and had a good sleep. I went to my mom's room. I entered the room and, as usual, she was lying on the bed and playing with her phone until she calmed down and fell asleep. Well, I walked in and said, "Mom, can I close the door, I have something to talk about, something Cody doesn't need to hear." He said "ok" and we sat for about thirty minutes talking about how I would like to change our routine where Cody and I go to our dad's house every other week on every other weekend. Once the conversation is over, call Cody to see if he's okay with it...