Tag: advice

Can’t we just be friends??

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“Single men and women can’t be friends. The possibility of sex always gets in the way…”

At least according to my brother-in-law. (And I’m assuming he must of watched ‘When Harry Met Sally’ at some point, because I’m pretty sure that’s where the quote comes from…) I remember him telling me this after my divorce. I was talking to him about a man who was texting me. “We are just friends,” I told him with confidence. “We have been through a lot of similar shit. He’s divorced. His wife cheated on him. We are practically soul sisters!”

“Nope…your not.”he insisted. “He’s sniffing around to see where you stand and what his chances are. He doesn’t want to be your friend. Don’t be naive.”

God I hate it when people tell me I am naive. I thought he was wrong. In fact-I was positive he was wrong. I rolled my eyes silently. I mean we are adults. We can easily be friends. I don’t care if he is a man. I don’t want to have sex with every single (emphasis on single) man I have a conversation with. In fact- I want to have sex with almost none of them. And not every single man wants to have sex with me!

But I have been divorced for awhile now. And it does seem a little more complicated than I originally thought. (It turns out- that first man after the divorce I was texting with. He wanted to be more than friends. So our texting relationship came to an end…) So what the hell is going on? I can’t tell anymore. I have had several friendships in the last few years that eventually resulted in one of those awkward moments where you walk away feeling confused. Or if you mention this ‘male friend’ in passing to someone more than once, everyone assumes that it must be something more. They nod and smile in the most annoying ways. And then there is the dreaded text message that seems a little weird. You find yourself reading it out loud to one of your friends…repeatedly… just to see what they think. And that’s what happened recently.

“He used the word friendship and said I was a sensual woman in the same message…is that weird?”I ask my brother-in-law. I had just received some new messages from a friend and I was struggling with deciphering the intent. My brother-in-law is definitely not usually my ‘go-to’ expert, but I was desperate. And…all my girlfriends were currently unavailable. And…I was drinking wine. Maybe a male perspective wouldn’t hurt?! Plus-I could always run it by my girls later.

“Yes…it’s weird. He doesn’t want to be your friend.” Case closed apparently. He doesn’t seem interested in engaging in the ‘minimum of 20 minute’ discussion that my BDF (Best Divorced Friend) would give me. He doesn’t ask for the entire run down of every interaction we have ever had. He doesn’t care what shoes I was wearing when I met my male friend the first time. He doesn’t even ask the guys name! (And he probably knows I wouldn’t tell him anyway…) He is confident in his assessment of the situation with minimal information.

“Let me read it again.”I insist.”And this time take note of how he say’s he wants to have a female friend…” I don’t think my brother-in-law is really trying to see it from both sides. I already know what he thinks of male and female relationships. But he doesn’t know what it’s like to be single in your 40’s. He doesn’t know everything! So I find myself trying to convince him anyway. Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself. Can’t we just be friends?? I refuse to give up on that!

“You don’t need to read it again,”he interrupts.”I heard exactly what he was saying. The man typed the word sensual. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve used that word in a sentence. Let alone sent it in a message to one of my friends.”

“But he also used the word friends! Several times actually. Specifically- female friendship. That’s pretty clear!” I refuse to give up. “And did I tell you I was wearing boots the first time we talked? They are a very friendly shoe.” He rolls his eyes…

“Let me know how that works out for you…”He isn’t giving up either. Imagine that. We can’t agree.

The truth is…I would love to have a male friend. Especially a single one. I think it would be brilliant. I imagine some really great guy who is living the same life as me. As a divorced, single, working parent. Just waiting to be my friend. I think it could fill a big void in my life.  Having an honest male perspective from someone who isn’t related to me could be ground breaking in my ‘single working mom’ world. And in return I could offer him an honest female perspective. Without any ulterior motives. Just friendship. We would be each others secret weapons! Super-single friends to the rescue!

So I will keep hoping. I think the right single man is out there waiting to be found. To be my Best Male Friend (BMF)…

Plus- I really like men. Especially when I’m not married to them…👠

 

(PS…as for my friend who thinks I’m sensual. I’ll let you know how that one turns out. I still think it has potential. He may be the one…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The third time isn’t necessarily a charm…

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“So dad is getting married this week…” My oldest son informs me with minimal emotion. He’s always the bearer of ‘bad’ news when it comes to things about the X. (I sometimes imagine my 3 kids having their ‘secret meetings’ to discuss whatever current topic they are forced to deal with due to the misfortune of being ‘children of divorce’. I can see them holed up in someones bedroom deciding among themselves who will break the news. And I am sure all eyes always fall immediately to son #1. That’s what happens when you are the oldest). I know he hasn’t been looking forward to telling me. He probably doesn’t know what to expect. And who can blame him. I usually don’t know what to expect either when it comes to my X.  It’s complicated. Not in the ‘I still have feelings for him’ way. More like ‘I still can’t wrap my head around what he did to us’ way. His affair and our divorce still affect the kids and I ever single day. It was life changing.

“Oh.” I reply. Also with minimal emotion. And it isn’t an act. I feel minimally about it initially. I know it deserves minimal consideration on my part. But like I said- it’s complicated. It doesn’t really change anything I rationalize to myself. I don’t envy his upcoming marriage.  I know he and the homewrecker are getting exactly what they deserve in each other. A relationship that starts from lies will end in lies…eventually. However, my first clear feeling is surprising. I feel sorry for him! I can’t believe that he is so weak. Why get married? For the third time? To the homewrecker?? I am surprised by his apparent fear of being alone. I am surprised by his inability to be an independent man. I am surprised by his inability to put the children first. He knows his children do not have a good relationship with the homewrecker- but even that doesn’t dissuade him. I’m sure someone along the way has mentioned to him that the third time isn’t necessarily a charm.

My mind drifts back to a similar conversation my son and I had several years ago when the X got engaged. It was almost Christmas and I was wrapping gifts at the kitchen table when son #1 showed up unexpectedly. He was supposed to be at the X’s. He got straight to the point.

“Dad is engaged. They’re getting married. We just thought you should know.”

My reaction surprised both of us. I burst into tears. Which is not my normal reaction to anything. I excused myself immediately to my bathroom to pull myself together. My son followed me. He was worried.

“Mom- it will be OK. You don’t want to be with him anyway.” He reasoned. “You are so much better off now. And none of us kids are going to have anything to do with it…”

“I am OK. Really.” I try to reassure him. “I just need a minute. I don’t even know why I’m crying! I don’t even miss your dad. It was just a surprise I guess. It’s complicated. It just seems like somehow after everything they have done-they are winning…”

“Trust me mom. They aren’t winning anything.” Truer words were never spoken. And those came from a 17 year old boy.

That was two-ish years ago. I’ve come a really long way since then. (And so have the kids…) I mean I’ve walked countless ’emotional miles’ in my divorce shoes. I have gained perspective and strength. I have found healing and independence.  I think I am stronger now than I ever have been. I don’t need a relationship to make me happy. I definitely don’t need a marriage. I find it fascinating that my X does. Why did this man ever intimidate me?

My focus returns to the present. To the X’s upcoming marriage. To the homewrecker. I feel the surprising need to giggle.

“Do you know any details?”I can’t help myself from asking. I’m curious.

“Nope.” He replies flatly. “And I don’t care about it. It’s his deal. Not mine.”

“Yep.” I reply. He’s right. It is ‘his’ deal. But it’s a little teeny tiny bit my deal too. I was married to the man for 15 years. I walked down the aisle in a beautiful dress and promised myself to him for better or for worse. We have 3 beautiful children together. We will always be linked together. Whether we like it or not. Or wait a minute…

Maybe not. Maybe these upcoming nuptials are all him. And the Homewreckers. I really don’t want anything to do with it anyway. Except I have to admit…I can’t wait to see how it turns out.

Like I said before. It’s exactly what they deserve…👠

 

 

 

Can’t we just be friends??

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“Single men and women can’t be friends. The possibility of sex always gets in the way…”

At least according to my brother-in-law. (And I’m assuming he must of watched ‘When Harry Met Sally’ at some point, because I’m pretty sure that’s where the quote comes from…) I remember him telling me this after my divorce. I was talking to him about a man who was texting me. “We are just friends,” I told him with confidence. “We have been through a lot of similar shit. He’s divorced. His wife cheated on him. We are practically soul sisters!”

“Nope…your not.”he insisted. “He’s sniffing around to see where you stand and what his chances are. He doesn’t want to be your friend. Don’t be naive.”

God I hate it when people tell me I am naive. I thought he was wrong. In fact-I was positive he was wrong. I rolled my eyes silently. I mean we are adults. We can easily be friends. I don’t care if he is a man. I don’t want to have sex with every single (emphasis on single) man I have a conversation with. In fact- I want to have sex with almost none of them. And not every single man wants to have sex with me!

But I have been divorced for awhile now. And it does seem a little more complicated than I originally thought. (It turns out- that first man after the divorce I was texting with. He wanted to be more than friends. So our texting relationship came to an end…) So what the hell is going on? I can’t tell anymore. I have had several friendships in the last few years that eventually resulted in one of those awkward moments where you walk away feeling confused. Or if you mention this ‘male friend’ in passing to someone more than once, everyone assumes that it must be something more. They nod and smile in the most annoying ways. And then there is the dreaded text message that seems a little weird. You find yourself reading it out loud to one of your friends…repeatedly… just to see what they think. And that’s what happened recently.

“He used the word friendship and said I was a sensual woman in the same message…is that weird?”I ask my brother-in-law. I had just received some new messages from a friend and I was struggling with deciphering the intent. My brother-in-law is definitely not usually my ‘go-to’ expert, but I was desperate. And…all my girlfriends were currently unavailable. And…I was drinking wine. Maybe a male perspective wouldn’t hurt?! Plus-I could always run it by my girls later.

“Yes…it’s weird. He doesn’t want to be your friend.” Case closed apparently. He doesn’t seem interested in engaging in the ‘minimum of 20 minute’ discussion that my BDF (Best Divorced Friend) would give me. He doesn’t ask for the entire run down of every interaction we have ever had. He doesn’t care what shoes I was wearing when I met my male friend the first time. He doesn’t even ask the guys name! (And he probably knows I wouldn’t tell him anyway…) He is confident in his assessment of the situation with minimal information.

“Let me read it again.”I insist.”And this time take note of how he say’s he wants to have a female friend…” I don’t think my brother-in-law is really trying to see it from both sides. I already know what he thinks of male and female relationships. But he doesn’t know what it’s like to be single in your 40’s. He doesn’t know everything! So I find myself trying to convince him anyway. Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself. Can’t we just be friends?? I refuse to give up on that!

“You don’t need to read it again,”he interrupts.”I heard exactly what he was saying. The man typed the word sensual. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve used that word in a sentence. Let alone sent it in a message to one of my friends.”

“But he also used the word friends! Several times actually. Specifically- female friendship. That’s pretty clear!” I refuse to give up. “And did I tell you I was wearing boots the first time we talked? They are a very friendly shoe.” He rolls his eyes…

“Let me know how that works out for you…”He isn’t giving up either. Imagine that. We can’t agree.

The truth is…I would love to have a male friend. Especially a single one. I think it would be brilliant. I imagine some really great guy who is living the same life as me. As a divorced, single, working parent. Just waiting to be my friend. I think it could fill a big void in my life.  Having an honest male perspective from someone who isn’t related to me could be ground breaking in my ‘single working mom’ world. And in return I could offer him an honest female perspective. Without any ulterior motives. Just friendship. We would be each others secret weapons! Super-single friends to the rescue!

So I will keep hoping. I think the right single man is out there waiting to be found. To be my Best Male Friend (BMF)…

Plus- I really like men. Especially when I’m not married to them…👠

(PS…as for my friend who thinks I’m sensual. I’ll let you know how that one turns out. I still think it has potential. He may be the one…)

 

Don’t make direct eye contact…

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I have three children. Two boys back to back…followed up a little later by a precious little girl. We all oohed and awed when she was born. So sweet. So easy. So quiet. So self contained. Little did I know she was a tiny little ticking time bomb. She was wearing adorable pink bows and efficiently wrapping everyone around her little finger…while she bided her time.

When my boys were little I was a stay-at-home mother. In addition to my own two little critters- I was blessed to babysit my nephew while my sister worked. Three…lets call them ‘lively’…boys under the age of four. It was without a doubt the most exhausting thing I have ever endured. My standard uniform of a sweatshirt, mom jeans and keds was complimented nicely by my unbrushed hair and quiet desperation. And this was before I discovered wine. Don’t get me wrong. It was awesome. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But damn I was tired. Day after day of unexplained messes, lost shoes, overflowing sinks, fights, naked boys in the yard, and broken things. To many broken things to mention. Lets all have a moment of silence for all those innocent things that died premature and needless deaths at the hands of my three little terrors… RIP vase that belonged to my Grandmother for like 100 years, baseball shaped ceiling fan (why wouldn’t you hit that with a bat…geez), TV remotes, guitars, toys, the washing machine… There are to many victims to mention. Sniff sniff.

I can remember thinking it would be easier to take three small goats to the grocery store than those boys. And I would probably receive fewer stares. Sigh. Every evening my X came home and glanced around with his condescending ‘what the hell do you do around here all day’ look while he poured himself another drink. I would reply with my obligatory sigh of frustration. At the time I thought I was enduring the most trying time in parenting. If I could make it through that I could make it through anything.

But I was naive. So naive… I now have a 13 year old girl. The shit just got real. And I wasn’t prepared…

Let me back this up a little. I’m a girl. Obviously. I was once 13. I work with teenagers. I come from a family of girls. Most of my friends are girls! I’m no stranger to drama. I’m familiar with hormones. In fact-my sisters tended to lean a bit towards the dramatic. Which irritated the shit out of me. So I purposely leaned away from any drama. I was better with silence and the occasional eye roll. Which irritated the shit out of them. Mission accomplished. No crying necessary. So I imagine they are enjoying immensely the situation I currently find myself in at home. With my daughter…

My daughter has embraced her teenage years with a vengeance. Each day is a roller coaster of tears, stomping, napping, and eye rolls. I irritate her like crazy-but she loves me fiercely-at the same time. She wants to be with me. Always… So that I can share in her emotional roller coaster. Did I mention I hate roller coasters? And tears. I’m not that great with tears. And not all tears are bad fyi. We have happy tears as well. Frustrated tears. Laughing tears. Mad tears. Sad tears. Super sad tears. Hungry tears. ‘That’s the cutest picture of a puppy wearing a sweater I have ever seen’ tears. There are many many kinds of tears. Which can be very confusing to say…your 17 & 19 years old brothers. Or also your mom…

Recently the kids were supposed to be leaving to go to their fathers. My daughter wasn’t having it. She didn’t want to go. No specific reason. She just wanted to stay home. In her bed… With her pets… With her mom… As the time to leave approached she collapsed (yes- collapsed…) onto the floor outside my bedroom door. Tears were in full force. She was limp with emotion.  And I did the worst possible thing that I could have done… I laughed.

I was dead in the water. The wailing was in full force now. It was impressive. And now she was pissed. Because…I laughed. I don’t take her seriously. I hurt her feelings. I’m so mean!

Son #2 arrived on scene. “What is happening?”he asks. “I don’t understand.”

“Back away quietly,”I whisper. “Don’t make direct eye contact. And for godsakes…DON’T LAUGH.”

Those are the kinds of things I find myself saying now on a regular basis. “Don’t make eye contact with her.” “If you talk to your sister at all in the next 30 minutes-I will kill you.” “Do you think she has low blood sugar?””Did something happen while I was gone?””Did she hit her head on something?” “Why did you ask her to scoot over on the couch-are you crazy!? Have you lost your mind?! Stand!”

So we are currently being held hostage at my house by the most beautiful, kind, loving, funny, and sincere emotional tyrant in history. My daughter. She’s a teenage girl. The scariest of all creatures… But I love her with all my heart. She exhausts me. She makes me dream of day drinking but also cry with pride all in the same day. Maybe she’s rubbing off on me.

And I bet the X and the homewrecker are really enjoying this too…👠

 

 

Again…

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Do you believe in second chances in relationships? I assume most people would say yes. I think I would say yes! About most things that have to do with a relationship… Everyone can make mistakes. I know I have made plenty. Everyone can get off track. Shit happens. Right?

But I find something absolutely fascinating. It’s something I have never given much thought about until recently. I mean I’d heard of these so-called ‘boomerang’ couples. But I never actually knew anyone who had done it. Until I was talking to a good friend at work that had. And I can’t lie, it surprised the shit out of me. She and her husband got divorced…and then they got remarried. He had another wife in between! She had other interests. But somehow in-spite of everything horrible that goes with a break-up. With a divorce. They found happiness with each other. Again.

Can you believe that? It seems crazy…doesn’t it? They had an ‘I do re-do!’ And this wasn’t just some random person I was hearing about. This was my friend. A smart, caring, funny, beautiful and loving woman. She’s a wonderful mother. She is someone who has her life together. Someone I admire as a professional-and as a friend. Someone who any man would be lucky to call his wife. And one man got to call her his wife…twice.

It makes me think back to one of my all time favorite love stories. The story of Carrie and Mr. Big. Yes, I’m talking about Sex and the City. The movie. No judgement people. Big left Carrie at the alter…and they still found their happy ending. Eventually. Through the hurt and pain and the time apart they found themselves and then found each other. With a new perspective.

Or how about one of my other all time favorite love stories. Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy. Pride and Prejudice. The movie of course… (The good one with Kierra Knightley.) They had to go through a whole lot of drama to find their happy ending. Elizabeth swore to hate Darcy-forever. But I guess what they say is true. There is a thin line between love and hate. They found their happily ever after. Eventually. And it was so romantic… Sigh.

Every romance novel I have ever read has that one part in the middle. Where the loving couple almost loses everything. Through misunderstandings, miscommunitcations, mistakes, and all the other ‘mis’ words you can think of. But if you can just keep reading until the end they will find their happily ever after. No one quits. The hero rally’s and declairs his undying love. He’s no coward!  He throws his pride out the window and wins his woman back. He shows up on his white horse and saves the day. And that’s the whole reason you are reading the damn book!

So is it really about second chances? Or is it about rediscovering that the love was always there. And then redefining it. Maybe with time and healing my friend and her husband were able to put aside their anger and pain and figure out what really mattered to them. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side…is it? Sometimes when you get across the street and look back you realize that your yard really doesn’t look that bad. You can’t even see the weeds from this angle…

Life is funny. Love is complicated. People change. Whatever works I guess. My friend found happiness…she just took the long route. Good for her. She taught me that coming out on the other side looks different for everyone.

And I’m teaching her about shoes…👠

 

 

ps…I think her X must be way nicer than mine. Actually…I’m positive he is. My X is an asshole.

 

 

I don’t do favorites…do I?

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“What’s your favorite color?” asks my daughter. I am going to revamp my bedroom as a summer project. I need a fresh look. And I’m thinking I need to erase some lingering memories.  My daughter is excited to help me pick out new bedding, furniture, and of course paint colors. So at least that makes one of us…

“I don’t do favorites…”I reply. It’s my standard answer. But this time it doesn’t feel right…

“Why not? Everyone has favorite’s mom!” she points out.

“I don’t.” I maintained. But maybe I should start…

But I don’t ‘do’ favorites. Right? I gave those up. I haven’t done favorites since I was a kid. And I’m always amazed about how often this subject comes up. People want to know what your favorites are.  I guess it tells something about you as a person. It’s a get to know you strategy for many. When people ask me these favorite questions they seemed shocked that I don’t have an answer! It’s such an easy question right???

“What’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite song? What’s your favorite…” The list goes on and on.

So if your favorites tell something about you as a person… What do my lack of favorites say about me? Does it say that I am noncommittal? Indecisive? Boring? What? I’m not sure. I don’t think I am any of those things. But I’ve been wrong before.

I personally think that favorites change. Pretty often. I think they are based on your mood, the weather, the people around you, and your age. And none of those things stay the same. Change is the most consistent thing about being a person. (So for all those people out there who say they can’t change– I again call bullshit…)I obviously don’t like the same TV shows now that I did when I was 11. My favorite go to snack is no longer a Twinkie. I’ve changed!

Then you become a mom. And that changes everything again. When your kids are little they are all about the questions. They especially love the ‘favorite’s’ questions. Kids are never shy about letting you know what they like best! And they desperately want to know what your favorites are. But if you slip up and go down that road with your little darlings… you quickly find yourself facing the “who’s your favorite child” question. It was a trap! You now have to come up with the creative “You’re my favorite 7 year old!” “You’re my favorite daughter!” “You’re my favorite boy with a name that starts with a W.” You have to think on your feet when you are a mom. One slip up and you’re going to pay…

But that isn’t the only reason I decided to boycott favorites. I think I just only realized recently that it goes deeper than that. As an adult I never really believed that my ‘favorite’ mattered. I mean who cares if my favorite color is green. The X likes yellow so that’s the color we were painting the kitchen. It’s not even going to be up for discussion. Who cares what my favorite radio station is. When the X is in the car we are going to listen to the game. And my favorite restaurant…really seems irrelevant. I’m just a stay at home mom with no income of my own. The X is paying. We are eating where he wants. And my favorite thing to do is spend time with you. To bad. He’s busy. So I lost my voice. And my favorites. I conditioned myself not to care. It was just easier that way. I told myself what mattered most was that the people around me were happy. Let someone else pick…  Not calling out my favorite seemed like a good way to avoid disappointment.

But I think I’ve been wrong. I think I need to find my favorites. Maybe it’s an important part of the process of me figuring out who I am and what I need. If I don’t tell anyone my favorite won’t I always be disappointed?  I should embrace my likes with the same enthusiasm as the adorable 7 year old girl I once was. Life was easier then anyway. And definitely more fun.

So here it goes. Some of my favorites. Today anyway…

Favorite color: Green

Favorite food: Bolognaise

Favorite song:  Love Yourself

Favorite animal: Turtle

Favorite vacation spot: The beach

Favorite season: Fall

Favorite movie: Pride and Prejudice

Favorite flower: Pink roses

Favorite thing to do: Spend time with people I love…

 

Just don’t ask me my favorite shoes. There are too many I haven’t even met yet…👠

 

 

Game over…

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It’s funny how I can’t even exactly pinpoint where things went wrong in my marriage. Why is that? Is it normal? I mean you are going along okay. It’s just regular life. A typical marriage with three kids. Then…it isn’t. It’s done. And somehow, like a dumb-ass, I’m surprised. I knew things weren’t perfect. I was well aware of that. But I honestly  never thought things were ‘divorce worthy.’ Even when I found out about the affair…I (naively) thought it could be worked out. Maybe because I never expected things to be perfect. I was always too realistic for that. I did however believe in unconditional love. At least I used too…

I believed that marriage kind of went in phases. Some good. Some bad. Some hard. Some easy. But if you just stuck it out someday you would find yourself sitting on the front porch together watching your grandchildren play in the yard. On the swing that your own children used to play on. No one lives a life where they are ‘happy’ every moment. But you get through it. That’s reality. That’s life.

In my mind our marriage wasn’t that bad. Call me crazy! I guess I really was wearing rose colored glasses. Or had low expectations for myself. I remember all the snapshots that make up the memories of my marriage. The milestones. Our engagement. The Wedding. The Pregnancies. Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, the first day of kindergarten (x3), vacations, camping… And all the mundane things. Sick kids. Bath time. Family dinners. Cook outs. Watching Wheel of Fortune every night while I made dinner. I have a box full of photos that prove what a happy family we were! And I guess that was my biggest mistake…

I missed the clues that clearly stated ‘wake up lady-this isn’t going well.’But in all fairness-those clues kind of snuck up on me. They were small at first. Hardly even noticeable. The X spent more and more time away from home. But I never questioned it. I was lucky enough to be a stay-at-home mom…how could I complain? And I don’t think it was always another woman that had his attention. The truth is he just didn’t want to spend that much time at home. With me. With the kids. It wasn’t his comfort zone. His hours ‘at work’ were extensive. 70-80 hours a week. He went to the office every single day of the year- except for the major holidays. He just wasn’t around. We were never partners. We were never friends. He didn’t need me as a companion. He just needed me to be the mother of his kids. A housekeeper and a babysitter. And as a result…I was a very lonely wife. A very lonely woman.

I remember one night laying in bed with the X watching TV. As the mom of 3 small kids I craved adult conversation. Adult companionship.  I remember talking away about my day. The news. What we we had for dinner. Just talking. Trying hard to get his attention. In retrospect I don’t think he ever really realized how much I just wanted his attention. His affection…

“Don’t you have a friend to talk to about this?”interrupted my X matter-of-factly. He wasn’t even trying to be an ass. He just didn’t want to talk to me. His day was over. He wanted to watch TV. But I remember that interaction clearly. I can still see the pajamas (light blue) I was wearing and picture the clean white sheets on the bed. His statement kind of stunned me. It hurt me.  I knew then that I wasn’t his friend. And I felt the loneliness acutely.

Was that the beginning of the end? I’m not sure. I don’t know when the ‘end’ started. I know it was way before that night… Maybe it was just doomed from the start. It’s a mystery. I know the distance and lack of intimacy only increased over time. The void was filled with resentment and ‘unhappiness’ on both our parts. I wanted a husband who was a best friend. The X didn’t. I wanted unconditional love. The X didn’t speak that language…

But regardless of when or why or who or what…it did end. In a explosion of infidelity and anger. BOOM. It was over. Finished. No more. Game Over.

Surprise…you’re Divorced.👠

 

 

 

 

They’re NOT ready…

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I had a complete mom meltdown yesterday. A tantrum. It was impressive if I don’t say so myself. We all know that being a mom is hard. But I’m handling it. How about a working mom? Ok…maybe a little harder-but I’ve still got this. How about a single working mom? Sigh. It’s ok. I’m fine. Really. I’ll be ready!

But guess who isn’t ready? Ever. No matter what. Let me tell you who. My kids. My three teenage children. They are never ready. The idea of being ready apparently never even crosses their little tiny teenage minds. And it’s making me lose my mind! I am now convinced they don’t know what the word ‘ready‘ even means. And I’m going to absolutely 100% blame them for my meltdown yesterday.

The little darlings were at the X’s over the weekend. But for the record that does not exempt me from my mothering duties. So for the people who say dumb things like…’at least you have the weekend off’…that’s not how this works! In fact- it usually puts me on high alert status. I’m mothering from a satellite location. Text messages, phone call’s and the occasional email. Checking the calendar for activities.  Reminding them of this and that. Talking them through problems. Worrying about stuff I have no control over. Regular mom stuff. From afar.

Sunday night I specifically say to each of my brilliant offspring. “Get to bed early and make sure you have everything ready for tomorrow!”

“We will mom!”they reply. Their halo’s are shining. They are angels. So considerate. So prepared. But I knew better… Sigh.

Fast forward to Monday morning at 8:15 to me standing in the middle of a crowded school parking lot next to son #2’s car. With his car alarm going off. And I have no way of silencing it. Loudly. Incessantly. Honk honk honk honk. It’s screaming ‘look at this dumb-ass mom!’ as loud as it can. ‘She’s late for work!’ it continues. ‘She’s a bad mother!’ ‘Her kids aren’t ready!’ Honk honk honk honk.

This little scenario started at about 7:40 that morning. I am getting ready for work. Since the kids are at the X’s you would think it would be a smooth morning. But I know better. So when the phone rings I’m not surprised. It’s my daughter.

“MOM! All my stuff is in #2’s car. And he left early for a golf meet. And no one told me. I need my stuff. MOM! Can you get the spare key and get my stuff. Please. Mom. Help. And #1 is supposed to take me to school and he is still in bed. And we are going to be late. He won’t get up!! Mom. Mom. Mom…..”

Insert very large sigh here. SIGH. “Where is your dad?” I can’t help myself from asking.

“He’s not here!!! He left early for work!”she is in full on teenage girl freak out mode.

“Tell #1 I said to get out of bed immediately and meet me at your brother’s car. I will get your things.” Because I’m the mom and that’s what I do.

I haul ass and get the spare key and head to the school parking lot. Conveniently located between two schools in the middle of morning drop offs. I foolishly think I will just dart in grab said stuff and hand it over to my waiting daughter. Emphasis on foolishly. Instead I make a fool of myself. I get to the car and my daughter is no where in sight. I have a key to unlock the door to get the binder that has been left carelessly in the back of the vehicle all weekend. (I mean if you don’t even need it why the hell do you bring it home!!!) But as soon as I open the door the alarm goes off. Fuck! And it won’t let me unlock any of the other doors. So I am forced to crawl over the seats, all the way to the very back of the vehicle, to dig out the binder, back pack and lunch box in dress pants and heels. And then I retrace my steps. And did I mention the car alarm?! It is probably scaring little children at the near by school at this point. And sarcastic teenagers honk as they go by just for fun!

So this is where my meltdown comes in. My tantrum. As I stand in shame next to the screaming car I begin an epic text rant to my children. “What the hell is wrong with you guys??! I am so mad at you all! Why can’t you get yourselves ready!! You aren’t babies!! Get organized! Solve your own problems! Come on!!!!” I spend endless time trying to find track uniforms, golf hats, binders, and parent permission forms that are due RIGHT NOW. Dragging teenagers out of bed. Running home on my break to get someones lunch. Looking for one of the 8 million tubes of Chapstick I already bought for you. (But now I can’t find-so lets just go ahead and make it 8 million and one!) Making last-minute runs to Walmart for science projects… It’s endless! It’s exhausting! And it’s me. My life. My mom life.

I was telling this story to some of my friends at work this morning. “At least they call you…”they said. And they are right. I am glad that they do. Really. I love being their mom. They are my pride and joy. I’m glad they know I am here for them…no matter what.

But sometimes. Just sometimes…I need the little dumb-asses to get their shit together.

 

 

 

Divorced is divorced…

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Are you divorced? Because divorced is divorced. Right? I mean you found out about the affair, went through the break up, you showed up at the court house…it’s done. Over. Finished. But I’ve noticed something. Somedays I feel more divorced than others. Certain situations increase my divorced status from regular to extremely pathetic.

Let’s start with the #1 worst offender… The holidays. Specifically Thanksgiving through Easter. Christmas of course being the Ultimate of all holidays. And I’m not discounting Valentine’s Day. That was one of the first pieces of advice my BDF gave me.

“Listen…all holidays will suck. Just accept it. Avoid sappy commercials and set your expectations low,” she informed me.

“Ok…” I nod. Sniff sniff…muffled sob.

Holidays are forever changed. Especially as a parent. Think about it… What’s the best part of any holiday when you become a mom?! Experiencing it with your children. Seeing the joy on their faces. Creating traditions. Playing Santa. Being with extended families. Divorce fucks it all up. Now with that all encompassing parent plan looming…holidays are a year by year proposition. Everything hinges on the calendar. Not only for you and your kids- but for all of your family and friends. Your family is just as irritated as you that they have to worry about whether this is an even or odd year before making any plans. Is this the 1st or 3rd weekend? What bullshit. (And now that my kids are older I can tell you with 100% certainty that holidays accentuate their divorce status as well. And they aren’t happy about it. In fact- they are pissed.)

#2 on the list….illness or injury. Specifically-yours. I remember one of my first experiences with this one vividly. I had just moved into the new house after the divorce and the kids were at the X’s for the weekend. I couldn’t sleep and was going downstairs to switch a load of laundry over. And somehow…I tripped and fell down the stairs. It was an impressive fall. If it was a scene on a soap opera I would definitely have died. I mean…I fell all the way down the stairs. And did I mention there is a landing in between the top and bottom? But I kept on going. It hurt. It scared me. And as I laid at the bottom of the stairs catching my breath I had never felt more alone. If I had broke my neck no one would have known. I stayed there and cried for a long time. I had several bumps and bruises-but no one to show them to. I was divorced.

#3 Car trouble. This one is a bit embarrassing… But for me there is nothing like car trouble to make me feel single. I mean I know what to do. I am an adult. But adulting is hard. Especially by yourself. It pisses me off. In my marriage cars were the X’s department. So when I find myself sitting on the side of the road with a flat tire, or trying to decipher what the light on my dash means…I get mad all over again. My X didn’t hold up his end of the bargain! He’s helping the home wrecker with her car troubles…

My BDF had car trouble recently. And I could hear some very familiar emotions in her voice.

“Come get me. My car died.” She was pissed. Worried. And divorced.

“I’m on my way.” And I went immediately. Because I’m divorced too.

Mailing Christmas cards (or not), filing taxes, dealing with door to door salesmen, checking the basement for suspicious noises…they can make you feel alone. Because you know what? You’re divorced. And being divorced sucks. But remember your not necessarily alone. I’m right there with you. We are both wearing the same shoes.

And shoe shopping is something I always did alone anyway. I hope yours are as cute as mine…👠

Screw forgiveness…

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I have had countless people over the years tell me the importance of forgiveness.  As if the answer to making the pain of my divorce go away lies only with me. (Like Dorothy and her damn ruby slippers-you always had the power within…)  ‘The key to inner peace is forgiveness’ they say. ‘You can’t move forward without forgiveness.’ ‘Forgiveness is for you- not for them!’ Forgive…Forgive…Forgive. There are thousands of articles; inspirational quotes…even religions trying to convince me of this. My BDF is always suggesting it to me.

But I call bullshit. I don’t want to forgive my X. And I’m not going to. Why should I? So there!  What are you going to do to me now?? Is lightening going to strike?  Am I tempting fate? Angering the universe? Attracting negative experiences with my blatant refusal to forgive? Maybe… But I doubt it.  I think I will take my chances. Screw forgiveness.

You see- I think this constant pressure to forgive is just making people who have had something bad done to them feel worse. Not only have you had some kind of shitty life experience that apparently wasn’t your fault- but you better get over it quick. You need to forgive!! It’s your duty. Your responsibility.  What a bunch of crap! I don’t need that! I don’t believe everyone deserves forgiveness. In my opinion there are three minimum requirements for forgiveness…

1) The most obvious one is-drum roll please… The person has to be truly sorry for their actions. Like seriously down to the bottom of their soul- deeply sorry. So sorry that they never ever do it again. To anyone. “I’m sorry I had an affair it was a terrible thing to do. BTW I want a divorce and I’m marrying her…” “I’m sorry I treated you terribly the last few years. But you were coming between me and my mistress…” Uh…excuse me? That is not going to cut it. That is not an apology. Nope.  Move along. No forgiveness here.

2) Their behavior must change. No apologizing and getting up the next day and doing it all over again. Like Groundhog’s Day.  If they wake up the next day still an asshole…I’m not buying the snake oil apology that they are selling. Because it’s not real. It’s fake. It’s for them…not for me. It’s the ultimate scam in human behavior.

3) They must have no excuses. They accept total responsibility for their actions. No bullshit “I’m sorry- but I was so unhappy. You didn’t give me what I wanted. You were such a disappointment.” That’s not an apology. That’s an excuse. And not just any excuse-an excuse that makes this all my fault!  I absolutely hate the apology with a ‘but’ in it. Save your breath please. I don’t want to hear it. I have enough going on without your passive aggressive apology.

So what’s a girl who won’t forgive to do? Shall I just wither and die with my bitter withholding of ‘forgiveness…’ (Picture me here wringing my hands with a sad face…) Will the pain never be gone?  I don’t think so! I am still moving forward with my life. I still have happiness, joy, and laughter.  I am creating new memories to replace the old.  I cope. I drink wine and wear cute shoes.  But one thing I don’t do…is forgive my X. Or the home wrecker.

They don’t deserve it. Screw them. And screw forgiveness…