Tag: children

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…👠

 

 

This picture is a lie…

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I received a text about something that I have been ‘putting off’ from one of my mom friends last night. Not really purposely putting off. There was no ‘screw that’ I’m not going to do it. I have had the best intentions! I promise!  I just haven’t been able to focus on it yet. I haven’t been able to pull my big girl panties up high enough I guess.  There has been a lot going on lately and I hate to say it…but I have been a bit overwhelmed. My oldest son is graduating from High School. It is an exciting and emotional time. I still remember my High School graduation like it was yesterday-so it seems a bit surprising that I am old enough to have a son graduating now. But all it takes is a quick look in the mirror to bring me back to the all too real reality. I’m definitely old enough.

“We need your pictures. The ones for the kids video,” she texted. We are having a graduation party next weekend with a group of his friends, and part of the plan is to have a slideshow with pictures of each of the graduates. I know my son will love it. All I have to do is come up with 20 photos for our part.

“When?” I text back with a sigh. Wondering how long I have…

“Yesterday.”

“Great!” I reply. Shit. Perfect. Of course.

So it should be easy right? Come on now. Get some pictures together! Call it done. But it’s not that easy. Not for me. Not even close. I have a hard time with pictures. I haven’t even unpacked them from their box since the divorce. They are hidden away deep in the back of a closet in the basement. I never had the nerve to tackle them since the move. Digging through boxes of photos, notes, and mementos of my married life has never sounded very appealing. In fact, it seems painful. And pain is something I tend to avoid.

Family pictures are a wonderful thing. They are snapshots of your life together. Usually the best times of your life! They show birthdays, holidays, milestones, and special occasions. When your child learns to ride their bike you grab your camera. It’s the first day of kindergarten, let’s take a picture! They tell a story of a beautiful, happy, and fun life!  But apparently that isn’t the life we were really living…

There are no pictures of the fights. There are no photos of the resentment and hurt feelings. Nowhere in those pictures does it show how much time my X spent away from home. There is no evidence of a house that wasn’t kept clean enough. No one grabbed a camera the night I found out about the affair, or the day that he left. Those things are only recorded in my memories. And those memories aren’t as easy to pack away as the box of pictures.

For me it’s hard to separate the pictures from my memories. Each picture brings with it a flood of emotions.  When I run across any old photos I tend to search them carefully. Trying to find clues for what was to come. I often have said that when my world came crashing down it felt like the life I had been building was a lie. The foundation was made of sand. A picture popped up recently on Facebook of our family several years ago. It was a nice picture. My X and I were smiling and standing in my sister’s kitchen. And my first thought was that in this picture he has a girlfriend. A girlfriend that he eventually will leave us for. This picture is a lie. And that hurts.

Thankfully for them I think my kids see it differently. They like the photos. They find comfort remembering their childhood. They like to reminisce about when we were all together. My daughter loves to hear stories about our Wedding, the day she was born and about what her brothers were like when they were small. It’s all part of her story! And her brothers feel the same way. I think it’s every child’s secret wish that their divorced parents will someday reunite…so they like looking at the good times. They don’t remember the struggles between the X and me. They were little kids!

So tonight I will pull up my big girl panties, wear my high heels and dig through those damn boxes. I won’t like it. I will hate it. And I may even cry.

But I love my Son. And he does look pretty cute in those pictures…

 

 

Till death do us part…

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When you are married with children things are as they should be. All is right with the world. You’re an adorable family! Just like you imagined when you walked down the aisle. Divorced WITH children…whole different ballgame. Fasten your seat-belt and enjoy the ride. It’s going to be a long one. I mean you’re divorced. Your marriage failed. You obviously don’t like each other. He thinks you are a bad housekeeper. You know he is a cheater. He’s seen you naked and seemingly wasn’t too impressed. He knows that your car is always dirty and that you can’t sew. You know that he’s cheap and a skilled liar. He doesn’t like cats. And you weren’t too impressed with seeing him naked either… The whole thing was a mistake and it’s time to move on. See ya later asshole. We’re done. Finished. The End.

Wait a minute… What? We’re not done are we. We hate each others guts and I wish you Ebola-but I am going to get to see you twice a week in my driveway picking up kids and dropping off laundry?! I get to continue to talk to you about health insurance and grade cards and holiday schedules and homework? We will continue to fight about money and car insurance and cell phone bills? This is wonderful! Why isn’t everyone getting divorced?  I get to see your smiling face at all the kids’ special events- and you’re bringing the Homewrecker?  This is great! Let me drink a glass (or 3) of Moscato now to celebrate.  Oh wait- now I get to drop off forgotten shoes at your spectacular new home with an in ground pool? (BTW- I wonder if the Homewrecker can swim? I always heard witches melt if they get wet. Just saying.  I’m melting…I’m melting… Sorry. I couldn’t resist.)

This is fucking fantastic!

What a spectacular bonus this is. The list of awkward and infuriating reasons you still have to deal with your X is infinite. You have kids together. And you always will. You are divorced WITH children. And that’s no ordinary breakup. It’s one of those gifts that keep on giving. We are co-parents. That’s still our job. Our duty. Even though we are divorced. We have to make it work. Somehow.  We will see each other at every single event of significance that involves our children. EVER. Band concerts, football games, awards banquets, Proms, graduations, college visits… Imagine yourself in the future at your children’s Weddings. With your X.  Meeting your precious grandchildren. With your X. Everything. With your X.

And guess what else? No really…guess!  Your kids. Those people you love more than anyone else in the entire universe. The ones you and your X brought into this world together.  They get to feel awkward and infuriated too! For life! They are well aware of how you and your X feel about each other. No matter how well you try to hide it. Or not. They know. They’ve lived your story right along with you. They recognize your fake smiles and frozen expressions. They see the pain and anger.  They feel the pain and anger. So no matter how you try to protect them- they are in for the ride as well. Fun, huh?

So… the divorce WITH children. Not for the faint at heart. You and your X are linked together forever. Just like those wedding vows said. Ironic, huh?  I guess it is until death do us part. One way or another.

 

What do you mean you don’t like cats?

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I have a new requirement for men in my life. If you don’t like cats-I don’t like you.

So let me set the stage. When I was growing up we had all kinds of animals. My mom loved them. And she passed that love on to me. We had horses, dogs, the occasional hamster, birds, and a fish tank I adored. And of course…cats. We had a barn that was like a beacon of hospitality for all the stray cats around.  I loved those cats. My family laughing predicted I would grow up to be a crazy cat lady. And that seemed like a great idea to me. I was on board! There was nothing more soothing to me than crawling up onto a bale of hay with a warm and furry friend on my lap. It was my happy place.

Fast-forward a few years. I’m married.  My X hates cats. He’s ‘allergic’. (Total bullshit btw. He once had allergy testing done that showed he was more allergic to dogs than cats. He was more allergic to beer than cats. He conveniently had no problems with dogs…or beer.) But I was totally okay with this at the time. Not everyone likes cats I tell myself. The cat I had during college had died unexpectedly from a lung infection. She would not be replaced. It’s for the best I tell myself. Less stress. I’m super busy trying to be the perfect wife and mother anyway. Sigh.

As you can imagine- I see it differently now. What do you mean you don’t like cats? What have cats ever done to you? And by the way…don’t you like me? Couldn’t you possibly love me more than you dislike cats? How is it possible to just decide you hate every single cat in the world?  Just because it’s a cat. Isn’t that racism?? Speciesism?? It wasn’t really about the cat. It was obviously about his needs being more important than mine. His desire to be in control. His belief that his opinion was the only opinion that mattered. He declared that he hated cats. So we should all respect his dislike. End of story.

Over the years cats occasionally showed up at our house. My X wasn’t prepared to deal with my children’s love for all animals. They loved cats! Just like me. That was a harder battle for him to fight-without feeling like the bad guy.  I remember when the kids where older-just about a year before my husband left- a cat showed up on our back deck in March. She was tiny, filthy, and obviously pregnant. She was desperate. I was instantly in love. My X rolled his eyes. I fixed a place for her in the small garage where we stored the tools. I set up a bed and brought down a heater. The kids and I spent hours down in that freezing cold garage holding that cat. We named her Stella. She had her kittens. My middle son begged to keep one for his upcoming birthday present. The X relented. We could keep the cat if it stayed outside. We found homes for the rest. But it really bothered the X’s allergies… He made me miserable about that cat. About every cat that had crossed my path during my marriage…

But an interesting sidebar to this story happened recently. My middle son was complaining bitterly about the homewreckers cats at his dad’s house. I was baffled. (You wouldn’t be wrong in assuming that I have a houseful of pets at this point..which includes cats.)

‘Why are you so upset?’ I asked him with confusion. ‘We have cats… You like cats!’

‘Because I remember mom…’ he said quietly. ‘I remember how it was at the old house. How he didn’t want you to have cats. Because of his allergies. It was all bullshit.’

‘You’re right.’ I agreed. ‘It was bullshit.’

Maybe the X didn’t hate cats. Maybe he just hated me. Maybe he loves her enough… Or maybe he has mellowed over time. I don’t really care.  The X left me. The cat didn’t. You can guess which one I like more. Meow.

She smells rich…

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“Remember when we were in St Louis and went out to dinner and we walked by that woman on the street with her husband..and you said she smells rich..”asked my BDF (bestdivorcedfriend)…

Me “Ya..”

My BDF “I wanna be like that..”

Me “Ya..me too”

We sigh in unison. “Sigh..”

I guess it’s pretty common. This need to be something else..something better. To have more. I always felt that my X found me lacking. Or was it just that I found myself lacking? Actually I’m pretty sure he did find me lacking. Obviously. But I believed him. And I always wanted to be one of those women. The ones that had it all together. The ones he respected. That would make him happy..

In my mind I think of them as rich. These are women who smell like expensive perfume. Everyday. They aren’t saving it for special occasions. They wear white-and they don’t spill anything on it. They have perfectly straightened hair. They have manicured nails and designer purses. They leave lipstick marks on their wine glasses. They are thin. Their houses are perfect and they have fresh flowers on the dining room table. Their children are wearing matching outfits and taking violin lessons. They pick them up from school wearing pastel sweater sets and pearl earrings. They are painstakingly polite.

I’m not that woman. In fact.. I might be the exact opposite of that person. I AM the exact opposite of that person. I mean I can pull off one or two things on that list at a time.. If I work at it. But not for long. And not consistently.

I’m more of a curly hair and lipstick on my teeth woman. My house is only clean when I’m expecting company. I wear baby lotion instead of perfume on a daily basis. (What can I say I like the way it smells.) I usually wear black and still manage to stain it. No one at my house plays the Violin. I say Fuck a lot.

When I look at ‘those’ women I am just as in awe as my X always was. How are they doing it? I mean seriously..how the hell do they do it?! I guess that’s why I think of them all as rich. Because they must have plenty of money to pay the maid and hairdresser and dry cleaners. And if they say they don’t have help- I’m calling bullshit.

So why are we..why am I..so enamored with that woman. Who seems to have it all together. I mean really- she is ruining it for the rest of us. Like Martha Stewart and Pinterest. They trick us into thinking it’s easy to be that perfect. And it’s not! It’s not..

So now I’m divorced. Able to be myself..and not have to apologize for it. And I still secretly admire these women?! Has it been so ingrained in me by my X..by my X’s family. By society. That I still want it? Even when I know it’s complete bullshit!

You see. Perfect doesn’t exist. And when you are in a relationship with someone who finds the appearances more important than anything else..you are doomed. Trying to fit into the perfect picture was exhausting. And impossible.

So I don’t smell rich. And I guess I will have to live with that..

Does anyone know what divorced smells like?