Tag: kids

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…👠

 

 

 

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…👠

 

 

I didn’t meet their expectations…

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I was having a conversation with a new friend recently. Not face to face of course. It is 2016. But we were having a conversation no less… Through Facebook Messenger. The most non-threatening way to contact someone new. Especially for the over 40 crowd.

“You seem very well grounded and to be honest I didn’t expect that.” He wrote. “It is nice getting to know you.”

I have to be honest too. It’s not the first time I have heard this. I’m sure it won’t be the last. And I never know for sure how I should take it. How should one respond to such statements? What exactly does he mean anyway? Am I nicer? Smarter? Less bitchy? Taller? Am I better at inserting the best emoticon in ‘just’ the perfect place than the average girl? What is it?! Time after time people have told me that I am friendlier than they thought. How surprised they are by my sense of humor. That they are impressed at how hard  I work. I’m more ‘down to earth’ than they expected. But for whatever reason- I didn’t meet their expectations…

“That seems to be the number one thing people say about me.” I respond with a lol. “That I’m not what they expected…” It’s better to laugh than cry.

My whole life has been about meeting peoples ‘expectations.’ Just like everyone else I guess. And for someone like me who started life as a natural people ‘pleaser’…trying to meet others expectations can be rough. And right along with those expectations are the perceptions.

My family has money. Or at least that’s the perception. My X has money. And that’s the truth. So in the mind of many of the people I meet in my small town,  my co-workers, and even some of my friends… I’m one of those kind of women. And apparently,  people have low expectation of those kind of women. Sure, she’s a single working mother with three children-but she comes from ‘money’-so she has it made. At least that’s the perception. The expectation.

But my conversation goes on to get even better…

“I always perceived you as a frumpy pampered housewife. Mostly by hearsay…”He continues. (And I’m paraphrasing here.) “But the  look and attitude I have seen lately has been a pleasant surprise. My old perception of you has changed quite a bit…”

Wow. That was honest. And guess what? I’m not even mad about it. There is a truth to his statements. The only exception I would take is the ‘pampered’ part. Or maybe I should say- qualification. My X never pampered me. I wasn’t ever deserving of it in his eyes. But my family…that’s a different story. Since my divorce they have pampered my quite a bit.

As a woman I have changed a lot since my divorce. Thank God! Since I discover those first pair of heels and left behind that frumpy housewife I have done nothing but grow stronger. Work harder. Smile more. I have made it my mission to hold my head high and move forward with a purpose. I will never be able to shed completely peoples ‘ideas’ about who I am-or where I came from. But I have learned that by exceeding those ‘expectations’ on a day to day basis- I have become a more confident woman. A happier woman. I am twice the woman I even imagined I could be when I was twenty. Literally…

I am grateful for the freedom that my divorce has brought to me. And that is not a statement that I make lightly. It wasn’t something that I expected for myself. The relief that it would bring…  I am grateful that I am no longer married to someone who didn’t like me-let alone love me. I have found the opportunity to find myself. With the help of my family and friends (of course)…

So to my new friend. I am so glad that I am not what you expected. That I didn’t meet your expectations. I’m so fucking glad. I take great pride in it.

I am so much more than what you expect.👠

 

 

 

 

Love you…mean it.

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In my opinion the most important thing in the world is love. It brings joy and fulfillment to life. The minute we are born as tiny infants, we are searching for love. It’s the most precious gift that you can give or receive. And I take it pretty seriously.  I have this thing I say. It has been my ‘thing’ for as long as I can remember actually… “Love you mean it!” I say it to everyone that I love at one point or another.  You will find me texting it to my kids when I am thinking about them. I call it out to my family when we are saying goodbyes. I sign my friend’s birthday cards with it… Because…it’s my ‘thing.’ And it makes perfect sense to me.  But recently one of my family members asked me about it.

“Why do you say love you mean it?” he asked. “I mean if you tell someone that you love them isn’t it understood that you mean it?”

“Umm…not really.” I replied. “I know you remember my X…” My X was obviously didn’t love me. He didn’t know the meaning of the word love. At least not unconditional love. Which is my kind of love. His was the kind of love that he could give…and then take back. And he obviously isn’t alone. Some people are unable to recognize the value of love from another person. Maybe they are more focused on how much they love themselves? Maybe they never had a good example when they were growing up? Or maybe they are too cowardly to face the vulnerability that comes with loving someone more than they love themselves? Or perhaps…they are just assholes.

For me love is everything. It’s like sunshine and oxygen. I know that I need it. I know that I want it. I want to give it to others. Nothing brings me more happiness. Love is wonderful. It’s necessary. I have no delusions that it is optional. To say it is important would be an understatement!  And I’m talking about all kinds of love. The almost indescribable love between a parent and child. It is literally like nothing else! The precious love between family members. The enriching love you find between friends. And one of the most spectacular loves of all…romantic love. The peaceful feeling of finding your ‘person.’  So when people fail to see the value that love brings to their lives…I’m shocked. Throwing away love…any love… is like squishing a beautiful butterfly without a hint of remorse. Who would do that? That would be cruel!

But…not everyone agrees with me about love. And I’ve learned that the hard way. Some will choose to go their entire lives without experiencing true unconditional  love. It’s to hard for them! It requires to much truth. To much vulnerability.  So they are able to disregard the love of others and replace it instead with love of self.  They convince themselves that all they really need is ‘them.’  They are like an island. They stand alone. They are strong and independent! And someone better may come along anyway. They don’t need anyone…  Or at least that’s what they tell themselves. But I’m not convinced. To me it seems like a cavalier attitude. One that may catch up with them someday…

But for me…I won’t make that mistake. Even when my ability to ‘hang on to love’ seems like a detriment. It takes me a long time to give up on people. (Probably way to long…sigh.) But I don’t care. At least I won’t ever be a quiter. I want to make sure that those that I love know that I love them. And that I mean it. No matter what. And I will never take it back.

 

So feel free to quote me to the people that are important in your lives….

“Love you mean it.”   Divorce Shoes

 

 

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…👠

 

 

What do you mean I’m fired?

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I spent most of my adult life as a stay-at-home wife and mother. It was really my childhood dream. I’m serious!  I remember someone asking me once what I wanted to be when I grew up. My answer? Mom, of course.  And my dream came true. I had a lovely home, three beautiful children and a loving husband (or so I thought).  I’m not going to lie…it was a pretty great gig. To say I loved it would be an understatement.  Especially the ‘mom’ part. I was right there with my kids 24/7. 365 days a year. Like every stay-at-home mother my job was definitely ‘full time.’ More like ‘all the time.’ There are no sick days. No mental health days. No vacations. When they were little-I couldn’t even go to the bathroom alone. (Frankly now that they are teenagers I still can’t always go to the bathroom alone…)  No matter what you are ‘on duty.’  I had a ring side seat to their every waking (and sleeping) moment. I was there for all of the important milestones. I was their #1 fan! Beaming with pride.  For all of the normal, mundane, everyday moments that don’t seem like much at the time-I was still right beside them. (And just in case you are wondering…all those seemingly unimportant moments end up being the most important. That’s what makes the stay-at-home mom gig the best one around.) I couldn’t imagine things being any different.

I thought that wife and mom would be my lifelong career. Someday I would be promoted to Grandma! (For the record I think I will be a MeMe…)  But instead, it turned out to be the only job I have ever been fired from. The X wasn’t having it anymore. Or more specifically he wasn’t having me anymore. My days as stay-at-home mom were numbered.  So what was the end of my marriage also became the beginning of a new phase in life. ‘Single working mom.’ I put on my big girl divorce shoes and found myself a job. A career. I didn’t want to. I wanted to hold on to my old gig! Desperately. But…did I mention I was fired? That job was no longer an option. It was time to move on. And it was one of the scariest times of my life.

The thing about being a working mom is…you’re still on mom duty full-time. 24/7. Always. Forever. (Still no sick days!) But now you are going to go ahead in squeeze in another full time job. And if you throw in the ‘single’ part…it’s just another element of fun to add to the mix. You are working full time…with no built-in back up at home. Sounds easy, right? Everyone is doing it, right? Holy shit. It’s hard. Real hard. Real real hard. The first year after my divorce I went home from work everyday exhausted. My brain was on overload. I was mentally and physically drained. I was the quintessential single working mom…

But something else happened. Something unexpected. Some perks. Along with all the fear. And the exhaustion. The frozen pizza’s because I was too tired to cook. The piles of dirty clothes. The to do list that was never getting done… Along with all that stress I slowly found something new. Something I never got in my marriage! I found respect. And respect is something I didn’t receive much of during my run as a stay-at-home mom. For sure not from my X. Obviously. (But he wasn’t the only one.) At my job I found respect from the people I work with. From my friends and family. From my children. And most importantly…from myself. Respect, confidence, recognition, improved self-esteem. They all ended up being perks of my new working mom status. Who knew?

I remember one Friday night in particular during my marriage. We had been married about 10 years at the time. We had invited my sister and her family over for dinner. She was celebrating a milestone of sorts from her job. I can’t exactly remember what it was…some kind of service award. She had received a plaque! And her husband was so proud of her. My X was complimenting her. She was proud of herself. Rightfully so. And I remember thinking to myself ‘What about me? Where’s my plaque? My recognition?’ I think I even made the mistake of saying it out loud. They all laughed.  My ten years of service wasn’t respected. By my X. By anyone. I was just a stay-at-home mom.

So now I have been on both sides of the trenches. The ‘stay-at-home’ mom and the ‘working-mom.’ They are both hard. Super hard. They both deserve respect. Lot’s of respect. But believe me when I tell you…they both have their perks.

But just so you know…

In my current job…I’m definitely wearing better shoes.👠

 

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.

 

 

 

I have a question…

 

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I have a  couple questions for the Homewrecker. Some things I really want to know. They are pretty simple really…

Who do you think you are? What the hell were you thinking? Was it the excitement? The attention?  His money? What was it? Why? Seriously. I am 100% positive it wasn’t the sex. Or his looks. My bet is on the money…

You knew he was married. You were married! You knew he had children. So for the life of me I just don’t understand how you made it ok in your head. I can’t even fathom crossing that kind of boundary. It’s not ok. Ever. While you were engaged in your exciting illicit affair- he had kids at home asking where there daddy was. Pretty sexy, huh?

The first time I met the Homewrecker she was standing in my foyer. With her husband.  At our Christmas Party. We made small talk. Can you believe that shit? She was a woman my X worked with- and he wanted to invite her to our holiday ‘get together.’ And the Homewrecker happily accepted. Apparently thrilled!  She complimented our beautiful home. I vividly remember her commenting on our wedding photo’s hanging in the front hall. I remember it going something sort of like this…

“What a lovely home you have! So warm and inviting,” she gushed.

“Thank you. It’s a work in progress. But we enjoy it!”

“Oh…look at the pictures! How beautiful your dress was,” she said while admiring them with her husband. Her focus changed to the other pictures hanging in the front hall. “And these must be your children. How cute.”

“Thank you. You are so sweet!  Please come in and help yourself to something to drink. You can put your coat in the bedroom.” I was in full on hostess mode.

What balls this woman had! In my home. With her husband. I’m pretty sure she was already screwing mine. If not yet-she soon would be. It makes me furious to think about it. I opened my home to her. And she walked right in the front door with her head held high. No shame. How narcissistic can one person be? Isn’t there some kind of limit to the amount of selfishness one human being can have? Apparently not…

My X and the Homewrecker had, and continue to have, a relationship based on lies. I’m sure they don’t see it that way. But I do. Lie after lie.  Not only the lies that they told to others. Which are way too numerous to count. “I’m sorry. I will be late…I have to work.” “I have to leave by 5am tomorrow to meet with the drivers at work.” “I just need some space.” The lies they told to each other. Also very plentiful.  “No, I’m not sleeping with my husband anymore.” “My wife is so hard to get along with. She treats me terrible.”  But in my opinion- the most dangerous lies they told were to themselves. The ones they used to justify their hurtful behavior. “I’m so unhappy…I deserve this.” “She is such a disappointment…she will never be enough.” “I work so hard…I need some fun.” “I tried as hard as I could. I gave my all.” Those lies ended two marriages.

So again, I ask. Who do you think you are? I can tell you what I see if you want. You probably don’t care to much what I think. But I think I will tell you anyway. Just for fun. I see a narcissistic woman with no moral integrity. I see someone who hurt my children deeply with her actions. Someone that changed their world completely. (And not for the better-no matter what lie you tell yourself.)  You are selfish and self-serving. Dishonest and disloyal. You deserve a scarlet letter. Of course all of this is just my opinion.  And let me not forget to point out one more very important opinion…you wear ugly fucking shoes.👠

 

(And for the record- I have similar questions for my X-I know it takes two to tango. But I will leave those questions for another day. Today is all about you. Just like you like it…)

Hindsight’s 20/20, right?

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I recently attended a wedding with my BDF. Things were running a little behind. No one had cold feet they assured us- but they were running late. As we sat patiently in the pews waiting for the ceremony to begin- the woman in front of us turned around tried to make small talk.

“What’s the best memory you have of your wedding?” she asked innocently. She was sitting next her husband. Arm in arm. Obviously very happily married.

I of course wasn’t prepared for the question.  In fact it shocked me a little. “I try never to think about my wedding” was my honest reply. Maybe a little too honest. It was her turn to look a little shocked.

“I had a lovely wedding,” replied my BDF. Trying to smooth things over.

As the woman began to describe her wedding memories I wondered why I couldn’t answer that question with a positive response-like my BDF. In fact I have avoided all thoughts of my wedding. I have never unpacked any photo albums since I moved into my new house. My china is in storage boxes. I have no idea where my wedding dress ended up. And my ring is buried at the bottom of my jewelry box.

In all fairness my wedding was lovely. My dress was beautiful. My friends and family were supportive. The flowers were gorgeous. My cake was delicious. My shoes were spectacular! But I married the wrong man. I didn’t know that at the time. At the time I thought he was perfect. (Okay- maybe not perfect. But I thought he was the ‘one.’)  Now that I know he wasn’t…I can’t think of my wedding day with a nostalgic smile like the woman sitting in front of me. Instead- I feel sad. And mad. And a bit embarrassed- I should have known better.

What I wouldn’t give to tell 21 year old me a few things! There were definite clues that he wasn’t the one. In fact-in retrospect-it was pretty fucking obvious. I was just too young and naive to know better. So I made a mental list as a sat in that pew. Just a few things I wish I would have paid closer attention too. Maybe it would have made a difference!  You know what they say. Hind sight is 20/20, right?

#1 My X had been married before. This wasn’t his first rodeo. Definitely a big red flag!  He didn’t have too much to say about his first marriage. Just that the divorce wasn’t his fault of course. His first wife was bad with money and not very respectful of him. Ironic isn’t it that she and I apparently had that in common…

#2 The X had a kind of 1950’s fantasy about marriage. He would be in charge. I would not be. He would drink a jack and coke (or 3) every single night, smoke heavily, and retire to the living room after dinner while I did the dishes. Wednesday night was always ‘men’s night.’ A conveniently built in weekly play date with the guys…or your mistress.  (Again- the man must have been in love with Don Draper. Every time I watch Mad Men I imagine my X in raptures over it. I bet it’s like porn to him.)

#3 My Mother-in-Law. Never underestimate the power of a bad MIL. And mine was the worst. From day one she was difficult. The moment he proposed she was hard to please.  Honestly, she was the worst MIL in the history of MIL. I am not exaggerating!  She was controlling, jealous, moody, unkind, and judgmental.  The single best thing about my divorce is that I never have to deal with that woman again. Let the Homewrecker have her. Those bitches deserve each other.

#4 My X really couldn’t wrap himself around the sharing part. Specifically-sharing his money. He worked. I didn’t. Never mind that I was the full time mom to his three children. Never mind that he said that is what he wanted. Never mind that he made 6 figures. That wasn’t the point. I wasn’t pulling in a paycheck. And he didn’t like sharing his.

#5 He was a control freak. And control freak’s don’t play well with others. Even if they are married. My counselor after my divorce was one of the first people to successfully explain to me that he was a narcissist. (So control freak doesn’t even cut it…) And that is a personality trait that was always there…and always will be. Another gift for the home wrecker! Your welcome. (Or do two narcissists cancel each other out? Hmmm.)

You can’t go back. It’s not that easy. I always tell my children that every life experience is a learning experience. Hopefully someday I will be able to forgive myself for not making a better choice for a husband-and not look back to my wedding day with regret. I do have three pretty great parting gifts to show for it!

And btw…I do know where those wedding shoes are.👠

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tell her what she needs to hear…maybe.

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I have an old friend (old as in since High School friend…not as in elderly…even though we are over 40…) that is going through a tough time in her marriage. Tough time is really an understatement. It’s a shit show that I can’t even begin to understand. We haven’t been in touch much the last couple of years. But the bottom line is clear however-she and her husband don’t like each other. And their 2 kids are fully aware. If anyone every needed to get divorced it’s these two people. Yet- I know it’s not that easy.

She has called me recently reaching out for help. I know she needs what I needed not so long ago. Someone who has been through it. Someone who has walked in her shoes…  But I struggle with what to actually say to her. I can’t seem to say ‘you need to get a divorce.’ The words get stuck in my throat. Even as a divorced woman who is beginning to see the perks of not being in a shitty marriage- I hesitate.

Why? Why is it such a dilemma to me? It feels like a moral dilemma. You see- I don’t believe in divorce. (Ironic…I know…)That is why I went through mine kicking and screaming. Divorce is bad. Period. It’s never completely over. It has changed my children’s world drastically. I hate it. But- I am fully aware that a failing marriage isn’t fun either. For anyone. It steals your happiness, your self-esteem, and your energy. It steals your life. So what’s my hang up? I’ve been thinking about this for several days. Tell her to get her shit together and get divorced! Get a lawyer. Make a plan. Figure it out. It’s inevitable anyway. Tell her what she needs to hear!

Recommending divorce to anyone is a risky business. I don’t know their intimate details. What they think about when they lay down to go to sleep at night. There is no guarantee that it will work out for the better for them.  It might all blow up in their faces! Maybe hating each others guts is just a thing they do.  I just don’t know… I’m not them.

So I’ve come to a conclusion. Sort of.  About the reason I can’t say it. And it (of course) can be laid at the feet of my X. I can’t stand to say the words out loud because I don’t want him to be right. It would seem hypocritical of me to recommend divorce to anyone else…right? I don’t believe in it…right? I don’t want my X to think for one minute what he did was admirable.  I seem unable to separate my personal baggage from my opinions about divorce in general. It’s some complicated stuff…

It goes against my grain to say it-but sometimes the end comes so that you can find a new beginning. It isn’t easy. It’s incredibly difficult actually. Divorce isn’t a quick fix. And we can’t forget the kids-they are the ones paying the biggest price.  But…sometimes-you gotta throw in the towel and find a new life for yourself. I don’t know what that is yet for me. But I’m figuring it out.

But for my old friend. The one with the husband who hates her. I hope she finds some divorce shoes she likes. Because she’s going to need them…