Tag: kids

Divorce is never done. Part 2.

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Day 3 of the hostage situation… I’m not being held hostage. Just my money. Or should I say my kids money?

I woke up with determination yesterday! My X had faxed a copy of the cancelled check to the county offices-so they had proof that they had indeed received and cashed my missing check. (That was a fun process. Asking him to do something is always so easy…) I was prepared to get to the bottom of this child support issue. Immediately. Quickly and rationally. I would get answers that made since. People would be understanding and helpful-because that’s their job. I was so hopeful back then. So naive…

I waited until 8:30 on the dot and called my county offices. A slightly friendly (definitely not overly friendly) woman answered the phone. I asked to speak to the ‘lady who knows about this stuff.’ She-of course-had not called me back to let me know if she had done anything about my situation.

“Hi. Can I speak to the lady who knows stuff?” I ask.

“She’s in a meeting.”

“Do you know when she will be available?” I inquire.

“No.”

“May I leave a message? I have been trying to get my situation resolved for several days now-and I haven’t heard back from her..” I explain.

“No. You will need to call back.”

Ok- let me stop here and not bore you with all the frustrating details. But I called my county offices three times and each time they told me they couldn’t take a message. WTF. You can’t take a message? Is that an option. No one told me that! If so I’ve been doing it all wrong. At my job everyone takes messages! Because…you know…it’s our job. On my third call I can’t take it anymore. My positive attitude was long gone.  In my mind everyone in the office either looks like Kim Davis or Roz from Monsters Inc. I’m no longer feeling rational.

“Is there a reason you can’t take a message?”

Long pause…… She actually seems surprised by my question. Like messages are some kind of foreign concept. “I guess I can write a note.” she concedes.

I did not receive a return phone call. Surprise. In her defense she did say write a note. Not deliver it. There was no guarantee of any action. So I make my fourth phone call. And in a show of mercy from the universe, the lady who knows something is there. She can take my call. And she has news.

“Well- we were able to locate your money. It was distributed to the wrong person. And as long as that person hasn’t cashed the check- we will be able to redistribute it to you. We think that they haven’t. If they had it would be bad! We would have to wait for them to return it…”she explains slowly.  “So we will issue you a check. But I’m not exactly sure how long that will take. Hopefully not to long… However maybe you should tell your X to make sure he’s writing the check correctly when he sends it. And that he has your case number on it.”

Now it’s my turn to issue the long pause…. Huh? What? Are you kidding? Why do I have to wait to see if some ‘person’ who thinks they just got a much needed bonus cashed a check or not?! This is your error people! Give me my money!

“So I don’t understand. I’m just supposed to wait?” I ask in confusion.

“Yes.”

Ok-warning- slight rant ahead. I think this is the dumbest thing I have ever heard. That is why everyone in the world hates dealing with ‘government’ agencies. This is why Donald Trump is winning. People are pissed. It’s why you need to drink a glass of wine to recover from your trip to the DMV. It’s why you might need therapy during tax season. It is impossible to speak to anyone who knows anything. ‘Policies’ rule the world… You will spend hours holding on the phone trying to speak to someone at almost any government office. It’s why schools get a bad rap and your blood pressure rises when just enter a post office.  There is no common sense! You know it won’t be easy…but you have no choice. It’s just the way it is. Period. It’s bureaucracy at its finest. And when you are a divorced single mom with no child support check this month-its beyond frustrating. It’s fucking ridiculous. 

So here’s where I stand. I haven’t got my money. The X really didn’t really have to be bothered with this. My eye is still twitching occasionally. I have no idea how long I have spent holding on the phone. I bought more ice cream… And I am still wearing my divorce shoes.

And I will be for awhile. Because divorce is never done.

 

 

 

 

 

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.

My Momtourage…

 

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Nothing brings women together like being ‘moms.’ In a small town like mine you get to know your children’s friends. And more importantly-their mothers. These are the woman you see almost everyday of your mom life. They are in the morning drop off line, at PTO meetings, sporting events, band concerts, and of course Wal-mart. You are all kind of thrown together-whether you like it or not. And if you are as lucky as I have been- you will meet some of your best friends while waiting to pick up your angels from school. The only thing you may have in common is being moms. But believe it or not-that’s enough.

You are all pursuing the same goal. ‘Mother of the year.’ Until you quickly realize that goal isn’t going to happen. Sorry ladies. So now you settle for ‘Not late to school..today’ as a worthy accomplishment. Because..you know..being a mom is hard as shit. And sometimes it’s a day by day proposition. And frankly we all need support. And who better to lean on than the other moms. The ‘momtourage.’

Thank God for me my group doesn’t get caught up in tearing each other down. We build each other up. We became a team! These women are there when you need them. Picking up kids, helping with homework, dropping off dinner. (Helping you move after a messy divorce.) We have all kind of unofficially taken on a role. A way to contribute. Divide and conquer.

We of course have our ‘super organized mom.’ She is a Queen Bee to any mom group. This chic is on it. She knows things. Lots of things. She always has a list and a calendar on her person. Not at home on her desk. It’s with her. Always. She is who you call when you can’t remember what your forgetting. She is willing to be in charge so that she knows it will be done the way she has it envisioned. So it’s a win/win for everyone.

We have the religious mom. She prays for all of us. Some of us more than others I suspect..sigh. (Sorry and thanks.) This is a busy job. We usually all have some shit going on..and it’s nice to know someone has us covered. She takes her job seriously. Thank God. (Literally..)

Positive outlook mom. She reins in our bitchiness. Somedays that’s harder than others. I imagine nothing wears on her positive attitude more than a roomful of disgruntled mothers. But she perseveres! She redirects us like toddlers back to our happy place. We don’t even know what’s happening..and poof. All smiles again.

We have ‘head of the school carnival’ mom. (Which could also have the dual title as PTO president mom.) Give this lady a hug right now. And then bow down at her feet. Organize a parade in her honor. Never mind the parade…she’s in charge of the school carnival and needs some quiet. Buy her a bottle of wine instead. School carnivals are only fun if you are a kid. Not for the people planning them. This might be the most valuable mom in your group. Everyone make sure they are being extra nice to her. Seriously.

Stay at home mom, healthy mom, teacher mom, nurse mom, working mom, and tired mom. Hot mess mom is a revolving position. We all take a turn just to keep things interesting.. (Except maybe super organized mom. She keeps that shit off the calendar.)

And of course there is the ‘Divorced Single Mom.’ I guess you know who has that position.. In our group there is only one. Maybe that’s all they can handle. Divorced single mom might need the group more than any of the others. She definitely falls into the hot mess category most often. I think that’s inevitable.. Sigh. But the Momtourage has her back..and they helped her find her shoes. 👠

(Thanks ladies..)

 

 

No Fault Divorce?!

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The ‘no fault’ divorce. What is that? I don’t understand. How can divorce be no ones fault? I am still as confused today as the first time I heard this important tidbit. Missouri is a ‘no fault’ state my lawyer informed me. What?? Say it again real slow please… No fault you say? What a relief. No one has to feel bad. Its NO ONES FAULT.  Every one go back to your regularly scheduled program..nothing to see here. No one should feel wronged. It’s just a divorce.

They happen every day people! Your X has an affair-not relevant. He drinks to much-who really cares anyway. He’s an asshole- that’s his God given right. He never showed any interest in hands on parenting until exactly today at 8:03 am when he arrived at the Court House-the man is obviously busy.  He occasionally likes to smoke pot-it’s legal in 4 states anyway. He is a  practiced and skilled liar-who can blame him?  If he didn’t lie so well you might have found out about his affair sooner! He doesn’t like cats- why should he. Bad tipper- that will teach the waitress a lesson. But you know what he isn’t? Absolutely, positively is not? He isn’t at fault. No reason for him to loose any sleep. He has the right to get divorced and dismantle his family without the responsibility of being wrong. Thank you legal system for this gift to all who divorce. I really appreciate it.

But I have a radical thought here. What if.. What if it is someone’s fault? And that someone was made to be accountable. Would there be less divorce? I think it’s a valid question. What if there is a right and a wrong? A responsibility for your actions. Would that be an incentive to try a little harder? To be a better person. Maybe you would pay a little more attention at those marriage counseling appointments. But like always- that’s just my opinion..

Marriage is hard. Its a commitment! Preferably a lifelong commitment. No one is guaranteed constant happiness. And divorce has become an all too common option. You know..since it’s not my fault..I think I’ll just ditch this party all together, right? Maybe making no one take blame wasn’t our best idea ever..

I’m trying to think of another situation when things are no ones fault. Hmm… Besides illness and natural disasters.. I don’t think anyone is causing tornadoes around here. (And let’s not get into the Global Warming debate..) I’m talking strictly relationship stuff here. When things go wrong- it’s usually because someone is being an asshole.

It’s always someone’s fault! Maybe one person. Maybe both. You might take turns. It probably varies from day to day. But someone did something wrong.

So about that ‘no fault’ divorce. I call bullshit.. So I guess I better wear boots for that.

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The divorced President?

 

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So with all the press that the presidential candidates are getting…I haven’t heard much about something that is very interesting to me. Are any of them divorced? Do they know what it’s like to be a ‘Divorced American?’ Or even more specific a ‘Divorced American’ with kids? With the much reported on high divorce rate in the United States it seems like divorce is an ‘issue’ to be considered. And so far we have only had one divorced president. Ronald Reagan. The poster boy for all Republican hopefuls. (My X of course adored Ronald Reagan.) Ronnie was definitely divorced. He married Jane in 1940 and they had 3 children together before they divorced in 1949. He then married Nancy in 1952 and they had 2 children.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying divorce should keep you from being President. I’m divorced! And I’m a pretty smart and capable person. While I don’t think I want to be president-I sure as shit don’t want you to tell me I couldn’t be because of my divorce. But I might be somewhat judgmental of someone who was unfaithful during their marriage. It seems to me that if you can lie to the person you are married to that might be an indicator that you could lie to the American people as well. I mean you broke your marriage vows…you are a cheater. Possible red flag! But hey, that’s just my opinion.
So I did a little research. And by research I mean that I used my phone to look up the candidates for the 2016 Presidential election on Wikipedia. And I can’t say for sure who cheated. And we know that not all divorces are a result of infidelity. But I can say- with the help of Wikipedia- who is a member of the ‘divorce club.’ (*Disclaimer here- my research was done on my phone. Using Wikipedia. Hardly infallible.)
**Bernie Sanders- Democrat is 74 years old (oldest candidate). Bernie is definitely divorced! From his first wife Deborah in 1966. (That’s before I was born!) Then he went on to have a child ‘out of wedlock’ with his girlfriend Susan in 1969. Hey-it was the 60’s. But now he is married to Jane since 1988. Bernie has 1 biological child and 3 step children (that he considers his own-way to be a nice guy Bern!) He has 7 grandchildren.
*Hilary Clinton-Democrat age-68. Married to Bill since 1975. Bill as in President Bill Clinton. And we all know it hasn’t been perfect. But they stuck it out. So there is that… Hilary has 1 daughter- Chelsea of course- and one grandchild. (And I think another on the way- Congrats!)
**Donald Trump- Republican age- 69. So here we go.. Donald divorced his first wife Ivana in a very public and messy divorce in 1991. Think tabloids and lots of drama. It seems that Donald was having an affair with Marla Maples. He and Marla went ahead and got married in 1993. He divorced Marla in 1999. (Big surprise!) He married model Melania in 2005. The Donald has 5 children and 7 grandchildren.
*Marco Rubio- Republican age-44 (the baby of the group.)  He married Jeannette in 1998. They have 4 children. I assume they take a very nice Christmas Card photo.
*Ted Cruz- Republican age- 45.  Married Heidi in 2001. (Side note..I like the name Heidi..) They have 2 children.
*Ben Carson age-64. Married Candy in 1975. Has 3 sons and ‘several grandchildren’ per Wikipedia. Several apparently means more than 2…I think.
**John Kasich age- 63. John has been divorced! He divorced his first wife Mary Lee in 1980. He married Karen in 1997. He has 2 children (twins!). Twins are awesome!

So now we know that Bernie, the Donald and John are members of the divorce club.  I wonder what kind of shoes they wear?👠

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Tired anyone?

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Who needs sleep? One of the realities of being a divorced single mother…I can’t sleep. No sleep here. I know I’m not alone. Everyone is tired. Tired is the ‘new black’ I think. And everyone knows that the new black is slimming. I’m sorry I think I just dozed off a little. I forgot what I was saying… Anyway I can’t sleep. It’s like after being exhausted all day long and dreaming of rejuvenating sleep..I crawl into bed and boom. Wide awake. Not fucking tired. At. All. I mean I’ve got stuff to worry about. I am the only adult human being in my house. Me. It’s all my responsibility. The worrying is 100% my job. No tag team here. This is some serious shit. No back up available. All hands on deck…and still it’s just me. Mom. That’s it. Me with 3 kids. And 3 dogs. And the cats. And the hedgehogs and Guinea pigs..and the fish if they didn’t die. Shit. Did I feed the fish? I better get up and check.

Since I’m up I should check on the kids. Yes- you have to give me your cell phone it’s time for bed. Did you wash your face son? No the Guinea Pig can’t sleep in your bed! And if I’m up I better go to the bathroom again (I did mention I’m over 40 and gave birth to 3 children..my bladder is unreliable…)

Unlike my teenage children I want to go to sleep. I desire sleep. Sleep awesome …tired not so awesome. So after checking that the front door is locked..rechecking my alarm-twice..I’m ready to sleep. I’m determined. It’s 10:23. I calculate how much sleep I get if I go to sleep now…and now…how about now?

So I like to play this game to help me fall asleep. My ‘if I win the lottery game.’ If I win the lottery I will-fill in the blank here… It changes according to my day. Common themes include a full time maid..beach vacations..and quitting my job. Some variances include a pool…a convertible..plastic surgery…a wing at the Children’s Hospital. New shoes! Sometimes I’m learning French..other times I own my very own island. It’s working..I’m feeling relaxed. I’m going to sleep. Then Boom Baby!

What’s this? I didn’t when the Lottery…my X and the homewrecker won the lottery?!? Are you kidding! Somehow this shitty little thought wormed it’s way into my happy place. Now I’m genuinely worrying about this ridiculous little nightmare. I feel the potential sleep evaporate as I picture myself huddled alone while the dynamic duo of evil drink champagne and laugh and dance around with my children and their winning lottery ticket…

Wait did you hear that?!? Is something on the roof? Did I lock the front door? Did I set my alarm? Do I have an early meeting at work tomorrow? I need to pee…

I guess I better get up and check. I’m really not that tired anyway.

The Small Town Divorce

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There are many wonderful things about living in a small town. A sense of community. No traffic. Easy to find a parking space. You can drive anywhere in town in 10 minutes or less! People know you..

Which leads to the not so wonderful things about a small town divorce. People know you. They know your X. They’ve heard your story. They repeated your story. And they may not remember all of the details..but they remember the good stuff. The stuff that they can’t help mentioning when you pop up in their day. “You know her…her husband left her for that lawyer. I heard she totally lost it. So sad…” Every time they see you they will think of your ‘story’. You can count on that. And If you ever move forward enough to forget (which is probably very unlikely anyway)..you can count on them to remember.

In a small town you are guaranteed to run into your X. Usually at the most inconvenient times. When you aren’t wearing makeup and you are wearing your oldest pair of yoga pants for the second day in a row. When you are at the restaurant downtown trying to have a glass of wine with friends and just relax. At the bank. At Walmart. It’s a small town…you run into everyone at Walmart. And when you do have this run-in with your X…it sucks. It’s unpleasant. It’s awkward. It leaves me secretly hoping again that he would just move to fucking Alaska already.

You are also pretty much guaranteed a run in with the homewrecker. This is especially fun. You can count on running in to her on a day when you look like you have been run over by a truck. You are frazzled and busy and not even thinking about it…and boom. You are standing in the aisle at the Shoe Store and there she is. Buying boots. In your size. Perfect. I can’t even buy new shoes! It is literally the worst. I still have the overwhelming urge to pretend I have Tourettes and yell Slut. Loudly. I refrain..but barely. (Or maybe I did yell Slut..but I can’t really confirm or deny that story.) I secretly wish her the plague. I give her my bitchiest look. My defcon 5 laser vision burn in hell look. She looks away..

And for some reason people feel compelled to report to me about my X’s activities. Random facts. Completely irrelevant crap. And it still makes me cringe. This is what I mean when I say divorce is never done. We are linked together..not just to us. Not just to our kids. But to everyone in our small town. I don’t want to know that you saw my X drunk somewhere…or that he is a bad tipper. I don’t need to know you saw him at the football game. I don’t care if he was at a meeting you were at. It’s not my business if you think he is an asshole-I’m well aware of that fact already. I could care less about his mother. He left me. I consciously try not to think about him on a daily basis. I don’t need you to remind me.

So what’s a girl to do? It’s a small town divorce. Perfect your smile nod. Hold your head high and wear your cutest shoes. The good news with the current divorce rate..there will be someone new to talk about soon.

That reminds me..did you hear about Mr & Mrs Nextinline?

Shelf paper? Really?

 

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Screw you shelf paper. Seriously. Screw you…

Do they even still sell shelf paper? And who is buying it? I had this memory pop out of nowhere recently. It was one of those cringe worthy memories. Of me. And shelf paper…

My boys were little at the time. I was a stay at home mom of two busy toddlers and also often babysat my 4 year old nephew. My life was a constant battle of diapers, sippy cups, and laundry piles. Time out chairs. Making macaroni and cheese and watching Sesame Street. I was exhausted. My X believed firmly that he would make the money and pay the bills..I would do the rest. And he expected it to be done perfectly. (Like the 1950’s. I always secretly thought he was born in the wrong era. He liked to have a drink waiting when he got home and a wife that wouldn’t dare question him. I bet he got off watching Mad Men..) But at 22 I whole heartedly agreed to this plan. I would be the perfect little housewife! It would be great!

I don’t remember the details exactly. But the X was going to be away for the weekend. And I came up with a grand idea. I would clean out our large pantry and put fresh shelf paper down to surprise him when he got home. Yes. You heard me right. Shelf paper. I decided to spend my weekend alone cleaning, painting and installing shelf paper. To make my X happy. You see his mother was in his mind the ideal homemaker. She had a lovely pantry. With gingham shelf paper and alphabetized spice jars. Alphabetized! Labeled canisters. Perfectly aligned cans. I think it actually had art work hanging in it… How desperate for some sense of purpose was this woman?? Her pantry was dusted regularly by the housekeeper. The X commented frequently about his disappointment in our lack luster food storage situation.

So while balancing my regular duties and 2 adorable little assholes who needed my constant attention I emptied out the pantry and went to work. I’m pretty sure I was wearing sketchers and sweat pants. (My uniform..) Looking back I should have already known then that I wasn’t cut out for the X’s expectations. Shelf paper? Really?

Why was this ever a thing? Who are these women? And even more concerning-what man is impressed by it? Why do they give a shit about their shelves being covered with adorably printed paper? I mean let’s face it. You are decorating a closet at this point. You are saying I have nothing more valuable to do with my time than this. Plaid paper will bring more value to my existence. Sorry kids..watch another episode of Sponge Bob while I please your father with my spectacular shelf covering skills. Holy shit. Did I do that? I’m embarrassed just writing it.

And let me point out that shelf paper isn’t that easy to install. Its actually kind of tortuous. It’s wallpaper for shelves. You need yardsticks and exacto knives. It’s super sticky. And unforgiving. It takes some skill and patience. And I obviously lacked both. And let’s face it..even then I knew it was dumb. No matter how much I wanted to care..I couldn’t. I wasn’t Martha Stewart. Or my mother-in-law…

So they X came home. And if I remember correctly he wasn’t to impressed. I am not sure he even noticed. It still wasn’t his moms pantry. And while I diligently was working to have a show worthy pantry..my little Angels had been spilling apple juice and Cheerios all over the living room floor.

So what is the moral of this story? I’m not sure. I can tell you for sure I hate fucking shelf paper. That’s a given. I wish I had seen then that my X’s expectations were ridiculous. I wasn’t valued by him. And I wish that I had had the self-confidence to know that anyone judging me by my pantry was not the right person for me.

So guess what? I don’t have shelf paper. Or a husband. Thank God. They were both assholes. Outdated and irrelevant.

But I do have my shoes.. And they aren’t fucking sketchers. 👠

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So who says bitter is bad?

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I think I might be bitter.

I mean not overtly bitter..people at work aren’t afraid to make eye contact or anything. Yet. But I have an edge. I admit it. I think it’s a common side effect of divorce. I know you are surprised. But you know what? I’M BITTER AND PROUD OF IT! I’ve earned it. It represents hard learned lessons of life..loss of naivety. It represents survival. Street smarts. Honesty. It says yes- yes I was rejected by my own husband and lived to tell about it. Yes I take out my own trash because I no longer have a man at my house to do it. Its a dose of reality. Like Monday mornings or a flat tire. Or a flat tire on a Monday morning. It’s my own little protective suit…like Iron Man. But it’s not Iron Man…it’s just me.

And why is a little bitterness a bad thing? Does it have to have such a negative connotation? It seems unfair.. The expectation put on us by society to forgive and forget is a bit much in my opinion. Like we are all supposed to be walking around exuding inner peace. Not everyone deserves to be forgiven. And I would be pretty stupid if I forgot. I actually googled this question. Why is bitterness bad? Google doesn’t seem to see a lot of good in bitterness (unless we are talking about bitter food..they apparently are all kinds of good for you. Remind me to pick up some bitter melon..yes that really exists). I mean Google just wanted to talk about how ‘Keep Calm and Bitter On’ may not be my best idea for a catch phrase. She was a complete buzzkill. But I think she is wrong.

I don’t think Google has been divorced…

Shut the Front Door!

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Some things are universal. Married..divorced..or whatever. You can count on your kids to bring you back to reality. As much as I want to believe I could be raising the future President of the United States of America..I don’t get my hopes up. My teenagers constantly give me subtle reminders that they really aren’t that smart. And I’m ok with that..really. I believe in unconditional love. And I have hope it’s still just a ‘phase’.

#1 My children are incapable of hurrying. They absolutely cannot hurry. Ever. I hope we are never in a fire. It’s like they aspire to be sloths when they grow up. No matter how much time I give them. No matter how many times I tell them. They will not be ready. It’s impossible.

#2 They can’t find their shoes. And they aren’t 3 years old. They have vanished. It is more probable they will find Big Foot and he will be wearing their shoes. Why can’t you find them? Why? Why?!

#3 They don’t know when to wear coats. They have no idea. It’s 11 degrees outside. I shall wear this hoodie. It will be fine mom. Stop worrying. What kind of stupid goes outside willingly-when it’s snowing-wearing athletic shorts?

#4 The can’t figure out how to not be tired. They don’t get the whole bedtime thing. They don’t realize that they hold the power to never being tired again! Instead it is a vicious cycle of not enough sleep around here. ‘I’m so tired I can barely get up. I’ll hit snooze and wait for mom to physically force me from bed.’ ‘I’m so tired when I get home I’ll take a 3 hour nap.’ Bedtime arrives. ‘I’m not tired at all..I’m full of energy! I’m actually going to drink a Dr Pepper and just now start my homework that I was assigned last week.’ Are you freaking kidding me?!

#5 They can’t shut the front door when they come inside. They can open the front door. They can move through it with ease. But they can’t shut it. It’s to much to think about I guess. To many steps..to much pressure. This is why I have had a bat, a bird, and a stray dog in my house. Random strangers coming in for a look. Once a police man checking to see if everything was ok. ‘Yes Officer..we are fine. My children are just idiots.’ Shut the Front Door!

#6 They think ‘I forgot’ is a perfectly acceptable excuse. They use this excuse often. It rolls off the tongue with ease. They are baffled by my irritation. I mean..they forgot. What’s the big deal? Everyone forgets to call their mom back. Or turn in a their homework. To shower.. (And in this same category let’s not leave out the ‘I don’t know..’ Why is there a hole in the wall? ‘I don’t know mom.’ Why is the refrigerator door open? ‘I don’t know.’ Where is the dog? Shrug..)

#7 They don’t realize what terrible liars they are. They expect me to buy their pathetic fibs without batting an eye. Oh, your staying the night with a friend..but they don’t have a phone so I can’t talk to the parents? They must be Amish. Seems totally legit. You turned in your paper but the teacher must have lost it? That must happen a lot. Stupid teachers. You didn’t hear me screaming for help when you were 10 feet away? I will yell louder next time. I mean if your going to lie put some effort into it! Have pride in your work!

#8 They absolutely cannot tell the difference between clean or dirty. Rooms. Laundry. Kitchens. Finger nails. Living room floors. They can’t see it.. They honestly can’t tell. But don’t worry. They don’t mind. They are totally cool with it anyway.

Parenting is hard. It’s exhausting. It’s humbling. It’s humorous..

But let me take some satisfaction in the knowledge that while my kids are at the X’s this weekend and I’m relaxing with friends over a glass of Moscato.. He’s probably searching for shoes while the homewrecker is trying to figure out who forgot to shut the front door.

Cheers!🍷