Tag: parenting

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.

So what’s the point?

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My bdf (best divorced friend) is sure that everything bad we go through has some kind of a purpose. Like divorce. Like break-ups. It’s a learning experience. She thinks that once you wade through the pool of shit of whatever you are currently struggling with..there will be something better waiting on the other side. One of Oprahs ‘ah-ha’ moments. The holy grail..

I’m unconvinced. It seems to me that sometimes we wade through the shit..to find a mountain of shit on the other side. Or maybe the pool gets a little shallower..more like a puddle. But still no prize in sight. And the smell is atrocious. Life is just like that.

And that’s the hard part. I think that’s why we all get stuck. We need it to have meaning. I mean surely all this pain wasn’t for nothing? Right?!  If we can just figure out the why..the lesson..we can move on and find the good that is waiting patiently for us somewhere. And so here we all are-standing in crap- and can’t figure out where to go next. Plus..I’m getting used to the smell anyway.

So what’s the point? The skeptic in me says maybe by trying to figure out what happened and why..we become to afraid to move forward. To try again. I mean we definitely want to avoid being hurt again. And how are we going to avoid it if we haven’t figured out the answer? That’s logical..right?

For several years after my divorce I dreamed about my X almost every night. Not good dreams. The ones where you wake up in a full blown anxiety attack. Even my subconscious was trying to come up with a why for me. But the truth is that a why is really hard to come by in relationships gone bad. Because his side and her side don’t match up. He obviously doesn’t realize he is a narcissistic cheating ass. I think by definition that’s what makes him a narcissist. I promise he isn’t spending time worrying about the past. So why am I?

Maybe instead of looking for the answer- maybe we should just bury that shit and move on. Call it a draw and walk away. And let me say I don’t think it will be easy. We are conditioned to worry. To take responsibility. To be understanding. To solve the problems of those around us. But really? What’s the point? I’m tired of other people’s crap. And if I bury it-maybe I can grow some lovely roses. Shit does make the best fertilizer.

So grab your cutest heels and a shovel!

Do you smell something? Sniff sniff? I hope I don’t have something on my shoe..💩👠

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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And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon..

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Old Mother Hubbard was definitely divorced. It’s obvious isn’t it? This woman is living in a shoe. And not a cute one. Oh wait. That’s the Old Lady. The Old Lady Lived in the Shoe. And swallowed a fly? Mother Hubbard had that dog who was kind of an asshole. But they are definitely divorced. And whose dish ran away with that home wrecking spoon? That bitch is definitely divorced. I think the bitch with no spoons is actually me.

Why don’t I have any spoons? Where are they? How did this happen? I imagine that married women have all their spoons. When I was married I had spoons! I can remember a point in my life when I actually counted them after a party to make sure none were thrown away. My X actually expected it. He had a fear of missing flatware. Now as I sit here eating ice cream with a fork..that memory is distant.

I’m a divorced single working mom. There is no time or energy for counting flatware. My children wonder about the spoons. Which is pretty rich..since we all know that they are the ones who lost the spoons in the first place! And of course they ‘don’t know’ what happened to them. So this is our reality. We don’t fucking have spoons. Our socks are unmatched. Our DVD cases are empty. Don’t even ask me for a pair of scissors. You need a lid for that Tupperware bowl? Really? Stop with your irrational demands. And if you ask me for scotch tape I might have to smack you..

I’m outnumbered and tired. And eating peas with a knife seems a skill we all need to master anyway. Divorce has a way of putting things in perspective.

And counting silverware before I go to bed…I’ll leave that to the someone else… I ‘Ain’t got time for that..’ 🍴👠

 

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!🍷

Come on Zombies!

 

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I love binge watching The Walking Dead. When it first came out I had no interest. Zombies? No thank you. There is enough ugliness in the world already. Finally my curiosity got the best of me. I binge watched (thank you Netflix..)most of the first season with one eye closed and the mute button on…but I was hooked.

I found myself fantasizing about the Zombie Apocalypse for god sakes. It’s my second favorite (after winning the lottery) trying to fall asleep fantasy. I know this seems incredibly bizarre. Yes..apparently imagining flesh eating zombies at bedtime can be relaxing and relieve anxiety! And let me tell you why….

The things I worry most about-that cause me the most pain-these things are irrelevant in the Zombie Apocalypse. Irrelevant I say!! Imagine that. Money…don’t need it. Visitation schedule…no worries. My boss…my weight…my retirement plan. My credit card statement…child support…changing the oil in the car. Doesn’t even matter.  Dating..dentist appointments…poof. Gone. The guilt I wrestle with every day- vanished. All things of the past. There is no time for what ifs during the end of the world as we know it. Life in the Zombie Apocalypse is the here and now!!! No time for wondering about what you did wrong. You only need to worry about the important stuff now. Food, water, zombie killing. It sounds like a vacation! You and your people surviving. No thinking about the past and planning for the future. We are all back to the basics of existing. There is something very freeing about this line of thought! And by gauging how popular The Walking Dead is I don’t think I’m the only one.

I guess we are all looking for a fresh start.. In whatever form it comes. (And obviously..the X and the home wrecker are definitely zombies.)

I hope I look good in combat boots..

Is Divorce a Sin?

 

 

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God Hates Divorce? Really? Join the club.

So here’s what happened. I’m was driving down one of the busiest streets in my small town with my daughter. It was a sunny day and we were both in a happy mood. I had on my cutest sunglasses. We were enjoying being together and not thinking about any of our negatives. We had the music up loud and were singing along. We were positive! We innocently pull up to wait at a red light. And what do we see? Some assholes with large white signs and apparently lots of time to kill.

GOD HATES DIVORCE! DIVORCE IS SIN! SINNERS WILL BE WELCOMED IN HELL!

Really people? With everything going on in the world..divorce is your issue? Have you people even watched Fox News lately? I live in a pretty small town. Not a lot of picketers or protesters. We’ve never had a riot. (Besides a couple of issues on Black Friday at Wal-Mart. Learned my lesson there..) Their presence- these evangelistic picketers- was noteworthy. To say they stood out would be an understatement.  I watched my daughters face as she read the signs and there meaning registered. Her cheeks got red. She was upset. It’s like a dark cloud rolled in. She glanced at me anxiously while she tried to gauge my reaction.

And I was trying hard to have the most nonchalant reaction possible. But it wasn’t working. I shrugged. But I know myself well enough to know that my cheeks were red. I was angry. And embarrassed. And sad. I tried to be reassuring..but the truth was that those signs exposed another bit of self doubt I carry around deep down. Is divorce a sin? Am I really going to burn in hell?

I believe in God. I was brought up in the Episcopal church-but we didn’t go every Sunday. I joined the Methodist church when I married my X. I’m not any expert on religion. My faith is a mixture of churches and experiences I’ve had throughout my life. I’ve never read the entire bible. (Unless you count the Children’s bible I used to read my kids at bedtime.) I have a very dear friend who helped me tons during my divorce. And she has a very strong faith. She was/is my go to person on religious stuff. I remember asking her if divorce is a sin. And she searched to come up with an answer. I mean I hear people say that it is. Why would mine be any different? She tried hard to reassure me. But she was at a loss for words. She even wrote out bible verses for me to read to make me feel better. But the truth is I still feel like something as bad as divorce has a good chance of ranking under the sin category.

But to the assholes standing on corners with picket signs about divorce. Go home. Stop judging. Stop scaring little girls. Worry about your own Sin.

I’ve got the worrying about mine covered..

(PS.. When I think about pulling up to that stoplight now…I regret one thing. I should have taught my daughter how to wave with her middle finger. If I’m already going to hell…I might as well go with high heels and attitude.🖕🏻👠).

 

 

 

 

 

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?

Who the Hell are you?

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Who am I?

What am I supposed to be when that’s all I wanted to be… Wife. Mother. Stay-at-home mom. PTO president. Church volunteer. Wife. My family was my life. I had great pride in all of those things. I thought I had it all figured out.

Trying to reinvent yourself in your late 30’s. Against your will. What great fun! Said no one ever. I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t know.. I hadn’t even considered it. I really thought my X and I would grow old together. That someday our kids would be able to visit at Christmas with their own families and sleep in their old rooms. I would always be part of that. Part of him. We would weather through our tough times. I was naive. I held on to my marriage with all my might. It was who I was. It was my life.

But that didn’t work out. Request denied. Door slammed. Move along lady.. So now what? That’s the million dollar question. The last few years have been the hardest of my life. My divorce was pretty much a shit show. I had my pretty little picture ripped in two. There has been a lot of sadness. And anger. And let’s not forget the fear and anxiety. They are always close by. But I have strapped on my high heels and kept moving forward. 👠And with that I have began to redefine myself. And it has been at times liberating. I am no longer judging myself through the eyes of my X. I’m so much more than that.

I’m still a mother- just a single working one. And a woman. Just a single dating one. I’m a Nurse. A professional. A writer? A friend. A daughter and sister. I’m smart. And god dam I AM tough. Even when I didn’t believe it. I look in the mirror today and see a whole new person. Maybe..just maybe..who I am is more. I’m not sure yet. But I have hope in the maybe.

I’m not the same person that I used to be. But my divorce isn’t going to be my end all-be all. No! Almost every single aspect of my life has changed. Constantly evolving in my quest to figure this shit out! I will not give my X the satisfaction of breaking me. I will not continue to see myself through his eyes. Fuck that. Fuck him. He was wrong..

But I do know one thing for sure. I’m not a wife.

I’m divorced.

And I have the shoes to prove it…