Tag: single mom

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.

 

 

 

My number is…

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I’ve got another question. This one is kind of personal… It hit me this weekend. My BDF (best divorced friend) and I were out of town. She was kind enough to accompany me on a work trip. I was laying in bed and I couldn’t sleep. As usual. And for some reason I started thinking about my ‘number.’ You know…my sex number. How many people I have had sex with. And as I lay there I felt like I was surely forgetting someone. My number seemed small. Unimpressive. Outdated. Boring.

“What’s your number?”I blurted out. The room was dark and she was trying to sleep, but I didn’t care.

“What are you talking about…”she sighed.

“Your sex number.”Obviously!

“What are you talking about?”she repeats herself. You would think she would be getting used to me and my questions by now.

“How many people have you had sex with? Your number. Your sex number.”I explain. “I’ve been thinking about mine…and I think it’s too small. I feel like I must be forgetting someone…”

“What is the criteria?”she asks. She is always so literal.

“People you have had actual intercourse with.Penetration. Penis inside a vagina.” Come on now. It’s an obvious question.

“Are you going to blog about this?”she asks with suspicion. She’s on to me…

So I guess our numbers aren’t really the point. In my opinion we both have a pretty poor showing. We both got married young and were ‘good’ girls. You only had sex with someone you loved. Preferably someone you were going to marry.  We both said our ‘I do’s’ before booty calls, friends with benefits, and casual hook-ups were the norm. But guess what? My perspective has changed…again.  Now I’m wondering what I’ve missed! And I’m pretty sure I’ve missed something. Maybe something good…

Sex is such a sensitive subject. Especially for women. You can be quickly and harshly shamed by society if ‘they’ don’t like your number. You’re a slut if it’s to big…and prude if it’s to small. In my day-in my small town (I say like I’m 100 years old…) if you were a woman-you were supposed to try to keep your number as small as possible. But now that I am a divorced single woman…screw that! (Pun intended.)

I recently watched an old episode of Sex and the City (one of my all-time favorite binge watch while getting divorced shows…) when Miranda had to come up with her number. She had an STD…gulp. Her number was on the larger side. It blows mine out of the water. But I was fascinated! Is this what other women are doing? Having sex just for the fun of having sex? Sex just because if feels good? Without the promise of love or marriage? Without the fear of being called a slut! And this apparently isn’t news. This is an old show. This has obviously been going on for awhile. And I wasn’t paying attention. I was married!

Sex. And your number. It’s an important part of being a woman. It’s an important part of being a divorced woman. Sex is great. As long as the sex is great… But that part is a bit more complicated.

So how about another question. An easier one. How many pairs of shoes do you have? For me…that number is a little bigger.👠

 

 

 

 

 

Perspective…

 

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It’s a funny thing about perspective isn’t it? It very rarely matches anyone else’s. Your perspective is uniquely your own. Like your fingerprint.  It’s made up of your feelings. Your memories.  Your experiences. Your personality.

Divorce is definitely a he said/she said situation. And if you’re divorced-it’s obvious that they don’t match. Divorce is the ULTIMATE he said/she said situation.  But so is marriage really. You are committed to each other-theoretically.  But each person has their own story. And they believe it! It’s their truth.  It’s their perspective. I remember someone telling me once something about the truth being ‘somewhere in the middle.’ Somewhere between the he and the she. I thought that was a brilliant description! But of course everyone believes their own shit. And a lot of it is shit. But that doesn’t stop us. It’s human nature! And we all know how stupid humans are.  Your ability to respect someone else’s perspective can be the difference between ‘Happily Ever After’ and ‘Fuck Off.’

For me- this blog is my perspective. My opinion. It’s definitely not an autobiography.  It’s not the Gospel. It’s not my diary. It’s just a jumble of my thoughts…my feelings…my humor. Some serious. Some not. Some truth-some fiction?  It just depends on who you ask.  It’s like Wikipedia. It’s informative-but not necessarily a reliable source. (At least according to my kids Language Arts teachers…but for the record I think they are being a little bit picky.) There is nothing groundbreaking here.  It’s like US Weekly-if I was Tori Spelling. (It’s entertainment not news!) Or Facebook-since I’m a middle aged single mom that isn’t even close to famous.  My story is not my X’s. I’m pretty positive he would call bullshit on the whole entire thing. And that’s okay. No surprise there. It’s no different than our marriage. He didn’t like my perspective much then either. And he never thought I was very funny.

But guess what? My divorce has had a few positive things to add to my life. Besides the obvious perk of not being married to someone who doesn’t love you. Someone who finds themselves ‘so unhappy’ and btw… it’s apparently because of you. Divorce can help you find your voice. Find clarity. Find healing. As I tell my kids- every experience is a learning experience. That includes your life falling apart during an unexpected divorce. But maybe with all that pain- opportunity presents itself.

An opportunity to make someone laugh!  Someone think. Or give someone something to do while they are waiting for their name to be called at the doctor’s office. (Or probably more likely-while hiding out in the bathroom just to get a moment to themselves…because they are a divorced single mom…and those moments are hard to come by.) So I have the opportunity to inspire someone who is trying to walk in a brand new pair of divorce shoes. And we all know a new pair of shoes can be uncomfortable at first.

And just so you know. One thing I’m always serious about is my shoes.

 

***And just one more thing to mention. In the divorce WITH children. They have a perspective too. And in the end- it will be the one that really matters.

 

Till death do us part…

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

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

This is fucking fantastic!

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

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

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

 

Guess what? I don’t like laundry either…

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My X doesn’t do laundry. I was married to the man for 15ish years. This is no news flash. We are now divorced so whether he does laundry or not is irrelevant to me..right? Wrong answer.

For many years I did the laundry. It was my job. I was a stay at home mom and laundry was my domain. That is a reasonable job assignment..in theory. But what if said laundry ‘doer’ has the flu? What if it’s her birthday? What if the laundress had a recent radiation treatment on her thyroid? What if she is 9 months pregnant with 2 other small children to care for?? This man actually brought me dirty underwear to the hospital once.. I was 7 months pregnant and just had endured a painful surgery. He brought me dirty underwear because there was no one at home to do the laundry…and the ones in my drawer looked way to small for someone as fat as me. (True story- the nurse happened to be in the room and overheard this ‘here’s your dirty underwear’ exchange. She told him he should probably just go ahead and leave now. I remember after he left her standing by my bed patting my hand. I closed my eyes in embarrassment.)

But I digress. My X apparently still doesn’t do laundry. My X and I share custody of 3 children who (get this shocking revelation) wear clothes! They wear clothes that then become dirty…and somehow appear on my front porch in a trash bag. Or I find them stuffed in one of my kids suitcases. For me to wash! To say it pisses me off is an understatement. I promise you I’m not sending dirty laundry to his house! It brings back clearly the way it made me feel when I was married to him. My job was the manual labor. I did the dirty work of parenting. The dirty clothes, dirty diapers and dirty dishes. That wasn’t in his job description. He worked. He made money. He was important. And I was lucky to have him-obviously. I was the housekeeper. And nanny. It wasn’t that hard of a job, right? Anyone could do it. I was like the hired help. (And btw…he was perpetually unimpressed. I was like the hired help who was constantly afraid I was going to get fired.) My job had no value-because he could pay anyone to do it. And do it better! Housekeepers and nanny’s are easy to find. And probably cheaper and less needy than a wife. My X did not respect me as a housewife. (Because remember-I wasn’t Martha Stewart…or his mother). And judging by the dirty laundry he sends back with his children every week…his lack of respect obviously continues.

But I have news flash for my X. I don’t like laundry either. I fucking hate it to be exact. Sometimes my laundry pile is so big you could lose a small child in it. I think I actually have lost a small child in it before. I know for sure I once lost a turtle… (Don’t worry-everyone’s fine). But you know what? I put on my big girl shoes and do the damn laundry anyway. And I make my kids help! It’s just what you do. Because being a family takes teamwork. And that is something my X doesn’t understand…

And if you haven’t already guessed…my ‘big girl’ shoes are fierce.👠

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.👠

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where do you think he got those little glasses?

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I’m going to make a confession here. A ridiculous one. It’s private (and a little embarrassing) so don’t tell anyone. Sorry mom. I’ve never got a dick pic. A penis picture. A dicture. A phallus photo…

I know..I know. ‘Are you crazy?’ you ask. ‘Dick pics are disgusting!’ And you are right! I assume… I will have to take your word for it.

But let me explain myself here. It’s not so much that I think I want to receive photos of penises. I don’t think it would ever make me think- I want to date this guy! I assume it would actually have the opposite effect. And in my limited experience penises aren’t that attractive. But it seems like a modern day dating right of passage. (However…when I tried to discuss this with my BDF she didn’t even know what I was talking about. And she didn’t appreciate the google images I tried to show her…)

“How do you spell dick pic? It’s for my blog…”

“What are you talking about? Use it in a sentence” she asks.

“I just did. How do you spell dick pic?” Duh.

“I have no idea what your talking about…”she replies in confusion.

“Look- here’s an example.” I show her my google image results helpfully.

“OMG-Stop it. I can’t eat now…” She isn’t laughing.

“Look-this guy put a little hat, sweater and glasses on his. Where do you think he got those little glasses? That’s pretty creative. OMG-this one is wearing a Donald Trump wig!!!” I can’t help but be impressed by the effort-however creepy it may be. But at least I’m not the only one who is left out of this whole dick pic thing.

I got married youngish. Back when you were supposed to be in a serious relationship with anyone you had sex with-and every relationship had the potential for marriage and family. Why else be in a relationship? I was a good girl! It was before cell phones and online dating. Friends with benefits hadn’t been invented. (Or if you did have one you definitely didn’t talk about it.) We didn’t have a home computer. When we took pictures you had to take them somewhere to get them developed. Technology wasn’t part of your dating life. Unless you count the real live home phone attached to the wall in the kitchen and if you were lucky an answering machine.

My marriage spit me out as a middle age woman with a smart phone and no idea what to expect as a single lady. I’ve never swiped right. I’m not on match.com. I don’t know how to sext. I’ve never thought about having a friend with benefits. I don’t know how to have a relationship without secretly thinking about marriage. And no one has ever sent me a dick pic.

I’m middle aged. Outdated. Old fashioned. While I was busy having babies and disappointing my X…things changed. And I didn’t get the memo. I missed it! So as if starting over isn’t hard enough-now you get to try it in an updated world. With selfies, snapchat, Tinder and Instagram. And guess what? I take terrible selfies.

However…I do take great pictures of shoes.👠

(****Disclaimer. This is not a solicitation for penis pictures. It is meant to be a humorous blog about modern dating practices that I have no experience with. Please don’t send me any dick pics. 🍆)

Divorced is divorced…

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

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

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

“Ok…” I nod. Sniff sniff…muffled sob.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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