Tag: single mom

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?

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..’ 🍴👠

 

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!🍷

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..

Just keep swimming..

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The divorce is over..so don’t look back! Just keep swimming. Put one foot in front of other. Focus on the future. Anyone and everyone will jump at the chance to tell you to just move on already. Like somehow I haven’t heard these little tidbits of wisdom before. Enlighten my please Yoda..

I’ve heard the message ok? I get it. But enough already. It’s not that easy! Not every day. It was 15 years and 3 kids. The biggest milestones of my life were in there. Some days I am running full speed ahead- embracing my future with determination and stylish footwear. Sometimes-not so much. I can’t take that kind of pressure.

The days (and sleepless nights) of remembering..of rehashing..do come less often than they used to. But they are still part of my life. And I’m tired of feeling bad about it. I mean who is this super woman who has found inner peace and happiness by never looking back? I don’t think I would like her. She doesn’t sound like my type.. And I think the people passing out these inspiring bits of wisdom might be full of shit. I think they look back too. I think it’s human nature! I assume we have memories for a reason..right?

In one of the Harry Potter movies (don’t ask me which one..) there was a scene where Dumbledore removed a memory from his head with is wand. He was going to share it with Harry. It showed up as a bright light floating there in the air. I was mesmerized. It actually brought tears to my eyes. It was magic! God what I wouldn’t do for that some days (or more likely..some nights..around 4am). It’s not just the memory itself- but the feelings that go with it. The pain and anger..the embarrassment. The loss. I’d love to never revisit those again.

But that’s also where it gets complicated. What if I did magically ‘erase’ all of the bad? Would that be good? I’m not sure anymore. It’s all pretty confusing. I feel like my past is a Rubik’s Cube. If I could just solve it I will miraculously move forward with ease!

I think I just depressed myself with that analogy..since I have never even come close to solving a Rubik’s cube.

I think I’m screwed.

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.🖕🏻👠).

 

 

 

 

 

I love Hoarders..

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Omg…Hoarders is on. I love Hoarders. It brings back memories.. Its a wretched show…a train wreck of human tragedy. It could be one of the most depressing shows in existence. So it was the perfect show for me to binge watch repeatedly when my husband left me. Makes perfect since right? The show was practically made for the emotionally fragile woman going through an unwanted divorce. I mean I don’t really know who else is watching it..

I remember watching episode after episode. A woman who keeps bags of her own feces? Seems reasonable. A lady who buried herself under purses and moldy teddy bears. It could happen. Filling the empty pit of grief in your stomach by saving every newspaper you ever laid eyes on- it could help…who am I to judge. No running water because your house is so packed with junk you can’t fit an entire plumber in the kitchen to fix a pipe-that’s why God made rain. Haven’t seen the floor in your home for 7 years-seems legitimate. Have 72 cats, 1 dog and a parakeet- who doesn’t dream of this? These are my people. We are one..united in pain and sorrow and delusional thinking. They know my grief…they feel my rejection…they are showing the world how I feel on the inside with their hoards. Overwhelmed. Sad. Angry.

I remember at one point laying in my nest (bed) watching yet another Hoarders marathon. I was on ‘my side’ and I glanced over to the ‘X’s side’. It was covered with crap. Laundry..books..mail. Clothes and shoes. I think maybe a rolling pin and a cat. An empty water bottle and an almost empty jar of Vicks Vapor Rub. My wedding album in case I want to look at my Wedding Photos again at 3am. A real live pumpkin I painted with my daughter for Halloween. Stuff everywhere. Important stuff. I literally had 18 inches of space left in my king size bed. I had my own little hoard. My blinds were drawn tight and I was hunkered down. I was actually filling up my loss with shit.. I was teetering on the edge of the hoarders abyss. I have to admit this didn’t terrify me like you are thinking. I was oddly comforted by it. Unbelievable right?

My friends however- they foiled my genius plan. They were not as enamored as I was with the hoarding lifestyle. Apparently being depressed and slightly delusional is a requirement of this subculture. They kept cleaning up my house against my will..so my days as a potential Hoarder were short lived.

Just like my marriage…

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