I can't believe I'm actually middle aged. 38 to be exact, and I suppose that's middle aged. Or maybe not, what with how long people are living these days. Maybe middle age is really around 50. Wait, let me check Wikipedia. Eh, shit. The Census defines it as 35, Collins Dictionary as 40 and Oxford English Dictionary as 45. Erik Erikson says 40. So the average of that: 40. Okay, I'm not there yet. Close, but no cigar.
Things with Guy #1 are going really well. We survived Thanksgiving, to which his ex-wife did not show up, and I think next year maybe I just want to stay at home and eat country ham and broccoli casserole. I won't have my kids next Thanksgiving, so it won't matter if I do that. We'll see.
I took my children to see Santa this past weekend, and my mother went with us, since that's my normal routine. I had planned on The Ex NOT being there, since he bitched about Santa every year since my older daughter was born, but my older daughter insisted on calling him on the way to see Santa and then insisting to him that he come. To his credit, he did manage to extricate himself from World of Warcraft and get his ass in to see Santa, and didn't bitch about it much. Maybe his third marriage is agreeing with him.
My mother got to my house a little early and we were sitting pretty much hip-to-hip on the sofa, trying to figure out her fancy schmancy new iPhone, being that she upgraded from a tracfone to an iPhone with nothing in between (who the fuck does that?) when my phone buzzed. As a prequel to this whole story, Guy #1 and I had been indecently texting each other all day, well, because we can. It's my phone and if I want to text dirty, I can do just that.
Anyway, my phone rang.
I see it's Guy #1 calling.
I answered, "Hello?" even though I knew it was him, because my mother and children were in the room.
Keep in mind my mother and I were still sitting hip-to-hip at this point, thus causing the proximity of her head to my head to be about six to eight inches apart being that we were looking at her phone together.
Guy #1 says, with no greeting, "I wish you were bouncing up and down on my cock right now."
I was silent.
I did not move a muscle in my body as I cut my eyes over to my mother and wondered if she had heard that, since her ear was only a few inches away from my phone that I then desperately tried to press into my inner ear.
That five seconds of silence between the three of us, Guy #1, my mother and I was deafening.
And then my mother snorted, and I think just a teensy bit of soup that she had been eating right when Guy #1 made his proclamation shot out of her nose. She got up and stumbled into the kitchen and I heard a chair scrape back from the table.
Oh. My. God. She heard that.
I whispered to Guy #1, "My mother is HERE!"
He says, "So?"
I said, "She heard THAT!"
Of course Guy #1 didn't believe me, and the peals of laughter coming from my kitchen didn't convince him. I was somewhere between laughing and crying at this point, because that's pretty embarrassing. Mothers are not supposed to know that stuff. Although, I'm pretty sure she's come to the conclusion that after a year of dating, he and I have consummated the relationship. But still, that's not a point of discussion between my mother and I because I am 38 and don't need sex advice from her. That's what I have girlfriends for.
Guy #1 continued to insist that my mother did not hear him say that. I finally had to hold the phone out and yell at my mother in the kitchen, "Hey, did you hear that?" To which more laughter came. I put the phone back up to my ear and said, "SEE?!?!? She heard you!"
And then it got worse. My mother yelled back, "It brings back memories!"
Oh. My. God.
Who knew that in one split second one of my eardrums could burst and I could throw up in my mouth, all at the same time? It's amazing what the human body can do, that's for sure.
With that, Guy #1 was silent. He said, "Did she really hear me?"
I whispered, "Yeah, she heard you."
Guy #1 said, "Oh my god, why would you have your phone on speaker?"
I said, "It wasn't on SPEAKER, you damn fool. We were sitting right next to each other."
Guy #1 argued back, "I wasn't that loud!"
I said, "You know I've got bad ears and I have to keep the volume all the way up!"
He said, "What's wrong with your ears?"
Holy shit. And that's when it struck me. Bad ears, bad eyes, bad back. I'm getting old. Helloooooo, middle age. I didn't think the realization would hit me like this.
Some days are just like that, I suppose.
Showing posts with label love life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love life. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Back On Track
Okay, so I am really trying to pull myself away from The Ex bashing track I was headed down last week. I took uber aunt's words to heart and am really trying to pull myself together.
But let me first offer an explanation. Last week was really hard for me. It was an impossible week that just wouldn't end, and... I had not seen enough of Guy #1. Vertically or horizontally, which can end up with me being a really hateful person. I got called out at work on Wednesday for something I neglected to do, and got myself all in a dither about that, but then when my boss (who did not do the calling out) left early on Wednesday afternoon for her vacation after reading the calling-out email without saying a word to me about it, I decided that that was probably indicative that she didn't really care and so I decided to be neglectful for a little bit longer. Sorry, I couldn't do that work because I was busy doing all the other work you've heaped upon me. Obviously, my mistake. I was so pissed off and burnt out by this past Friday morning, I just decided, fuck it, I need a mental health day. And by 9:18am, I was in Guy #1's bed. With him. Since he was off from work and all. By 11:49am, I was sitting in a restaurant eating the biggest omelet I think I've ever seen and my attitude had improved greatly. And then, back to bed for the afternoon. My attitude continued to improve. Friday evening and it was not my weekend with the children, thank God, so off to the softball field with Guy #1 and a good book. I was *sparkling* at this point. Friday night, back in the bed. This is the first sleepover we've had since his teenaged daughter moved in with him a month and a half ago, and I refuse to have him spend the night with me, or vice versa, unless she's spending the night with one of her friends. It seems she only wants to spend the night with her friends when I have my kids and am not available for sleepovers.
Have I ever mentioned that kids are cockblockers? And it doesn't even matter how old they are. They.are.just.cockblockers.
My other reason for being so shitty is that The Ex continues to annoy me, but I think my own lack of getting laid was the bigger culprit last week. And it really was the never-ending week. I was home alone all Saturday morning and all Saturday afternoon and I realized I haven't been alone in my house, alone-alone, for any period of time for a month or so. I've spent all of my alone time either running around doing shit for other people or... doing shit for other people. I need to learn how to say no. I need to come to a place of NO. No, I can't clean out your attic. No, I can't clean out your garage. No, I can't make yet another sign for the cheerleading and football sign ups, and no, I can't make signs for the carnival either. Nope, I can't take any children to a birthday party. No, I can't dogsit. No, I can't help you with a catering event. No, I can't switch nights because everything else is more important than your children. No, I can't do a goddamn thing because my ass will be planted in front of the TV for at least five hours. No, I can't even be bothered to clean my bathroom. And, um, no. Just because. This is the place I need to be at. I'm working on it.
But while I'm working on not being so angry, it doesn't help that the younger daughter came home from her weekend with her father and announced that she had to wear the same pair of underwear for the whole weekend because she forgot to pack them in her suitcase. Well, this was obviously my mistake for letting her pack her own suitcase, and then for not double checking the suitcase after I told her three times on Friday morning to put at least three pairs of underpants in her suitcase. I suppose that Mommy will be packing her up the next time she goes for the weekend. But come on. She tried to blame me and I just simply told her that Daddy should have gone and bought her some if he didn't have any extra. What a fucking douchebag, but I guess he figured he had bought her a new pair of Crocs so she was good to go and he had spent all the money he was going to spend. I want to blame this whole thing on him exclusively, because really, he's a man. And men are nasty and gross when it comes to underwear. I know this. I've worked with men for years. And I was married to his sorry ass for years, so I know how he is. I also tried to explain to the younger daughter that I've sent extra underwear in the past for him to keep for the children, and he just sends them right back at the end of the weekend. Whatever. Shitbag.
Wednesday night I got a summer school referral for the older daughter in her bookbag. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the house in complete shambles because Mommy was just a few inches away from a nervous breakdown, comparing the summer school referral to the report cards for the year, and then I heard it. "The Wedding March" being hummed in the hallway of the house whilst the children practice walking up and down the aisle rehearsing their flower girl parts for The Ex's upcoming Bethrothal. Can anyone say surreal? All I could think was... this is not happening to me. These children are not practice for his third wedding in my hallway. Oh my god. And then, they asked for my dried flower petals from the roses that Guy #1 got me a few months ago to practice with. Nope. Sorry, but you are not playing with those. Then the children wanted to know if I would buy them flowers for the wedding. Nope, Daddy will buy those for you. Just like he'll buy you some really fancy dresses which I will immediately turn into paint smocks the weekend following the wedding. Actually, I wouldn't do that. Not the following weekend. Nah, I wouldn't even do that. I know that whatever the children have will be purchased by The Girlfriend, and she's been really good to my kids. So I won't mess with her. My knowledge of what her sex life is really like is satisfaction enough for me.
I'll write more about summer school later, but I will say that both children will be attending. Not to move on to the next grades, but because it'll be a good booster shot for them this summer. Four weeks left until I pack my little princesses off into the great summer sunset until the end of August. The countdown is on!
But let me first offer an explanation. Last week was really hard for me. It was an impossible week that just wouldn't end, and... I had not seen enough of Guy #1. Vertically or horizontally, which can end up with me being a really hateful person. I got called out at work on Wednesday for something I neglected to do, and got myself all in a dither about that, but then when my boss (who did not do the calling out) left early on Wednesday afternoon for her vacation after reading the calling-out email without saying a word to me about it, I decided that that was probably indicative that she didn't really care and so I decided to be neglectful for a little bit longer. Sorry, I couldn't do that work because I was busy doing all the other work you've heaped upon me. Obviously, my mistake. I was so pissed off and burnt out by this past Friday morning, I just decided, fuck it, I need a mental health day. And by 9:18am, I was in Guy #1's bed. With him. Since he was off from work and all. By 11:49am, I was sitting in a restaurant eating the biggest omelet I think I've ever seen and my attitude had improved greatly. And then, back to bed for the afternoon. My attitude continued to improve. Friday evening and it was not my weekend with the children, thank God, so off to the softball field with Guy #1 and a good book. I was *sparkling* at this point. Friday night, back in the bed. This is the first sleepover we've had since his teenaged daughter moved in with him a month and a half ago, and I refuse to have him spend the night with me, or vice versa, unless she's spending the night with one of her friends. It seems she only wants to spend the night with her friends when I have my kids and am not available for sleepovers.
Have I ever mentioned that kids are cockblockers? And it doesn't even matter how old they are. They.are.just.cockblockers.
My other reason for being so shitty is that The Ex continues to annoy me, but I think my own lack of getting laid was the bigger culprit last week. And it really was the never-ending week. I was home alone all Saturday morning and all Saturday afternoon and I realized I haven't been alone in my house, alone-alone, for any period of time for a month or so. I've spent all of my alone time either running around doing shit for other people or... doing shit for other people. I need to learn how to say no. I need to come to a place of NO. No, I can't clean out your attic. No, I can't clean out your garage. No, I can't make yet another sign for the cheerleading and football sign ups, and no, I can't make signs for the carnival either. Nope, I can't take any children to a birthday party. No, I can't dogsit. No, I can't help you with a catering event. No, I can't switch nights because everything else is more important than your children. No, I can't do a goddamn thing because my ass will be planted in front of the TV for at least five hours. No, I can't even be bothered to clean my bathroom. And, um, no. Just because. This is the place I need to be at. I'm working on it.
But while I'm working on not being so angry, it doesn't help that the younger daughter came home from her weekend with her father and announced that she had to wear the same pair of underwear for the whole weekend because she forgot to pack them in her suitcase. Well, this was obviously my mistake for letting her pack her own suitcase, and then for not double checking the suitcase after I told her three times on Friday morning to put at least three pairs of underpants in her suitcase. I suppose that Mommy will be packing her up the next time she goes for the weekend. But come on. She tried to blame me and I just simply told her that Daddy should have gone and bought her some if he didn't have any extra. What a fucking douchebag, but I guess he figured he had bought her a new pair of Crocs so she was good to go and he had spent all the money he was going to spend. I want to blame this whole thing on him exclusively, because really, he's a man. And men are nasty and gross when it comes to underwear. I know this. I've worked with men for years. And I was married to his sorry ass for years, so I know how he is. I also tried to explain to the younger daughter that I've sent extra underwear in the past for him to keep for the children, and he just sends them right back at the end of the weekend. Whatever. Shitbag.
Wednesday night I got a summer school referral for the older daughter in her bookbag. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the house in complete shambles because Mommy was just a few inches away from a nervous breakdown, comparing the summer school referral to the report cards for the year, and then I heard it. "The Wedding March" being hummed in the hallway of the house whilst the children practice walking up and down the aisle rehearsing their flower girl parts for The Ex's upcoming Bethrothal. Can anyone say surreal? All I could think was... this is not happening to me. These children are not practice for his third wedding in my hallway. Oh my god. And then, they asked for my dried flower petals from the roses that Guy #1 got me a few months ago to practice with. Nope. Sorry, but you are not playing with those. Then the children wanted to know if I would buy them flowers for the wedding. Nope, Daddy will buy those for you. Just like he'll buy you some really fancy dresses which I will immediately turn into paint smocks the weekend following the wedding. Actually, I wouldn't do that. Not the following weekend. Nah, I wouldn't even do that. I know that whatever the children have will be purchased by The Girlfriend, and she's been really good to my kids. So I won't mess with her. My knowledge of what her sex life is really like is satisfaction enough for me.
I'll write more about summer school later, but I will say that both children will be attending. Not to move on to the next grades, but because it'll be a good booster shot for them this summer. Four weeks left until I pack my little princesses off into the great summer sunset until the end of August. The countdown is on!
Friday, April 29, 2011
Weddings
I really made an honest effort not to get sucked into the whole royal wedding thing. Really, I did make an effort. But what woman can deny the real-life fairy tale that was unfolding on television? Not me, that's for sure. However, I did not get up at 4:00am to watch it, and my children didn't either. At that time of the morning, I will be roused for two things: crying children and sex. But not together. No, no, no. Oh, and a tornado. I would drag my tired ass out of the bed at 4:00am for a tornado. Crying children, tornadoes and sex. And they all better be legitimate. Bring your A game, because that's all I have the patience for at that time of the morning.
The royal wedding dress was gorgeous and as a woman who doesn't weara lot of any clothing that is revealing ,(although I did buy a super cute halter top the other day to surprise Guy #1 except... I need to lose ten pounds first) I was relieved to see the bride in a dress that was modern, classy, unfussy, unfrilly, and covered her up very nicely. Hopefully this will start a new trend of women not looking like strippers walking down the aisle. It reminded me of my own wedding, except she looked happy, relaxed and really thin. I, on the other hand, was none of those. I have got to get back on my diet. My ass is getting FAT. Guy #1 insists it's PHAT, but he's not the one having to lay down on the bed to zip up his jeans. But kudos to him for liking a fat ass! And yay for Prince William for marrying a brunette! I don't care what anyone says, there's nothing better than being a brunette. Because we can go out and get drunk and still remember it the next day.
I found out last weekend that The Ex is getting married, and strangely, since the announcement was made public, the children have never said anything to me about it. I never asked, not even after the odd and stilted email he sent me on Monday to discuss "the changes that are occurring in this household". I didn't acknowledge his email, because I know how much it pisses him off if I don't acknowledge his emails and texts. I sent him an email on Tuesday about doctor's appointments and copays for the children in the next couple of weeks, and he never acknowledged that. Hello, dumbass, there's a big difference in me not acknowledging your impending nuptials and you not acknowledging that you have to cover these copays. But whatever, motherfucker, we can play that game. So when he dropped the children off tonight, I asked for the copay for the follow-up appointment for the older daughter's foot situation. He acted stupid. I stood on the front porch and looked at him and asked if he got the email I sent. He said he did and I said I needed the copay.
Then I asked if he had ended our gym membership, because this was the last joint membership that we had kept after the separation because it was cheaper for us to keep the family membership and me pay him monthly than for us to join separately. But since we've determined we won't be using that gym for our summer camp or summer pool membership, I said that I didn't want to continue to have a family membership with him. I asked him about this because since we had already discussed it two weeks ago, I decided in my head that effective May 1st, I wasn't going to give him another fucking dime towards it in the event he forgot to end the membership. He said that he hadn't ended the membership, but he would just take my name off of it and put another name on it in my place. Okay, I know what your girlfriend's name is. You can say it around me. I suppose that was his dig at me to let me know yet again I've been replaced. Whatever again, douchebag. I said fine and have a good weekend. What he doesn't realize is that he might have replaced me, but I've upgraded. So there, bitch. It works for me better because now the children still have that membership and I don't have to pay a dime towards it. I like it!
But when the children and I were watching a rerun of the royal wedding tonight, it was suddenly announced by the younger daughter that her father and his girlfriend are getting married. She asked if I knew and I said yes, The Ex had emailed me about it. If you remember, I posted sometime last year about our "card" games, and I thought to myself when he sent that email, he thought it was his ace in the hole. For what, I'm not sure, but it ended up actually being an 6 card. Can't beat much with that, dickface. My ace card was that I still haven't acknowledged the nuptials to him and I'm pretty sure I'm going to act oblivious and stupid through the whole thing to him. My passive-aggressive is way better than his passive-aggressive.
I did ask the children, though, when they were getting married. I was just curious since he didn't mention that in the email. October, they reported, because his girlfriend has lots of work stuff to do in September. Yes, everyone should get married six months after their divorce is finalized. I just checked the internet and her house isn't for sale yet. She better hurry up, because this housing market still stinks. Maybe I should just list it for rent on craigslist. Every woman should have a future husband with an ex-wife as nice and considerate as me to list their house for rent. That can be my wedding present to them. Maybe I'll list his house for rent, too, just to cover all of their bases. ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US!
The most annoying thing to me is that I finally feel like I'm getting to the place where I can actually start to call Guy #1 my boyfriend, and now, very irrationally, I feel like I can't because I'll always think it was in reaction to finding out The Ex is engaged. I am exceptionally bothered by the fact that he's rushing the children through so many stages so fast that I have to go extra slow. I mean, I've been dating Guy #1 for six months and he's finally met my children. Just as I'm getting over this hump... boom. I don't know if my children are ready for all of this. Life goes so fast for kids anyway that all of this must be happening in the blink of an eye. I just don't want to add to the fast-forward they've been put on. Getting over the whole boyfriend verbiage has been hard for me, and god knows, Guy #1 has been patient. He has been more patient with me than I think any man ever has been. I don't know what to do to get over this hump. I'm annoyed because I feel like I'm right there, at the top of the roller coaster, and now some dumbass a few cars back is having a panic attack and they have to stop the whole damn thing to get that one person off, and in the meanwhile, I'm just waiting. It's.... right.... there.... but I'm still here.
And so, that's where I am right now. Trying to get over the hump.
The royal wedding dress was gorgeous and as a woman who doesn't wear
I found out last weekend that The Ex is getting married, and strangely, since the announcement was made public, the children have never said anything to me about it. I never asked, not even after the odd and stilted email he sent me on Monday to discuss "the changes that are occurring in this household". I didn't acknowledge his email, because I know how much it pisses him off if I don't acknowledge his emails and texts. I sent him an email on Tuesday about doctor's appointments and copays for the children in the next couple of weeks, and he never acknowledged that. Hello, dumbass, there's a big difference in me not acknowledging your impending nuptials and you not acknowledging that you have to cover these copays. But whatever, motherfucker, we can play that game. So when he dropped the children off tonight, I asked for the copay for the follow-up appointment for the older daughter's foot situation. He acted stupid. I stood on the front porch and looked at him and asked if he got the email I sent. He said he did and I said I needed the copay.
Then I asked if he had ended our gym membership, because this was the last joint membership that we had kept after the separation because it was cheaper for us to keep the family membership and me pay him monthly than for us to join separately. But since we've determined we won't be using that gym for our summer camp or summer pool membership, I said that I didn't want to continue to have a family membership with him. I asked him about this because since we had already discussed it two weeks ago, I decided in my head that effective May 1st, I wasn't going to give him another fucking dime towards it in the event he forgot to end the membership. He said that he hadn't ended the membership, but he would just take my name off of it and put another name on it in my place. Okay, I know what your girlfriend's name is. You can say it around me. I suppose that was his dig at me to let me know yet again I've been replaced. Whatever again, douchebag. I said fine and have a good weekend. What he doesn't realize is that he might have replaced me, but I've upgraded. So there, bitch. It works for me better because now the children still have that membership and I don't have to pay a dime towards it. I like it!
But when the children and I were watching a rerun of the royal wedding tonight, it was suddenly announced by the younger daughter that her father and his girlfriend are getting married. She asked if I knew and I said yes, The Ex had emailed me about it. If you remember, I posted sometime last year about our "card" games, and I thought to myself when he sent that email, he thought it was his ace in the hole. For what, I'm not sure, but it ended up actually being an 6 card. Can't beat much with that, dickface. My ace card was that I still haven't acknowledged the nuptials to him and I'm pretty sure I'm going to act oblivious and stupid through the whole thing to him. My passive-aggressive is way better than his passive-aggressive.
I did ask the children, though, when they were getting married. I was just curious since he didn't mention that in the email. October, they reported, because his girlfriend has lots of work stuff to do in September. Yes, everyone should get married six months after their divorce is finalized. I just checked the internet and her house isn't for sale yet. She better hurry up, because this housing market still stinks. Maybe I should just list it for rent on craigslist. Every woman should have a future husband with an ex-wife as nice and considerate as me to list their house for rent. That can be my wedding present to them. Maybe I'll list his house for rent, too, just to cover all of their bases. ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US!
The most annoying thing to me is that I finally feel like I'm getting to the place where I can actually start to call Guy #1 my boyfriend, and now, very irrationally, I feel like I can't because I'll always think it was in reaction to finding out The Ex is engaged. I am exceptionally bothered by the fact that he's rushing the children through so many stages so fast that I have to go extra slow. I mean, I've been dating Guy #1 for six months and he's finally met my children. Just as I'm getting over this hump... boom. I don't know if my children are ready for all of this. Life goes so fast for kids anyway that all of this must be happening in the blink of an eye. I just don't want to add to the fast-forward they've been put on. Getting over the whole boyfriend verbiage has been hard for me, and god knows, Guy #1 has been patient. He has been more patient with me than I think any man ever has been. I don't know what to do to get over this hump. I'm annoyed because I feel like I'm right there, at the top of the roller coaster, and now some dumbass a few cars back is having a panic attack and they have to stop the whole damn thing to get that one person off, and in the meanwhile, I'm just waiting. It's.... right.... there.... but I'm still here.
And so, that's where I am right now. Trying to get over the hump.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Friday Night In My Head
A long week is done. The TV is on. Loudly. I am up late, sucking down Diet Pepsi and enjoying the weekend. As usual, lots of stupid thoughts in my head. And so, I shall share.
I had a great dinner tonight with Guy #1 at his workplace, except I didn't eat. I sat around with Guy #1 and his co-workers and marveled at the amount of food seven grown men can put away. I've promised to make them dinner sometime in the near future (read that as the next month or so) and I'm thinking I'll need to start saving up now. I didn't eat because I was still full from my late lunch, which was from my favoritist new upscale Mexican fast food joint, where you have many more choices than old run down Mexican fast food joint has ever provided. In fact, I don't ever go to the old place anymore unless I am dirt fucking broke and have no food at home. But anyway, I always get the three taco meal, and I SWEAR, no one (other than Guy #1) has ever really appreciated the humor of me telling the person fixing the tacos that I want two soft and one hard. Hard one in the middle, please. I really do this, every time I go to this place, and no one ever cracks a smile. Either I'm not the only almost middle aged woman rolling up in the place asking for two soft with one hard in the middle, or they just don't get it. I'm going to assume they just don't get it, but I'm going to keep at it, because that's my favorite meal and I am bound and fucking determined to get someone to crack a smile when I do that.
I have decided that life is so much more fun being sterilized. To all of you out there who have all the kids you need, or want, and haven't gotten sterilized yet, for god's sake, get it done. To hell with ongoing birth control. Just make it permanent and don't look back. Yet another post-separation decision that was THE BEST EVER.
I realized tonight that I haven't gotten shitfaced in quite a while. I got a nasty little buzz on New Year's Eve that had me feeling like I was in sugar shock for about fifteen minutes (and I had to go lay down for a few minutes), but I think that might have been the three or so jello shots I did right behind a half a bottle of wine. Maybe I should make sure the jello shots are sugar free next time, or maybe I should spend the day hydrating with lots of water and not diet soda before I drink. I haven't gotten throw-up drunk in years, 2008 or 2009-ish, and that was in my own car. Watch out if I've got your cell number, because I'm a drunk dialer. My eyes are so bad that I can barely see when I'm sober that I won't be texting you. I will be calling you and it will be just like my blog has come to life and is babbling about nothing at all. If I can't manage to tie one on before summer time, I am there the week (or day) after the children move back to The Ex's house in early June.
It looks like there might not be a government shut down after all. Has anyone else ever noticed this only happens when there is a Democratic President in office? Just like state guv lay offs only happen when there is a Democratic governor in office? Whatever. Either way, furloughs and layoffs suck. A lot of us work for the government because we can't do our professions in the private sector and we're pretty damn good at what we do, and we like what we do. We also sacrifice making good money because we want a stable retirement plan and affordable health insurance, especially those of us who want to get sterilized for a $100 copay. I haven't gotten a raise in five years and I won't get one anytime in the future. I will get a five percent raise this year that will immediately be taken from me to off-set the increase in retirement that the General Assembly decided I need to start chipping in on. I was furloughed for one day last last year, and my grand plan of laying in the bed all day long reading and sleeping was cockblocked by my older daughter getting sick at school. Since I pretty much live paycheck to paycheck (being that I work for the guv), I was grateful it was just one day. Now if we could just tap into our national reserves of oil and get the damn gas prices down, things might start to return to normal. Personally, I am not that concerned about the permafrost or the caribou, because I am too far removed, and I'm pretty sure the next time I pull up to the gas station there's not going to be a caribou there to insert his credit card in the slot for me. Nor will Father Permafrost be there to lend a hand.
I'm watching Three Kings right now, which I think is a great movie. I absolutely love military and war movies, mostly because I've decided that they just reek of testosterone. In fact, the testosterone just kind of wafts right out of the TV into my brain, and that makes me love men even more. I was trying to explain to Guy #1 a couple of days ago what an incredible bitch I used to be, and he asked me what had changed. I couldn't really answer then because I didn't know. I've thought about it and I've realized that it's because I'm not living with a complete dick, and I'm getting a regular dosage of testosterone in my life that's apparently just the right combination for my personality. Which might just be the first time in my adult life, and that's certainly a new experience for me. A good experience. Big shout out to Guy #1 for having that perfect hormonal-chemical combination. Note to Guy #1, ff you will just pop a war movie into the DVD instead of a romantic comedy (which I hate), you will see what can happen to me when testosterone wafts out of the TV and enters my hormonal receptors. It's like what porn does to guys.
A totally relaxing weekend, or it better fucking be. I need the courage to make it through to the first weekend of June, when I will send my children off to live with their father for the summer. It was giving me mad anxiety last month, and now I'm ready for my summer of not so much responsibility. I know the anxiety will come back, but at this moment tonight, I'm ready for my summer.
I had a great dinner tonight with Guy #1 at his workplace, except I didn't eat. I sat around with Guy #1 and his co-workers and marveled at the amount of food seven grown men can put away. I've promised to make them dinner sometime in the near future (read that as the next month or so) and I'm thinking I'll need to start saving up now. I didn't eat because I was still full from my late lunch, which was from my favoritist new upscale Mexican fast food joint, where you have many more choices than old run down Mexican fast food joint has ever provided. In fact, I don't ever go to the old place anymore unless I am dirt fucking broke and have no food at home. But anyway, I always get the three taco meal, and I SWEAR, no one (other than Guy #1) has ever really appreciated the humor of me telling the person fixing the tacos that I want two soft and one hard. Hard one in the middle, please. I really do this, every time I go to this place, and no one ever cracks a smile. Either I'm not the only almost middle aged woman rolling up in the place asking for two soft with one hard in the middle, or they just don't get it. I'm going to assume they just don't get it, but I'm going to keep at it, because that's my favorite meal and I am bound and fucking determined to get someone to crack a smile when I do that.
I have decided that life is so much more fun being sterilized. To all of you out there who have all the kids you need, or want, and haven't gotten sterilized yet, for god's sake, get it done. To hell with ongoing birth control. Just make it permanent and don't look back. Yet another post-separation decision that was THE BEST EVER.
I realized tonight that I haven't gotten shitfaced in quite a while. I got a nasty little buzz on New Year's Eve that had me feeling like I was in sugar shock for about fifteen minutes (and I had to go lay down for a few minutes), but I think that might have been the three or so jello shots I did right behind a half a bottle of wine. Maybe I should make sure the jello shots are sugar free next time, or maybe I should spend the day hydrating with lots of water and not diet soda before I drink. I haven't gotten throw-up drunk in years, 2008 or 2009-ish, and that was in my own car. Watch out if I've got your cell number, because I'm a drunk dialer. My eyes are so bad that I can barely see when I'm sober that I won't be texting you. I will be calling you and it will be just like my blog has come to life and is babbling about nothing at all. If I can't manage to tie one on before summer time, I am there the week (or day) after the children move back to The Ex's house in early June.
It looks like there might not be a government shut down after all. Has anyone else ever noticed this only happens when there is a Democratic President in office? Just like state guv lay offs only happen when there is a Democratic governor in office? Whatever. Either way, furloughs and layoffs suck. A lot of us work for the government because we can't do our professions in the private sector and we're pretty damn good at what we do, and we like what we do. We also sacrifice making good money because we want a stable retirement plan and affordable health insurance, especially those of us who want to get sterilized for a $100 copay. I haven't gotten a raise in five years and I won't get one anytime in the future. I will get a five percent raise this year that will immediately be taken from me to off-set the increase in retirement that the General Assembly decided I need to start chipping in on. I was furloughed for one day last last year, and my grand plan of laying in the bed all day long reading and sleeping was cockblocked by my older daughter getting sick at school. Since I pretty much live paycheck to paycheck (being that I work for the guv), I was grateful it was just one day. Now if we could just tap into our national reserves of oil and get the damn gas prices down, things might start to return to normal. Personally, I am not that concerned about the permafrost or the caribou, because I am too far removed, and I'm pretty sure the next time I pull up to the gas station there's not going to be a caribou there to insert his credit card in the slot for me. Nor will Father Permafrost be there to lend a hand.
I'm watching Three Kings right now, which I think is a great movie. I absolutely love military and war movies, mostly because I've decided that they just reek of testosterone. In fact, the testosterone just kind of wafts right out of the TV into my brain, and that makes me love men even more. I was trying to explain to Guy #1 a couple of days ago what an incredible bitch I used to be, and he asked me what had changed. I couldn't really answer then because I didn't know. I've thought about it and I've realized that it's because I'm not living with a complete dick, and I'm getting a regular dosage of testosterone in my life that's apparently just the right combination for my personality. Which might just be the first time in my adult life, and that's certainly a new experience for me. A good experience. Big shout out to Guy #1 for having that perfect hormonal-chemical combination. Note to Guy #1, ff you will just pop a war movie into the DVD instead of a romantic comedy (which I hate), you will see what can happen to me when testosterone wafts out of the TV and enters my hormonal receptors. It's like what porn does to guys.
A totally relaxing weekend, or it better fucking be. I need the courage to make it through to the first weekend of June, when I will send my children off to live with their father for the summer. It was giving me mad anxiety last month, and now I'm ready for my summer of not so much responsibility. I know the anxiety will come back, but at this moment tonight, I'm ready for my summer.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Mommy Is Not Happy
Sooooo.... Mommy is not a happy camper tonight. After yet another painful bout of reading with the older daughter, the top of Mommy's head blew off and Mommy took TV away forever. Well, probably not forever, but for the long and forseeable future. That's it! I'm done! There is no more TV in this house, girls! If you get bored and don't have anything to do, READ A FREAKING BOOK!
I should have done this months ago, if not years ago. But I was being lazy, and I blame myself for that. I should have set the priorities a long time ago, and I failed on that. Well, as of tonight, my children can consider their extracurricular activities re-prioritized by me. I've been getting sick of the sound of the TV always being on, other than when we're doing homework and eating, and I'm most certainly sick of the bullshit advertising and the stupid programming. The programming that never says, "Hey, kids, how about you turn the fucking TV off and read a book?" I am sick of at least one child asking every thirty minutes, "Hey, Mommy, can you buy us... Hey, Mommy, can we have.... Mommy, will you get us..." Sick of it, just simply sick and tired of it.
I know that if I don't get this whole reading thing under control now, it's not going to get better next year. In fact, it will get worse, because next year the work will be harder and the reading more complicated, and I'm sorry, but either of my children failing a grade is not an option. Simply, just not an option. Not for me and not for them. If they fail, it's not going to be because TV was the priority. It's going to be for some legitimate reason. Like some kind of learning disability the school system has failed to properly diagnose. But that's a whole other topic.
As my older daughter was laboring through her word list tonight, I was sitting there beside her, halfway tuned out, looking at my bookshelves with all of my favorite books that have been toted around Prospect, Farmville, the southside of Richmond, Glen Allen and two seperate places in Midlothian. Reading isn't my escape, necessarily, but it's certainly my first love. I was reading Stephen King in seventh grade, sitting up late on school nights in my closet with a flashlight, and by tenth grade I was reading James Clavell and I even gave The Gulag Archipelago a go. Didn't finish it, but I thought it was pretty commendable that I gave it an honest effort at the age of 15. I never shied away from literature classes in college, and even went so far as to take an African Literature class at VCU so I would get to read some stuff that wasn't even near my radar. On the weekends when the children are with their father, and I'm not getting laid, I will sometimes go over to Barnes and Noble and wander for hours, and read little blurbs here and there. When I go to someone's house, I always look at their bookshelves to see what we have in common, and to see if they've got any good recommendations. Right now, I'm reading books on love languages (a relationship book, not a book about THE love languages), the effects of social media and marketing on children (hmmmm), a fictionalized book about Mary, Queen of Scots, and the same damn Clive Cussler book I've been working on for about six months. And a whole bunch of articles on the internet, and a few magazines I've stolen from the various doctor's waiting rooms I've been in (National Geographic, Richmond Family, Garden & Gun, Virginia Living), plus a book on motivational interviewing I'm working on sometimes at work when I eat my lunch, AND Wikipedia.
Not loving to read and not having an appreciation for the written word is not an option for my children. Simply, just not an option. And so, until I've determined that we've moved our reading skills along to the next level, or a point where I am satisfied, there's no more TV. Hell, maybe the TV will just stay off forever. For them. When they're awake. I still need to watch The Real Housewives and Survivor. But for my children, the TV is OFF. Closed up in the entertainment center so they won't be tempted. I am looking forward to the silence, and the sounds of puzzles being constructed on the kitchen table, the sounds of Barbies being played with in bedrooms, and the sounds of pages of books being turned. I should have done this months ago, but it's done now. Let the reading begin.
I should have done this months ago, if not years ago. But I was being lazy, and I blame myself for that. I should have set the priorities a long time ago, and I failed on that. Well, as of tonight, my children can consider their extracurricular activities re-prioritized by me. I've been getting sick of the sound of the TV always being on, other than when we're doing homework and eating, and I'm most certainly sick of the bullshit advertising and the stupid programming. The programming that never says, "Hey, kids, how about you turn the fucking TV off and read a book?" I am sick of at least one child asking every thirty minutes, "Hey, Mommy, can you buy us... Hey, Mommy, can we have.... Mommy, will you get us..." Sick of it, just simply sick and tired of it.
I know that if I don't get this whole reading thing under control now, it's not going to get better next year. In fact, it will get worse, because next year the work will be harder and the reading more complicated, and I'm sorry, but either of my children failing a grade is not an option. Simply, just not an option. Not for me and not for them. If they fail, it's not going to be because TV was the priority. It's going to be for some legitimate reason. Like some kind of learning disability the school system has failed to properly diagnose. But that's a whole other topic.
As my older daughter was laboring through her word list tonight, I was sitting there beside her, halfway tuned out, looking at my bookshelves with all of my favorite books that have been toted around Prospect, Farmville, the southside of Richmond, Glen Allen and two seperate places in Midlothian. Reading isn't my escape, necessarily, but it's certainly my first love. I was reading Stephen King in seventh grade, sitting up late on school nights in my closet with a flashlight, and by tenth grade I was reading James Clavell and I even gave The Gulag Archipelago a go. Didn't finish it, but I thought it was pretty commendable that I gave it an honest effort at the age of 15. I never shied away from literature classes in college, and even went so far as to take an African Literature class at VCU so I would get to read some stuff that wasn't even near my radar. On the weekends when the children are with their father, and I'm not getting laid, I will sometimes go over to Barnes and Noble and wander for hours, and read little blurbs here and there. When I go to someone's house, I always look at their bookshelves to see what we have in common, and to see if they've got any good recommendations. Right now, I'm reading books on love languages (a relationship book, not a book about THE love languages), the effects of social media and marketing on children (hmmmm), a fictionalized book about Mary, Queen of Scots, and the same damn Clive Cussler book I've been working on for about six months. And a whole bunch of articles on the internet, and a few magazines I've stolen from the various doctor's waiting rooms I've been in (National Geographic, Richmond Family, Garden & Gun, Virginia Living), plus a book on motivational interviewing I'm working on sometimes at work when I eat my lunch, AND Wikipedia.
Not loving to read and not having an appreciation for the written word is not an option for my children. Simply, just not an option. And so, until I've determined that we've moved our reading skills along to the next level, or a point where I am satisfied, there's no more TV. Hell, maybe the TV will just stay off forever. For them. When they're awake. I still need to watch The Real Housewives and Survivor. But for my children, the TV is OFF. Closed up in the entertainment center so they won't be tempted. I am looking forward to the silence, and the sounds of puzzles being constructed on the kitchen table, the sounds of Barbies being played with in bedrooms, and the sounds of pages of books being turned. I should have done this months ago, but it's done now. Let the reading begin.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Updates
Okay... So.... Ummm.... WHO THE FUCK DOESN'T LOVE VCU RIGHT NOW????? Yep, headed to the Final Four, after winning over top-seeded Kansas this afternoon by ten points. The game today wasn't as climactic as the game on Friday night, which was won by one point in overtime with about ten seconds remaining. So now there's all this chitter-chatter on facebook, of which I have contributed, VCU! Rams! There's all kinds of post-game analysis of what did VCU do right (they won) and what did Kansas do wrong (they lost), predictions of the VCU-Butler match-up, how long it'll be until Head Coach Shaka Smart moves on, what this means to Richmond, blah blah blah. Of all the pre-game predictions that I came across, the smartest and most succinct was from a blogging homeslice of mine who basically said that the Kansas team has a tendency to implode at the most inopportune time and today was that day.
I'm somewhat annoyed about the discussion of the bandwagon fans. If you're alumni, you're not a bandwagon fan. Either you or one of your relatives paid dearly in the form of tuition to be a fan, whether it's a diehard or sometime fan. Or maybe VCU paid your way in the form of a scholarship, or maybe the Feds paid your way in student loans that have since been defaulted on. Who knows and who cares? My little birthplace has a spot in the Final Four and I don't think that's ever happened before. We've seen almost-major-league baseball and hockey come and go, arena football teams float around (does Richmond even have one anymore?), a short stint with the women's pro basketball league, and we've watched all the Northsiders charge mad money every May and September to all the Nascar fans for the right to park in their front yards. Other than that, Richmond hasn't been represented much. So yeah, lots of bandwagon fans who aren't bandwagon at all - they just like seeing one of their hometown teams go big. And mad props to everyone on Friday night who at the end of University of Richmond game pulled off their UR t-shirts to reveal a VCU t-shirt.
After a consultation with the older daughter's psychologist, I'll be seeking an outside educational assessment from someone, yet to be determined, to figure out what's going on with her reading. He agreed that I probably can't count on the school system to step up at this point, and I understand that. They have to deal with the worst case scenarios first, and then work their way down. I have a feeling that my older daughter's reading issues are pretty minor in the grand scheme of the enrollment at her elementary school, which is about 990-ish students. But that's fine, because my personal enrollment is exactly two, so I'll step up where the school system can't. I haven't bothered to tell The Ex this yet, but since he can afford a new sports car to go with his new mid-life crisis, he should be able to pay for half. The only thing missing from his mid-life crisis is a baby, and I doubt he'll bother to get his nuts untied for that.
And, on the same vein, The Ex reported tonight when he dropped the children off that there was a problem this past Friday with Mrs. Second Grade Teacher having to address the older daughter twice in class for playing with an arts and crafts kind of thing she snuck into school. Apparently Mrs. Second Grade Teacher told the older daughter that she needed a note from her parents regarding the matter so that she would know that the older daughter told us about it. Here is the type-written note to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher from the douchebag that I married. Obviously I have replaced real names with my special little nicknames I use in my blog. Obviously.
"Dear Mrs. Second Grade Teacher,
My older daughter told me about an incident that happened in your class on Friday. It is my understanding that she was playing with some "arts and crafts stuff" during instructional time and that you took it away. I further understand that it was returned to her and that older daughter said she would not play with it any more. Older daughter stated that she broke her promise and continued to play with the "arts and crafts stuff" during class and that it had to be taken away again.
Older daughter and I talked extensively about how important it is to pay attention in class and also how important it is to keep a promise not to do something, especially after she was given a second chance. I believe older daughter has a full understanding that her behavior was unacceptable, and that by reneging on her promise she was actually lying. She understands that she made poor choices and that her behavior must be corrected immediately.
Please feel free to contact me if my discussion with her about this poor behavior choice is not immediately corrected.
Thank You,
Dickface"
And here is my hand written fantasy letter to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher that will accompany his type-written letter on the printer that I let him keep.
"Dear Mrs. Second Grade Teacher,
As you can see, it's March and this is the first communication you've received all school year from older daughter's father. Upon reading the letter, you will probably note that he is trying way too hard. I disagree with his claim that reneging on a promise is actually a lie, but he still has issues with the fact that I decided after taking my vows that he was really a complete dickhead and I really didn't want to be married to someone who would randomly demand that I perform oral sex upon him. But that's his issue and I pretty much told him that fact. I have also spoken with the older daughter, and probably in a more effective manner than her father, since he doesn't bother to get involved in much of what she's doing other than playing Wii, and she understands that she cannot take her "arts and crafts stuff" to school anymore, which she snuck in to begin with. Since you are such a shitty teacher, I've decided that just speaking with her is enough of a punishment, as the real punishment for her is having to deal with you day after fucking day. If you review her father's letter, you'll notice he's provided no contact information for you to get in touch with him. This is because he really doesn't care to be involved other than providing lip service, and because I haven't listed any of his information down on any of the repetitive school paperwork I've filled out. This is because I know he's not going to do shit. So if you have any other issues with older daughter, you can reach me in the normal fashion, which is to press Speed Dial #1. And upon reaching me, I will give you hell like I do every other time you've reached me.
Sincerely,
Mommy Extrodinaire"
Yep, that's my fantasy letter to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher. However, instead of sending in my fantasy letter, I will simply send his letter in with a sticky note from me on top that says "You can reach me on my cell at 123-4567 if you have any other issues. Mommy." Despite all else, Mrs. Second Grade Teacher knows who is actively involved in the older daughter's school work and school issues. A sticky note will suffice.
Had a great weekend with Guy #1. It was very rudely interrupted by reality, which came at about 5:20 this evening when I had to come back home and wait for my kids to get back from their weekend with The Ex. The Ex has started having The Girlfriend spend every weekend with him, even if the children are with him. And no, I'm not okay with this, but I've talked about it with the child psychologist and he's basically said that I can raise hell and go back to court and demand this and demand that, or I can just roll with it and continue to be the responsible adult in the children's lives. I've decided to just roll with it, because I don't want to deal with whatever The Ex might say to the children if I take him back to court, and because I don't think anyone would emerge victorious. All in all, I'm just having a really hard time of not falling into whiny mode of "it's not fair", because for real, it's not. The Ex doesn't miss anytime with The Girlfriend, but because I have not introduced Guy #1 to the children (and because they don't even know about him), I get to go for about nine or ten days without seeing Guy #1 and goddamnit, it's just not fair. I think I have done really well not falling into the pity party that lives in the back of my head, but it's been extra hard today. I'm so pissed that I'm the one who has to be responsible and has to be concerned about the children all the time. I'm pissed that I can't squeeze a little extra time in with Guy #1, and I'm pissed that Guy #1 also gets the short end of the stick. But I have to keep remembering that the children are the priority right now, and at the end of the nine or ten days will be Guy #1, waiting with a big hug. I can make it, I swear I can.
I'm somewhat annoyed about the discussion of the bandwagon fans. If you're alumni, you're not a bandwagon fan. Either you or one of your relatives paid dearly in the form of tuition to be a fan, whether it's a diehard or sometime fan. Or maybe VCU paid your way in the form of a scholarship, or maybe the Feds paid your way in student loans that have since been defaulted on. Who knows and who cares? My little birthplace has a spot in the Final Four and I don't think that's ever happened before. We've seen almost-major-league baseball and hockey come and go, arena football teams float around (does Richmond even have one anymore?), a short stint with the women's pro basketball league, and we've watched all the Northsiders charge mad money every May and September to all the Nascar fans for the right to park in their front yards. Other than that, Richmond hasn't been represented much. So yeah, lots of bandwagon fans who aren't bandwagon at all - they just like seeing one of their hometown teams go big. And mad props to everyone on Friday night who at the end of University of Richmond game pulled off their UR t-shirts to reveal a VCU t-shirt.
After a consultation with the older daughter's psychologist, I'll be seeking an outside educational assessment from someone, yet to be determined, to figure out what's going on with her reading. He agreed that I probably can't count on the school system to step up at this point, and I understand that. They have to deal with the worst case scenarios first, and then work their way down. I have a feeling that my older daughter's reading issues are pretty minor in the grand scheme of the enrollment at her elementary school, which is about 990-ish students. But that's fine, because my personal enrollment is exactly two, so I'll step up where the school system can't. I haven't bothered to tell The Ex this yet, but since he can afford a new sports car to go with his new mid-life crisis, he should be able to pay for half. The only thing missing from his mid-life crisis is a baby, and I doubt he'll bother to get his nuts untied for that.
And, on the same vein, The Ex reported tonight when he dropped the children off that there was a problem this past Friday with Mrs. Second Grade Teacher having to address the older daughter twice in class for playing with an arts and crafts kind of thing she snuck into school. Apparently Mrs. Second Grade Teacher told the older daughter that she needed a note from her parents regarding the matter so that she would know that the older daughter told us about it. Here is the type-written note to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher from the douchebag that I married. Obviously I have replaced real names with my special little nicknames I use in my blog. Obviously.
"Dear Mrs. Second Grade Teacher,
My older daughter told me about an incident that happened in your class on Friday. It is my understanding that she was playing with some "arts and crafts stuff" during instructional time and that you took it away. I further understand that it was returned to her and that older daughter said she would not play with it any more. Older daughter stated that she broke her promise and continued to play with the "arts and crafts stuff" during class and that it had to be taken away again.
Older daughter and I talked extensively about how important it is to pay attention in class and also how important it is to keep a promise not to do something, especially after she was given a second chance. I believe older daughter has a full understanding that her behavior was unacceptable, and that by reneging on her promise she was actually lying. She understands that she made poor choices and that her behavior must be corrected immediately.
Please feel free to contact me if my discussion with her about this poor behavior choice is not immediately corrected.
Thank You,
Dickface"
And here is my hand written fantasy letter to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher that will accompany his type-written letter on the printer that I let him keep.
"Dear Mrs. Second Grade Teacher,
As you can see, it's March and this is the first communication you've received all school year from older daughter's father. Upon reading the letter, you will probably note that he is trying way too hard. I disagree with his claim that reneging on a promise is actually a lie, but he still has issues with the fact that I decided after taking my vows that he was really a complete dickhead and I really didn't want to be married to someone who would randomly demand that I perform oral sex upon him. But that's his issue and I pretty much told him that fact. I have also spoken with the older daughter, and probably in a more effective manner than her father, since he doesn't bother to get involved in much of what she's doing other than playing Wii, and she understands that she cannot take her "arts and crafts stuff" to school anymore, which she snuck in to begin with. Since you are such a shitty teacher, I've decided that just speaking with her is enough of a punishment, as the real punishment for her is having to deal with you day after fucking day. If you review her father's letter, you'll notice he's provided no contact information for you to get in touch with him. This is because he really doesn't care to be involved other than providing lip service, and because I haven't listed any of his information down on any of the repetitive school paperwork I've filled out. This is because I know he's not going to do shit. So if you have any other issues with older daughter, you can reach me in the normal fashion, which is to press Speed Dial #1. And upon reaching me, I will give you hell like I do every other time you've reached me.
Sincerely,
Mommy Extrodinaire"
Yep, that's my fantasy letter to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher. However, instead of sending in my fantasy letter, I will simply send his letter in with a sticky note from me on top that says "You can reach me on my cell at 123-4567 if you have any other issues. Mommy." Despite all else, Mrs. Second Grade Teacher knows who is actively involved in the older daughter's school work and school issues. A sticky note will suffice.
Had a great weekend with Guy #1. It was very rudely interrupted by reality, which came at about 5:20 this evening when I had to come back home and wait for my kids to get back from their weekend with The Ex. The Ex has started having The Girlfriend spend every weekend with him, even if the children are with him. And no, I'm not okay with this, but I've talked about it with the child psychologist and he's basically said that I can raise hell and go back to court and demand this and demand that, or I can just roll with it and continue to be the responsible adult in the children's lives. I've decided to just roll with it, because I don't want to deal with whatever The Ex might say to the children if I take him back to court, and because I don't think anyone would emerge victorious. All in all, I'm just having a really hard time of not falling into whiny mode of "it's not fair", because for real, it's not. The Ex doesn't miss anytime with The Girlfriend, but because I have not introduced Guy #1 to the children (and because they don't even know about him), I get to go for about nine or ten days without seeing Guy #1 and goddamnit, it's just not fair. I think I have done really well not falling into the pity party that lives in the back of my head, but it's been extra hard today. I'm so pissed that I'm the one who has to be responsible and has to be concerned about the children all the time. I'm pissed that I can't squeeze a little extra time in with Guy #1, and I'm pissed that Guy #1 also gets the short end of the stick. But I have to keep remembering that the children are the priority right now, and at the end of the nine or ten days will be Guy #1, waiting with a big hug. I can make it, I swear I can.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Not So Stupid Stuff in My Head
Yes, it's true. In addition to the stupid stuff in my head, I also have not so stupid stuff in my head. Here goes:
The Japanese Tsunami - I've had to call a moratorium on my news boycott for this one. I think this is because of our perverse desire to see horrific things happen to other people, ala rubbernecking. Really, that's all the news is, electronic rubbernecking, which is one reason why I don't watch the news. At this point in time, I probably won't donate any money, because I don't have any extra money to give, but if I change my mind it will be solely because I know the Japanese are pretty self-sufficient and won't immediately begin to demand foreign aid and then when the foreign aid is sent, they won't bitch about why didn't we send more. I think the ability to survive the first nuclear holocaust has proven them to be self-sufficient, and so, I'll wait to see what happens. For some reason this whole thing just kind of reinforces in my mind how dangerous cruise ships are what with rogue waves and such. I fully expect that the liberal media organizations in our country will find a way to blame the tsunami on our last President. Other than that, I'm annoyed that all of the major news channels on cable seem to have somehow managed to synchronize their commercials, because my plan of action last night was to watch a channel until a commercial came on, and then flip to the next channel and repeat. But they all had commercials on at the same time. Damnit! You are messing up my non-stop coverage. I'm also somewhat disappointed about how the news has been dumbed down, or maybe it's always been dumbed down for the masses and I'm just smarter than the average person. I mean, who doesn't know what the Ring of Fire is? Or maybe this is just a filler. Of course, I was always amazed when I would watch one of the late shows and they did "Man on the Street" kind of interviews where they would stop random people on the street and ask them the most basic of questions, like "Do you know what the Holocaust was or name the current Speaker of the House" And some of those people didn't know.
5.3 - This is the rating that was given to my blog by the editors of the blog site I recently signed my blog up on. You submit your blog for approval, and then professional editors review it for approval and also rate it. I'm a 5.3. I don't really have a problem being reviewed for content and appropriateness, but I'm a little annoyed with my end result. Specifically, I was rated on frequency of updates, relevance of content, site design, and writing style. Okay, I had a four month period of time when I didn't post. Sorry. Was working on the love life, not the write life. Relevance of content - probably the most subjective category, because people will blog about anything. I think the food blogs are the most annoying (and gay) to me. Who actually reads that tripe? Site design - sorry, I don't want to post a 350 word post about a finding a new restaurant in the city, and I don't want my blog to look like some fancy news magazine. I've come across a couple of good blogs to follow (that are highly rated) even though I wasn't really looking to begin with, but the writing is too short and leaves me with too many unanswered questions, and the sites look more like something a fancy ad agency has created. I just think that too much visual clutter takes away from the writing and is distracting, and if you're not going to write much, what's the point in having a blog anyway? Writing content - Yes, I know I'm not for everyone. But if someone can't get my writing and enjoy it, that's probably someone I wouldn't want to hang out with to begin with. Personally, I rate myself at precisely 8.798432. A suggestion on another site was to turn your blog posts into e-readers, which I may look into when I'm not feeling so internetically lazy. That might actually be more appropriate since I actually write versus blurt, which I think most blogs should be called. Blurts, because that's about all there is.
What is up with my daughter? - This is my weekend without my children. I feel like we've really settled into a great routine, all things considered. Summer is fast approaching and I really don't know how I will function without them being with me full time. I feel the anxiety creeping up on my slowly, but I know it will start to increase more and more the closer we get for them to go live with their father during the summer. My own personal tsunami of anxiety, to use a horrible analogy. I put them on the bus in our neighborhood yesterday and told them I would see them later today at the cheerleading banquet. My older daughter has started to pull away from me a little bit in public because she's getting to that age where it's not cool to hug and kiss your mom in public. We went to the school skate night earlier in the month and it was the best skate night ever for me, because she wanted to hold hands skating around the rink. But anyway, she won't let me give her hugs or kisses when we say goodbye in public and she generally acts relieved to be getting away from me. So imagine my surprise when she called last night. Generally, on a Friday night that she's with The Ex, I am the last thing on her mind so we don't talk on the phone. I know she needs her time with her father without me calling, especially when I just saw her that morning. But something was wrong last night. She was quiet and I could feel something wasn't right through the phone. When I asked what was wrong, she just said in the littlest voice ever, "I just miss you.", and then she started crying. Which immediately made me want to cry. This is not her norm. I don't know what happened, other than The Ex took the children over to the cheer coach's house to pack up pies for the sale at the cheerleading banquet, but I wondered if there was some bad-mouthing of Mommy going on, or if something else had happened. Of course she wouldn't be able to say because I could hear The Ex clearing his throat periodically through the phone so I know he was sitting right beside her. That motherfucker just cannot respect anyone's privacy. I told her we would find a quiet corner at the banquet to talk this afternoon and just have some Mommy-older daughter time for hugs and kisses. I absolutely hate that she has to go through this.
Best click ever - This is what Guy #1 told me last night, right before he gave me an awesome shadow puppet lip-synching show on the ceiling of my bedroom backlit by his cell phone. Keep in mind that we met on a dating site, and really, out of the eighty bazillion mouse clicks I've ever made, he might be my best click, too. I wish we could get paid a penny for every click because then I wouldn't have to worry about trying to find somewhere to get affordable tires and figure out how in the hell to pay for them. But that's neither here nor there. I think he's starting to get worried that I haven't introduced him to any of my friends or family, but I don't see them that often. My life is wrapped up in my children - I don't have time for much else, unless it's on facebook. I haven't seen one of my best girlfriends since the summer, the other one at Christmas, and I don't think I've seen any of my family other than my mother since Christmas. Holy bejesus, where does time go? But yeah, I like knowing that I'm the best click ever.
The Japanese Tsunami - I've had to call a moratorium on my news boycott for this one. I think this is because of our perverse desire to see horrific things happen to other people, ala rubbernecking. Really, that's all the news is, electronic rubbernecking, which is one reason why I don't watch the news. At this point in time, I probably won't donate any money, because I don't have any extra money to give, but if I change my mind it will be solely because I know the Japanese are pretty self-sufficient and won't immediately begin to demand foreign aid and then when the foreign aid is sent, they won't bitch about why didn't we send more. I think the ability to survive the first nuclear holocaust has proven them to be self-sufficient, and so, I'll wait to see what happens. For some reason this whole thing just kind of reinforces in my mind how dangerous cruise ships are what with rogue waves and such. I fully expect that the liberal media organizations in our country will find a way to blame the tsunami on our last President. Other than that, I'm annoyed that all of the major news channels on cable seem to have somehow managed to synchronize their commercials, because my plan of action last night was to watch a channel until a commercial came on, and then flip to the next channel and repeat. But they all had commercials on at the same time. Damnit! You are messing up my non-stop coverage. I'm also somewhat disappointed about how the news has been dumbed down, or maybe it's always been dumbed down for the masses and I'm just smarter than the average person. I mean, who doesn't know what the Ring of Fire is? Or maybe this is just a filler. Of course, I was always amazed when I would watch one of the late shows and they did "Man on the Street" kind of interviews where they would stop random people on the street and ask them the most basic of questions, like "Do you know what the Holocaust was or name the current Speaker of the House" And some of those people didn't know.
5.3 - This is the rating that was given to my blog by the editors of the blog site I recently signed my blog up on. You submit your blog for approval, and then professional editors review it for approval and also rate it. I'm a 5.3. I don't really have a problem being reviewed for content and appropriateness, but I'm a little annoyed with my end result. Specifically, I was rated on frequency of updates, relevance of content, site design, and writing style. Okay, I had a four month period of time when I didn't post. Sorry. Was working on the love life, not the write life. Relevance of content - probably the most subjective category, because people will blog about anything. I think the food blogs are the most annoying (and gay) to me. Who actually reads that tripe? Site design - sorry, I don't want to post a 350 word post about a finding a new restaurant in the city, and I don't want my blog to look like some fancy news magazine. I've come across a couple of good blogs to follow (that are highly rated) even though I wasn't really looking to begin with, but the writing is too short and leaves me with too many unanswered questions, and the sites look more like something a fancy ad agency has created. I just think that too much visual clutter takes away from the writing and is distracting, and if you're not going to write much, what's the point in having a blog anyway? Writing content - Yes, I know I'm not for everyone. But if someone can't get my writing and enjoy it, that's probably someone I wouldn't want to hang out with to begin with. Personally, I rate myself at precisely 8.798432. A suggestion on another site was to turn your blog posts into e-readers, which I may look into when I'm not feeling so internetically lazy. That might actually be more appropriate since I actually write versus blurt, which I think most blogs should be called. Blurts, because that's about all there is.
What is up with my daughter? - This is my weekend without my children. I feel like we've really settled into a great routine, all things considered. Summer is fast approaching and I really don't know how I will function without them being with me full time. I feel the anxiety creeping up on my slowly, but I know it will start to increase more and more the closer we get for them to go live with their father during the summer. My own personal tsunami of anxiety, to use a horrible analogy. I put them on the bus in our neighborhood yesterday and told them I would see them later today at the cheerleading banquet. My older daughter has started to pull away from me a little bit in public because she's getting to that age where it's not cool to hug and kiss your mom in public. We went to the school skate night earlier in the month and it was the best skate night ever for me, because she wanted to hold hands skating around the rink. But anyway, she won't let me give her hugs or kisses when we say goodbye in public and she generally acts relieved to be getting away from me. So imagine my surprise when she called last night. Generally, on a Friday night that she's with The Ex, I am the last thing on her mind so we don't talk on the phone. I know she needs her time with her father without me calling, especially when I just saw her that morning. But something was wrong last night. She was quiet and I could feel something wasn't right through the phone. When I asked what was wrong, she just said in the littlest voice ever, "I just miss you.", and then she started crying. Which immediately made me want to cry. This is not her norm. I don't know what happened, other than The Ex took the children over to the cheer coach's house to pack up pies for the sale at the cheerleading banquet, but I wondered if there was some bad-mouthing of Mommy going on, or if something else had happened. Of course she wouldn't be able to say because I could hear The Ex clearing his throat periodically through the phone so I know he was sitting right beside her. That motherfucker just cannot respect anyone's privacy. I told her we would find a quiet corner at the banquet to talk this afternoon and just have some Mommy-older daughter time for hugs and kisses. I absolutely hate that she has to go through this.
Best click ever - This is what Guy #1 told me last night, right before he gave me an awesome shadow puppet lip-synching show on the ceiling of my bedroom backlit by his cell phone. Keep in mind that we met on a dating site, and really, out of the eighty bazillion mouse clicks I've ever made, he might be my best click, too. I wish we could get paid a penny for every click because then I wouldn't have to worry about trying to find somewhere to get affordable tires and figure out how in the hell to pay for them. But that's neither here nor there. I think he's starting to get worried that I haven't introduced him to any of my friends or family, but I don't see them that often. My life is wrapped up in my children - I don't have time for much else, unless it's on facebook. I haven't seen one of my best girlfriends since the summer, the other one at Christmas, and I don't think I've seen any of my family other than my mother since Christmas. Holy bejesus, where does time go? But yeah, I like knowing that I'm the best click ever.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
More Stupid Stuff In My Head
Procrastinating about going to sleep, because, well, if I don't go to sleep then I won't have to get up in the morning and then I won't have to do all that shit that I need to do tomorrow. Like pack a bag to go to a conference and send my children off to my mother's for the night. But I'm only staying one night because the thought of being away from my children on school nights is giving me anxiety. I feel like this routine I've worked so hard to perfect since late August will be totally blown out of the water with if they spend more than one night with my mother. Or anyone for that matter. I'm totally fine with them going anywhere on the weekends, but week nights? School nights? I think not. I also think the separation anxiety I am having from being away for one school night is exacerbated by thinking they will have separation anxiety from me, although, I know realistically that's not it. What's really going on in my head is that I feel like their father has already fallen down on so many promises that if I am not there, they might worry I'm crapping out on them, too.
Taxes. How the FUCK did I go from being married and getting THOUSANDS of dollars back each year at tax time to owing the feds? How did that happen? I have six months of mortgage interest to claim, one child, daycare expenses, medical expenses, sales tax, anything my mother could find to itemize and I STILL OWE????? I am so incredibly pissed at myself for agreeing to let The Ex claim our younger daughter that it's not even funny. Greedy bastard. I guess that's the big fuck you I get for agreeing to him not paying child support, though in his defense (why do I even bother to defend him?) he does pay the younger daughter's child care and some other lightweight kind of stuff. But I'm still mad at myself. I suppose that's what ten years of being mistreated, harassed, stalked and condescended to will do to a person's willpower. I hope he catches gonorrhea.
My mother finished up the taxes yesterday and I signed the paperwork and was getting ready to slide the form in the envelope, seal it up and mail that puppy off. My mother says, "Um, you need to put a check in with that." I was like, "What?" She said I need to mail a check in with what I owe in with the actual tax filings. Huh? That is not how that was working in my head. In my head, I was going to mail the filing in, the guv people were going to review it for accuracy and mail me a bill for what I owed. I was then going to call the 1-800 number on the bill and work out a payment plan with the guv. Kind of like my student loans. I mean, they certainly didn't expect me to pay in full upon my college graduation. Why would taxes be any different? But apparently it is. So fuck again. I just won't mail that one in right now. We're not to the deadline anyway. But I did change my withholdings today. I changed from six exemptions to five, because I've figured in order to have money to feed my children, I'll have to crawl it back each year by one. I don't even know how I ended up with six exemptions to begin with, because I got a copy of my withholding form last week at work that I filled out back in 2005 after the younger daughter was born, and all of the numbers were right. That's the guv for you. Funny math and all where none of it adds up right on one form and all of it adds up right on another form and the two forms don't match when it's time to make the forms match.
I put a profile pic on my blog. It always pisses me off to read a book and I flip to the back cover to see what the author looks like and there's no picture. Hello, I want to know what you look like. Don't be recluse. I guess I need to do that, too. So until I change my mind, freak out and take the picture off, which might be tomorrow, here's what I look like, for that one person who reads my blog who might not actually know me personally.
The suspected East Coast Rapist has been caught. I got a little panicky last week after I saw one of the giant electronic billboards on I-95 with the profile up and I came home and looked it up on the web. I'm still on my news boycott, so I don't know much of what's going on if someone doesn't tell me or I don't see it on facebook. But panicky... I came home and immediately checked all of my windows, because my bedroom windows are low enough that when my children locked me out of my bedroom this past weekend, I ran around the back of the house with a screwdriver, popped the screen off and hoisted my younger daughter through the window to run and open Mommy's bedroom door. Thank god the window itself was already open because that would have required some additional effort on my part. But dropping my child in through the window... I didn't even have to hoist her up on my shoulders, I just lifted her up and dropped her in because the window is that low to the ground. I could have climbed in myself, but the neighbors were in their yard and I didn't want anyone to see how that worked. Of course, if the morons who lived in this house before me hadn't put an actual exterior door knob and locking mechanism on the master bedroom door, this would not have been an issue. My children already know simple lock picking, but we haven't gotten to the exterior locks yet. I was waiting until middle school to teach them about the tumblers.
But after I read about this East Coast Rapist, and I knew that however many victims they know about can probably be multiplied by two or three for the real count, I got a little panicky and rushed around and checked all of my doors and locks. Even though the chances were slim he would select my house, I know that there's another one right around the corner. Maybe literally, but I hope not. Kind of like when people get all riled up about school safety and scanning ID's of people going into the schools and oh my god, it could be a sex offender. Yeah, it could be. Probably won't be, but it could be. I always tell people that they don't really need to worry about a registered sex offender trying to get into a school because there's probably already one with full access to the school WHO HASN'T BEEN CAUGHT YET. But the stay-at-home moms and administrators never really like to hear that and their faces get all tight and squinchy when I say that. That's okay. I know it's true. Jut like all of the parents like to say there are no gangs in Midlothian. Sure. Maybe not like what you see on Gangland, but if there are no gangs in Midlothian, then who put the Gangster Disciple graffiti on the big Electric Company substation box across the street from the fancy new hospital with the bell tower and the marble lobby? Oh, wait, I forgot. GD stands for Growth and Development. My mistake.
And now, I've managed to waste an hour. Time to go pack up for this shindig tomorrow and try to make it through til Friday, when Guy #1 will come over and help me paint the kitchen, which was my big weekend project, except I'm so tired of running around doing shit for cheerleading that I really just kind of want a weekend of nothingness, interrupted only by the cheerleading and basketball banquet on Saturday afternoon that I need to finish making the Pie Sale signs for and bake some desserts. But if I go the painting route, which I won't because I just made up my mind I won't, I'm thinking I can paint and he can sit and watch because I'm kind of anal retentive about painting. Or maybe we'll just hop in the sack at three in the afternoon and see what shakes out. Holla!
Taxes. How the FUCK did I go from being married and getting THOUSANDS of dollars back each year at tax time to owing the feds? How did that happen? I have six months of mortgage interest to claim, one child, daycare expenses, medical expenses, sales tax, anything my mother could find to itemize and I STILL OWE????? I am so incredibly pissed at myself for agreeing to let The Ex claim our younger daughter that it's not even funny. Greedy bastard. I guess that's the big fuck you I get for agreeing to him not paying child support, though in his defense (why do I even bother to defend him?) he does pay the younger daughter's child care and some other lightweight kind of stuff. But I'm still mad at myself. I suppose that's what ten years of being mistreated, harassed, stalked and condescended to will do to a person's willpower. I hope he catches gonorrhea.
My mother finished up the taxes yesterday and I signed the paperwork and was getting ready to slide the form in the envelope, seal it up and mail that puppy off. My mother says, "Um, you need to put a check in with that." I was like, "What?" She said I need to mail a check in with what I owe in with the actual tax filings. Huh? That is not how that was working in my head. In my head, I was going to mail the filing in, the guv people were going to review it for accuracy and mail me a bill for what I owed. I was then going to call the 1-800 number on the bill and work out a payment plan with the guv. Kind of like my student loans. I mean, they certainly didn't expect me to pay in full upon my college graduation. Why would taxes be any different? But apparently it is. So fuck again. I just won't mail that one in right now. We're not to the deadline anyway. But I did change my withholdings today. I changed from six exemptions to five, because I've figured in order to have money to feed my children, I'll have to crawl it back each year by one. I don't even know how I ended up with six exemptions to begin with, because I got a copy of my withholding form last week at work that I filled out back in 2005 after the younger daughter was born, and all of the numbers were right. That's the guv for you. Funny math and all where none of it adds up right on one form and all of it adds up right on another form and the two forms don't match when it's time to make the forms match.
I put a profile pic on my blog. It always pisses me off to read a book and I flip to the back cover to see what the author looks like and there's no picture. Hello, I want to know what you look like. Don't be recluse. I guess I need to do that, too. So until I change my mind, freak out and take the picture off, which might be tomorrow, here's what I look like, for that one person who reads my blog who might not actually know me personally.
The suspected East Coast Rapist has been caught. I got a little panicky last week after I saw one of the giant electronic billboards on I-95 with the profile up and I came home and looked it up on the web. I'm still on my news boycott, so I don't know much of what's going on if someone doesn't tell me or I don't see it on facebook. But panicky... I came home and immediately checked all of my windows, because my bedroom windows are low enough that when my children locked me out of my bedroom this past weekend, I ran around the back of the house with a screwdriver, popped the screen off and hoisted my younger daughter through the window to run and open Mommy's bedroom door. Thank god the window itself was already open because that would have required some additional effort on my part. But dropping my child in through the window... I didn't even have to hoist her up on my shoulders, I just lifted her up and dropped her in because the window is that low to the ground. I could have climbed in myself, but the neighbors were in their yard and I didn't want anyone to see how that worked. Of course, if the morons who lived in this house before me hadn't put an actual exterior door knob and locking mechanism on the master bedroom door, this would not have been an issue. My children already know simple lock picking, but we haven't gotten to the exterior locks yet. I was waiting until middle school to teach them about the tumblers.
But after I read about this East Coast Rapist, and I knew that however many victims they know about can probably be multiplied by two or three for the real count, I got a little panicky and rushed around and checked all of my doors and locks. Even though the chances were slim he would select my house, I know that there's another one right around the corner. Maybe literally, but I hope not. Kind of like when people get all riled up about school safety and scanning ID's of people going into the schools and oh my god, it could be a sex offender. Yeah, it could be. Probably won't be, but it could be. I always tell people that they don't really need to worry about a registered sex offender trying to get into a school because there's probably already one with full access to the school WHO HASN'T BEEN CAUGHT YET. But the stay-at-home moms and administrators never really like to hear that and their faces get all tight and squinchy when I say that. That's okay. I know it's true. Jut like all of the parents like to say there are no gangs in Midlothian. Sure. Maybe not like what you see on Gangland, but if there are no gangs in Midlothian, then who put the Gangster Disciple graffiti on the big Electric Company substation box across the street from the fancy new hospital with the bell tower and the marble lobby? Oh, wait, I forgot. GD stands for Growth and Development. My mistake.
And now, I've managed to waste an hour. Time to go pack up for this shindig tomorrow and try to make it through til Friday, when Guy #1 will come over and help me paint the kitchen, which was my big weekend project, except I'm so tired of running around doing shit for cheerleading that I really just kind of want a weekend of nothingness, interrupted only by the cheerleading and basketball banquet on Saturday afternoon that I need to finish making the Pie Sale signs for and bake some desserts. But if I go the painting route, which I won't because I just made up my mind I won't, I'm thinking I can paint and he can sit and watch because I'm kind of anal retentive about painting. Or maybe we'll just hop in the sack at three in the afternoon and see what shakes out. Holla!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Psychologist, Heal Thy Child
I came to the conclusion that I needed to put my older daughter in counseling around November. Behavioral issues, problems with her attitude, problems at school... It was not pretty. My beautiful little almost eight year old was not doing well and I didn't know what to do to help her. Every time I think about all the shit I've been through in the past year, I know that what she has been through has been a thousand times worse. I remember when my parents split up and it sucked.
For whatever it's worth, I've tried to do better by her and her sister than my parents were able to do. I found a place to move to in her school district so she wouldn't have to change schools, and I did my best to make sure her father could keep the house so she would be able to go back to the only house she had ever lived in. I have worked really hard to just let all of his passive-aggressive comments roll off my back, and I arranged a special birthday dinner for her with The Ex and The Girlfriend (see, capitalized!) so she would know that Mommy really can get along just fine. I've answered her questions as best I can about the divorce, and tried to explain it in the most honest way possible. I've worked freakishly hard to hide my love life from her, because she's so busy dealing with all the shit The Ex is throwing at her that I don't know if she can handle anything new from me. I've tried to be there with just hugs and love, and be as consistent and stable as I can be.
The latest thing that she mentions, weekly, is when The Ex and The Girlfriend get married and fill in the blank here. Her psychologist thinks that this is her way of preparing herself for it. She asked me a couple of weeks ago if I like The Girlfriend. I told her that I thought The Girlfriend was very nice and she seems like she sincerely likes my daughters. I also told her that if she liked The Girlfriend, then that's all that mattered. And for real, The Girlfriend seems pretty decent. I suspect that I will end up liking her more than I like The Ex. The psychologist says that The Girlfriend will probably help The Ex to be a better parent, but I am a little doubtful of this, because The Girlfriend doesn't have children. There have been a few times at sporting events, etc., where I've caught The Girlfriend looking at my children like they're little aliens. Whatever. They'll break her ass in.
I wish I had known when I got married that The Ex wasn't going to shake out to be the most dedicated father. But I suppose my mother wished the same thing about my father. The Ex asked me, early in the separation what he could do to not treat our daughters like my father treated me. I explained that all he had to do was make the children his priority and not blow them off for something stupid. I just didn't think accomplishing that would be hard. Apparently it is, because I just read on his facebook that the reason he couldn't come and see his younger daughter cheer tonight was because he was at a local bar. Obviously way more important than his child. Kind of like when he picked the children up from before and after care last week for his weekly night with them and took them straight to the neighbors house (where he left them to be fed dinner by the neighbor) because he had to take care of buying a car. Seven days in the week... you have them one night... that leaves six whole other nights for you to buy a car, and you do it on the one night you have the children? Anyway, thanks, Mom, for never unfriending him and then giving me your password. You rock!
Sadly, I almost think the children are getting kind of used to it. He's stopped calling every night, and the children have stopped asking. I don't remind them because I don't really want them to notice because I am scared that when they do notice, like I did with my father, they will then be able to do the math and figure out they aren't a top priority. But when he does call at about ten minutes before bedtime, he acts confused about what time they go to bed and tells me they get to stay up later at his house. Did I mention that he also got shitty about having to pay the co-pays for the psychologist? Um, how about I pay ALL of the health insurance? But it's all good, because I've just realized that I can itemize medical expenses and insurance on my taxes and I will be making sure I throw away all of the medical receipts for the child I erroneously agreed to let him claim on taxes. How you like me now, douchebag?
And so our visits with the psychologist continue, and we've even spread it out to three week intervals. I am seeing my beautiful little girl with her beautiful little personality return to me, and I hope that this is something that she will come out on the other side stronger for. I hope.
For whatever it's worth, I've tried to do better by her and her sister than my parents were able to do. I found a place to move to in her school district so she wouldn't have to change schools, and I did my best to make sure her father could keep the house so she would be able to go back to the only house she had ever lived in. I have worked really hard to just let all of his passive-aggressive comments roll off my back, and I arranged a special birthday dinner for her with The Ex and The Girlfriend (see, capitalized!) so she would know that Mommy really can get along just fine. I've answered her questions as best I can about the divorce, and tried to explain it in the most honest way possible. I've worked freakishly hard to hide my love life from her, because she's so busy dealing with all the shit The Ex is throwing at her that I don't know if she can handle anything new from me. I've tried to be there with just hugs and love, and be as consistent and stable as I can be.
The latest thing that she mentions, weekly, is when The Ex and The Girlfriend get married and fill in the blank here. Her psychologist thinks that this is her way of preparing herself for it. She asked me a couple of weeks ago if I like The Girlfriend. I told her that I thought The Girlfriend was very nice and she seems like she sincerely likes my daughters. I also told her that if she liked The Girlfriend, then that's all that mattered. And for real, The Girlfriend seems pretty decent. I suspect that I will end up liking her more than I like The Ex. The psychologist says that The Girlfriend will probably help The Ex to be a better parent, but I am a little doubtful of this, because The Girlfriend doesn't have children. There have been a few times at sporting events, etc., where I've caught The Girlfriend looking at my children like they're little aliens. Whatever. They'll break her ass in.
I wish I had known when I got married that The Ex wasn't going to shake out to be the most dedicated father. But I suppose my mother wished the same thing about my father. The Ex asked me, early in the separation what he could do to not treat our daughters like my father treated me. I explained that all he had to do was make the children his priority and not blow them off for something stupid. I just didn't think accomplishing that would be hard. Apparently it is, because I just read on his facebook that the reason he couldn't come and see his younger daughter cheer tonight was because he was at a local bar. Obviously way more important than his child. Kind of like when he picked the children up from before and after care last week for his weekly night with them and took them straight to the neighbors house (where he left them to be fed dinner by the neighbor) because he had to take care of buying a car. Seven days in the week... you have them one night... that leaves six whole other nights for you to buy a car, and you do it on the one night you have the children? Anyway, thanks, Mom, for never unfriending him and then giving me your password. You rock!
Sadly, I almost think the children are getting kind of used to it. He's stopped calling every night, and the children have stopped asking. I don't remind them because I don't really want them to notice because I am scared that when they do notice, like I did with my father, they will then be able to do the math and figure out they aren't a top priority. But when he does call at about ten minutes before bedtime, he acts confused about what time they go to bed and tells me they get to stay up later at his house. Did I mention that he also got shitty about having to pay the co-pays for the psychologist? Um, how about I pay ALL of the health insurance? But it's all good, because I've just realized that I can itemize medical expenses and insurance on my taxes and I will be making sure I throw away all of the medical receipts for the child I erroneously agreed to let him claim on taxes. How you like me now, douchebag?
And so our visits with the psychologist continue, and we've even spread it out to three week intervals. I am seeing my beautiful little girl with her beautiful little personality return to me, and I hope that this is something that she will come out on the other side stronger for. I hope.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Just Because
Flowers were delivered to me yesterday at work, along with an awesome lunch. And a Coke. And a smile. And yes, they were from Guy #1, delivered personally. I need to come up with another name for him, to go along with all of my other capitalized names, but I am struggling on this a bit. I mean, I have The Ex, Mothbrain, Mrs. Second Grade Teacher, Mr. So-and-So from daycare, The Daycare Nazi (Mr. So-and-So's mom) and a few others here and there. There was Emotional Cancer, but he only got that capitalization once, because he didn't deserve capitalization more than that, and then there might be The Girlfriend, because I think The Ex's girlfriend will probably be mentioned more and more, unless she becomes The Wife. But I don't think The Wife will be the right title for her. I will probably go with The Third Wife, because that just seems so much more descriptive and telling of his First Two Epic Failures. So technically this would make me The Second Wife, which I may at some point decide to refer to myself as periodically in third person. Personally, I could also call myself The Dumbest Wife, since I am the one who stuck it out the longest. So far.
The flowers were gorgeous--15 long-stemmed pink roses. The flowers were delivered in person, accompanied by a note that was hand-written on a really pretty shade of purple legal paper that I provided right there in my office. I have found that having a really pretty shade of purple legal paper kind of negates some of the shit I have to write on said paper. Kind of negates it, but not all the way. The reason for the flower and lunch delivery? Just because. This man has given me more flowers in four months than I've gotten in the last fifteen years. No, he wasn't in the doghouse, and no, he wasn't looking to get laid because I was at work and he got plenty of that over the past weekend. Just because.
The Ex never gave me flowers because I insisted he not spend the money on something so trite, something that was going to die in a few days, especially when we needed to save our money for stuff like diapers and daycare. I have learned a couple of lessons from this. The first one is that I will never, ever have a joint checking account exclusively again. If, if, if I ever change my marital or shacking up status, there will be my money in my account, his money in his account and house money in a joint account. Of course, if I had known that the money I wanted to save for diapers and daycare would end up getting funneled over to a World of Warcraft account and gaming apparati (is that the plural for apparatuses?), I would have said, yeah, go ahead and get me flowers. Except I wouldn't have, because every gift from The Ex came with strings attached and every card that he signed with some flowery bullshit felt contrived. Contrived to the point that I secretly started throwing the cards away a few years ago. I have saved almost every piece of paper and every card that's ever been given to me, except for some of the ones that he gave me because they just didn't mean shit. Maybe instinctively my gut was telling me that it felt contrived because it was. Maybe it was my gut telling me I had married a psychopath. Who knows?
My other lesson learned on the whole refusing the flowers thing in my marriage is really the larger lesson, because I realized sometime early on in the separation, and I think deep down I knew it during the marriage, I didn't let The Ex do anything for me. Because of the attachment of strings and all of the other dysfunctional shit. I didn't let him do anything nice for me, and I was such a complete bitch that it probably turned into him not wanting to do anything for me. So I knew before I was even ready to start dating that this was something I needed to change within myself, because I didn't want to be that kind of bitch to anyone else. There is really only one person that I want to reserve that level of bitchiness for, and I am pleased that I can still dose it out as needed to The Ex. Seriously though, I knew that if I ever wanted a relationship or whatever to succeed, I would have to learn how to let a man do something nice for me and just be gracious and appreciative.
I've worked really hard to say goodbye to the Steph who didn't want flowers because I deemed it a waste of money while I was secretly jealous of all the other women at work who got flowers. I've worked really hard to learn how to let someone do something for me, just because, and just go with it. I've worked really hard to be appreciative and grateful that someone wants to do something for me. Just because.
The flowers were gorgeous--15 long-stemmed pink roses. The flowers were delivered in person, accompanied by a note that was hand-written on a really pretty shade of purple legal paper that I provided right there in my office. I have found that having a really pretty shade of purple legal paper kind of negates some of the shit I have to write on said paper. Kind of negates it, but not all the way. The reason for the flower and lunch delivery? Just because. This man has given me more flowers in four months than I've gotten in the last fifteen years. No, he wasn't in the doghouse, and no, he wasn't looking to get laid because I was at work and he got plenty of that over the past weekend. Just because.
The Ex never gave me flowers because I insisted he not spend the money on something so trite, something that was going to die in a few days, especially when we needed to save our money for stuff like diapers and daycare. I have learned a couple of lessons from this. The first one is that I will never, ever have a joint checking account exclusively again. If, if, if I ever change my marital or shacking up status, there will be my money in my account, his money in his account and house money in a joint account. Of course, if I had known that the money I wanted to save for diapers and daycare would end up getting funneled over to a World of Warcraft account and gaming apparati (is that the plural for apparatuses?), I would have said, yeah, go ahead and get me flowers. Except I wouldn't have, because every gift from The Ex came with strings attached and every card that he signed with some flowery bullshit felt contrived. Contrived to the point that I secretly started throwing the cards away a few years ago. I have saved almost every piece of paper and every card that's ever been given to me, except for some of the ones that he gave me because they just didn't mean shit. Maybe instinctively my gut was telling me that it felt contrived because it was. Maybe it was my gut telling me I had married a psychopath. Who knows?
My other lesson learned on the whole refusing the flowers thing in my marriage is really the larger lesson, because I realized sometime early on in the separation, and I think deep down I knew it during the marriage, I didn't let The Ex do anything for me. Because of the attachment of strings and all of the other dysfunctional shit. I didn't let him do anything nice for me, and I was such a complete bitch that it probably turned into him not wanting to do anything for me. So I knew before I was even ready to start dating that this was something I needed to change within myself, because I didn't want to be that kind of bitch to anyone else. There is really only one person that I want to reserve that level of bitchiness for, and I am pleased that I can still dose it out as needed to The Ex. Seriously though, I knew that if I ever wanted a relationship or whatever to succeed, I would have to learn how to let a man do something nice for me and just be gracious and appreciative.
I've worked really hard to say goodbye to the Steph who didn't want flowers because I deemed it a waste of money while I was secretly jealous of all the other women at work who got flowers. I've worked really hard to learn how to let someone do something for me, just because, and just go with it. I've worked really hard to be appreciative and grateful that someone wants to do something for me. Just because.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Undefined
So I am dying of exhaustion here because I've been awake since approximately 4:40am and it's now 10:12pm and I haven't had a nap. At all. No nap. Since I can nap after being awake for, oh, say, ten minutes, this is killing me. I sat down earlier today to write a blog about the whole cheerleading competition that occurred back in October, but it just wasn't flowing. I am mostly (completely) pissed at myself for this, because during the competition, the actual morning of the big event, and then the competition itself, the writing in my head was so awesome I could have rolled out some good stuff on toilet paper in the bathroom. But I didn't. I was working on other things (read that as love life) and so I kind of lost it. I mean, I didn't lose the event in my mind, and I can still recapture the emotions, but my ability to put it on paper (electronically via my computer screen, that is) just kind of fizzled and I'm not feeling like trying to rekindle it at this point. Lesson learned. No more delaying a fabulous blog post for three or four months.
Love life. I know all six of you who follow me, and maybe a few more, are wondering what's up with that, because for real, even though I conveniently blamed everything else in my life for preventing me from blogging, it was really the love life. Let's just call a spade a spade. As I stated in another post, it started out with Date #1 with Guy #1 and was supposed to be this big, gigantic social-networking-dating-site kind of grand experiment. Except, as you know, it didn't work out like that. I am now on Month #4 with Guy #1. Because I really like Guy #1, and so I came to the conclusion, and the dispensation of a few learned friends, that if I like Guy #1 why would I try for Guy #2? I mean, I'm 37. I'm not trying to date the Western Hemisphere. I'm not trying to recreate my twenties and date the United States, and I'm not in my teens trying to date the Commonwealth of Virginia. I'm getting old, staid. I don't need a lot of variety to know a good thing when I see it. I've had the experience of a lot of bad things to teach me that.
The big question now that is rolling off the lips of my friends is, what is this? Are you dating? Are you committed? What is he to you? Are you seeing other people? Is he? How often do you see each other? Have your children met him? When will they? Does he have children? Have you met them? Does The Ex know about this? Has he met your friends? Has he met your family? Do you like him? Do you love him? Is he your boyfriend? Are you sleeping together? Have you done it? Yes, Virginia Woolf, these are the questions that you too will be asked when you grow up, get married, get divorced and then start dating. Holy fuck!
This whole thing is pretty largely undefined. Verbally, between the two of us. And for once, I am totally good with that. It feels strange to be 37 and refer to someone as my boyfriend. Because that just feels so high school-ish to me. I have used that term to refer to him a few times, and each time it felt really strange. Because all though I feel all high school-ish inside, I know that I'm still 37 and I have a mortgage to pay. I know that I'm not dating anyone else, and I know that he's not dating anyone else. I can say beyond any shadow of a doubt that I don't really want to, and I can say beyond any shadow of a doubt that neither of us has time. Hell, we are 37 and 41 respectively. Who has time for all that drama of dating a whole bunch of other people at these ages? Not I. I've told him I feel weird calling him my boyfriend, but he's free to call me his girlfriend. Go with what feels right, I suppose.
And so, we've settled into this totally undefined thing of seeing each other exclusively. I will answer the questions above.
1. Are you dating? Uh, I guess you could call it that.
2. Are you committed? I have some issues with this word. I am going through a divorce, for Christ's sake. And he knows I have some issues with this word, but even if I can't talk the talk, I can walk the walk.
3. What is he to you? A godsend. A man who can deal with me as I am. A man who figured out on Lunch Date #1 (which is a separate event than Dinner Date #1) that I turn into a complete trainwreck when I'm hungry, a man who figured out by the third week (with no guidance from me) that I am a complete perfectionist, a man who can talk me down from a panic attack, and a man who told me I am beautiful but he thinks I would be even more so without my makeup. Should I go on? Nah, that might turn into blathering. Hit me up on email for that.
4. Are you seeing other people? Why would I do that? Did you read #3?
5. Is he? Have I mentioned how awesome I am?
6. How often do you see each other? Not nearly enough. But he understands about my situation with my children, and my need for them to not know about anyone else at this particular moment in their lives, and so, he works around my children's schedule. So between our respective careers and what I have going on with my children, we don't see each other a whole lot.
7. Have your children met him? A resounding no.
8. When will they? Maybe late spring or summer. I feel obligated to wait and see what kind of bullshit The Ex throws out to the children before I can commit to a firm date on this.
9. Does he have children? Yes.
10. Have you met them? I have met one of them. I was more nervous about that than I think I have been about anything in a long time.
11. Does The Ex know about this? No. Because he would immediately inform the children and fuck.up.my.program. And so, he shall hear about this when the children inform him that Mommy's got a boyfriend. Just like how they informed me that they met Daddy's girlfriend before I moved out. Yes, this sounds petty of me, so on and so forth, but trust me when I say I can't and won't tell him because he really will immediately run and tell the children, and this is something they need to hear from me first.
12. Has he met your friends? Other than a couple of girlfriends I work with, no. Meeting my friends (love y'all, but...) would take away from MY time with him ALONE.
13. Has he met your family? Yes, my mother. She's asking most of the same questions as what I've got listed here, too. I'm an insanely private person. Can't you tell from my blog?
14. Do you like him? Duh.
15. Do you love him? Everybody Loves Raymond. No, that's not his name.
16. Is he your boyfriend? I like to tell the people who ask this question that it's undefined. Label free. Kind of like those labels that say "Dye Free".
17. Are you sleeping together? Have you read my blog? I mean, really read it? What do you think?
18. Have you done it? See answer to #6.
And no, this isn't a rebound. I've had a rebound, and his name was Emotional Cancer. Who has been excised.
So here I stand, completely undefined for the first time in my life. It's kind of like that new pair of shoes that you go and try on and buy because they look hot, but then realize it's going to take about six months to break them in, what with them being four and a half inch heels. But then, when you finally reach the point where you've broken them in, they've become your favorite shoes and those four and half inch heels are just as comfortable as a pair of flip-flops. Probably not a great analogy, but for me to be doing something that's not labeled and compartmentalized and micro-managed to death, it feels pretty damn good.
Love life. I know all six of you who follow me, and maybe a few more, are wondering what's up with that, because for real, even though I conveniently blamed everything else in my life for preventing me from blogging, it was really the love life. Let's just call a spade a spade. As I stated in another post, it started out with Date #1 with Guy #1 and was supposed to be this big, gigantic social-networking-dating-site kind of grand experiment. Except, as you know, it didn't work out like that. I am now on Month #4 with Guy #1. Because I really like Guy #1, and so I came to the conclusion, and the dispensation of a few learned friends, that if I like Guy #1 why would I try for Guy #2? I mean, I'm 37. I'm not trying to date the Western Hemisphere. I'm not trying to recreate my twenties and date the United States, and I'm not in my teens trying to date the Commonwealth of Virginia. I'm getting old, staid. I don't need a lot of variety to know a good thing when I see it. I've had the experience of a lot of bad things to teach me that.
The big question now that is rolling off the lips of my friends is, what is this? Are you dating? Are you committed? What is he to you? Are you seeing other people? Is he? How often do you see each other? Have your children met him? When will they? Does he have children? Have you met them? Does The Ex know about this? Has he met your friends? Has he met your family? Do you like him? Do you love him? Is he your boyfriend? Are you sleeping together? Have you done it? Yes, Virginia Woolf, these are the questions that you too will be asked when you grow up, get married, get divorced and then start dating. Holy fuck!
This whole thing is pretty largely undefined. Verbally, between the two of us. And for once, I am totally good with that. It feels strange to be 37 and refer to someone as my boyfriend. Because that just feels so high school-ish to me. I have used that term to refer to him a few times, and each time it felt really strange. Because all though I feel all high school-ish inside, I know that I'm still 37 and I have a mortgage to pay. I know that I'm not dating anyone else, and I know that he's not dating anyone else. I can say beyond any shadow of a doubt that I don't really want to, and I can say beyond any shadow of a doubt that neither of us has time. Hell, we are 37 and 41 respectively. Who has time for all that drama of dating a whole bunch of other people at these ages? Not I. I've told him I feel weird calling him my boyfriend, but he's free to call me his girlfriend. Go with what feels right, I suppose.
And so, we've settled into this totally undefined thing of seeing each other exclusively. I will answer the questions above.
1. Are you dating? Uh, I guess you could call it that.
2. Are you committed? I have some issues with this word. I am going through a divorce, for Christ's sake. And he knows I have some issues with this word, but even if I can't talk the talk, I can walk the walk.
3. What is he to you? A godsend. A man who can deal with me as I am. A man who figured out on Lunch Date #1 (which is a separate event than Dinner Date #1) that I turn into a complete trainwreck when I'm hungry, a man who figured out by the third week (with no guidance from me) that I am a complete perfectionist, a man who can talk me down from a panic attack, and a man who told me I am beautiful but he thinks I would be even more so without my makeup. Should I go on? Nah, that might turn into blathering. Hit me up on email for that.
4. Are you seeing other people? Why would I do that? Did you read #3?
5. Is he? Have I mentioned how awesome I am?
6. How often do you see each other? Not nearly enough. But he understands about my situation with my children, and my need for them to not know about anyone else at this particular moment in their lives, and so, he works around my children's schedule. So between our respective careers and what I have going on with my children, we don't see each other a whole lot.
7. Have your children met him? A resounding no.
8. When will they? Maybe late spring or summer. I feel obligated to wait and see what kind of bullshit The Ex throws out to the children before I can commit to a firm date on this.
9. Does he have children? Yes.
10. Have you met them? I have met one of them. I was more nervous about that than I think I have been about anything in a long time.
11. Does The Ex know about this? No. Because he would immediately inform the children and fuck.up.my.program. And so, he shall hear about this when the children inform him that Mommy's got a boyfriend. Just like how they informed me that they met Daddy's girlfriend before I moved out. Yes, this sounds petty of me, so on and so forth, but trust me when I say I can't and won't tell him because he really will immediately run and tell the children, and this is something they need to hear from me first.
12. Has he met your friends? Other than a couple of girlfriends I work with, no. Meeting my friends (love y'all, but...) would take away from MY time with him ALONE.
13. Has he met your family? Yes, my mother. She's asking most of the same questions as what I've got listed here, too. I'm an insanely private person. Can't you tell from my blog?
14. Do you like him? Duh.
15. Do you love him? Everybody Loves Raymond. No, that's not his name.
16. Is he your boyfriend? I like to tell the people who ask this question that it's undefined. Label free. Kind of like those labels that say "Dye Free".
17. Are you sleeping together? Have you read my blog? I mean, really read it? What do you think?
18. Have you done it? See answer to #6.
And no, this isn't a rebound. I've had a rebound, and his name was Emotional Cancer. Who has been excised.
So here I stand, completely undefined for the first time in my life. It's kind of like that new pair of shoes that you go and try on and buy because they look hot, but then realize it's going to take about six months to break them in, what with them being four and a half inch heels. But then, when you finally reach the point where you've broken them in, they've become your favorite shoes and those four and half inch heels are just as comfortable as a pair of flip-flops. Probably not a great analogy, but for me to be doing something that's not labeled and compartmentalized and micro-managed to death, it feels pretty damn good.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Officially... Back In The Saddle
Okay, after a long, unexpected and unsure hiatus, I am officially back in the saddle. Where the hell have I been, you might ask? Well, since my last post, I have lived through my first Thanksgiving without my children, survived Christmas and all that that entails, made it completely through football cheerleading which then immediately segued into basketball cheerleading, put my older daughter into counseling, volunteered at school, rocked out on second grade homework to my satisfaction (but not to the satisfaction of Mrs. Second Grade Teacher), paid most of my bills on time, bickered with The Ex about shit too trivial to even mention - but of course I will later, developed somewhat of a social life and nurtured a new love life. Can you blame me for not having time to blog?
Actually, I needed a break. I needed a break to be able to let life happen so I could come up with some new material, and I needed to spend some time watching something other than the freakshows on craigslist. I needed to decide if this form of creativity, this form of expression is truly for me. I needed to really step back and spend some time analyzing if this is what I want to do. Okay, so I'm lying. I needed to get laid well, and often. Really, I needed to do all of the above, and not necessarily in that order. What I've come to realize is that with good sex and the right kind of testosterone in my life, I am not nearly as neurotic, panicky and anxiety ridden as I was when I had either the wrong kind of testosterone in my life or none at all. I was starting to get on my own nerves, which sometimes happens, but I was getting on my own nerves and I couldn't stop. I am also not quite as bitter about the divorce and The Ex. Yeah, I am still quite sore at him for a variety of things, but I feel like some of my bitterness and anger has finally begun to dissipate.
I've also realized that yes, this is my form of expression. I burned out on art in high school, poetried myself to death in college and in my early twenties, did absolutely nothing throughout my marriage except fantasize about all the ways I could be creative if I were single, and so here I am. This is me. This is Steph, for better or worse, bitter or mellow. I don't suck at art, poetry, trivia or shit talking (just to throw those last two in there), but I think I do better at writing. Age, wisdom, motherhood, marriage and divorce, career, friends, emotional cancer, losing people and gaining new, yeah, that has given me my impetus for writing.
So, blah blah blah, all that touchy-feely bullshit, and I'm back. Full of life and snark. Can't wait to start rolling it out again. Oh, yeah, and I've got a new tag - love life.
Actually, I needed a break. I needed a break to be able to let life happen so I could come up with some new material, and I needed to spend some time watching something other than the freakshows on craigslist. I needed to decide if this form of creativity, this form of expression is truly for me. I needed to really step back and spend some time analyzing if this is what I want to do. Okay, so I'm lying. I needed to get laid well, and often. Really, I needed to do all of the above, and not necessarily in that order. What I've come to realize is that with good sex and the right kind of testosterone in my life, I am not nearly as neurotic, panicky and anxiety ridden as I was when I had either the wrong kind of testosterone in my life or none at all. I was starting to get on my own nerves, which sometimes happens, but I was getting on my own nerves and I couldn't stop. I am also not quite as bitter about the divorce and The Ex. Yeah, I am still quite sore at him for a variety of things, but I feel like some of my bitterness and anger has finally begun to dissipate.
I've also realized that yes, this is my form of expression. I burned out on art in high school, poetried myself to death in college and in my early twenties, did absolutely nothing throughout my marriage except fantasize about all the ways I could be creative if I were single, and so here I am. This is me. This is Steph, for better or worse, bitter or mellow. I don't suck at art, poetry, trivia or shit talking (just to throw those last two in there), but I think I do better at writing. Age, wisdom, motherhood, marriage and divorce, career, friends, emotional cancer, losing people and gaining new, yeah, that has given me my impetus for writing.
So, blah blah blah, all that touchy-feely bullshit, and I'm back. Full of life and snark. Can't wait to start rolling it out again. Oh, yeah, and I've got a new tag - love life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)