Chicken Wings & S'mores

Subtitle:  Do You Love Your Daddy?

Today at lunch my kids and my niece were casually talking. My niece said that she's her father's daughter as she chomped on chicken wings, just like her dad does. My six year old son asked her, 'Do you love your daddy?' My niece replied yes. My son stated, 'I don't love my Daddy anymore.' My heart skipped a beat for a second and then I said, 'Of course you do, you don't mean that.' My son didn't say anything and I let it go.  

I would love to tell my husband what our son said about him but I don't think it would matter. He obviously puts his own happiness above his children and nothing that happens is going to change that. I really wish you could somehow knock some sense into these selfish assholes. Inflict as much hurt on them as they have inflicted on others, but they seem to have a protective barrier against any type of emotional consequences caused by the decisions that they have made. 

My husband will continue along in his self-serving lifestyle and the kids will continue to have to deal with it. I think the only thing he can teach them at this point is how not to live your life and that's a crying shame for my kids. I write this as I'm nestled on the couch with my kids munching on s'mores. Where is my husband? What is he doing? It doesn't matter. All that matters is he's not here for our children and that's his complete and utter loss. 

Retraining Yourself

Divorce is all about retraining yourself. Forcing yourself to change your patterns, your behaviors so you can get through what the hell just happened to you. 

Retrain yourself to sleep in the middle of bed.

Retrain yourself to not think about certain things like holidays and family traditions. 

Retrain yourself not to replay every hurtful conversation in your head. 

Retrain yourself to tell the hostess you need a table for three instead of four. 

Retrain yourself to be an individual instead of part of a couple. 

Retrain yourself to shove every thought of your husband out of your mind. It's not your business now what he's doing, where he is, or how his day was. 

Retrain yourself to accept that you're the one in charge here, there's no one else to help with the big decisions, no one else to help clean the house, grocery shop, parent the children. It's all you. 

Divorce is exhausting. Having your life upended is serious shit. A real drag. But you know what? We're doing okay. I've learned you can teach an old dog new tricks. My retraining is spotty from day to day but I am making some progress. Our week long vacation is going well. Thoughts of our fractured family are actually being shoved aside and some fun is being had. I dread when things go back to normal though. Maybe this has just been a distraction for everybody and the hard stuff will hit again. The kids will melt down and I'll go back to plotting revenge. Let's hope we continue on the upward trajectory though. I'm getting really sick of divorce being such a thick chapter in my life. 

Mom...The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love

When I was a kid, my dad worked third shift. Hardly ever saw him. Did I miss him? Nah, not really. That was the way it always was. I wonder if, eventually, my kids will no longer miss seeing their dad every day because that's just the way it is. 

Even before the pending divorce, if I was upstairs and my husband and kids were downstairs and one of the kids needed help with something, they would come and find me. Why, if their dad was right there? Did the kids just assume (rightfully) that I would put down whatever I was doing and attend to them? If my husband was standing in front of the refrigerator and the kids wanted a drink, they'd come and ask me for one. Need help with your homework? I'm your girl even though Daddy's on the couch. Want to be read a story? I'm here for you even though I'm helping your sister with her science project. 

Who acts as Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny in other people's homes? Is it the same person behind the curtain for each one of those because in my house they were all me. Did I create this situation myself? Am I such an overbearing personality that I just did it all and shut my husband out? Or maybe I picked up his slack because I didn't have a choice. A few times my son asked me to read him a book and I was helping my daughter with something. I told my son to go ask Daddy. I'm sure my husband must have read to him occasionally but I mostly remember my husband jokingly telling my son 'I can't read' and that would be the end of it. I never got mad and told my husband to read the Goddamn book, enjoy your children while they are still young enough to want to be read to. I just chalked it up to my husband being tired and I read the book myself. 

Do moms play the primary caregiver role in the majority of other homes? I know most of my friends do. Their husbands might be more involved with the kids than mine was but the bulk of the parenting seems to fall on the mother's shoulders. It could be a holdover from The Little House on the Prairie days when the children were clutching Ma's skirt all the time while Pa plowed the fields. Now there are so many working mothers though, and yet the balance of parenting doesn't ever seem like 50/50. Maybe my house was the exception and not the rule though. I wish I had a window into other families' realities to find out. 

I wonder...

I wonder...

as the days go on if my husband thinks about the kids when he's not with them. Does he miss them? He never calls or texts them. Is he too uncomfortable to do that or is it a sign of not letting himself care? 

why my niece, who hasn't seen her father in two days, asks to call him and my kids, who haven't seen their dad in over a week and a half, don't make that same request. 

how I got so lucky to have such great kids. I gave my barefoot son a piggyback ride outside yesterday. He said, 'I love you, Mommy, because you take such good care of us.' 

if I'll keep the weight off that I've lost. My new clothes would appreciate that. 

if my husband's brother and sister and my mother in law feel as awkward as I do when the kids and I visit. My mother in law lives right next door to my parents. And since she's still recovering from her surgery, my husband's siblings are often there. My kids want to see their grandmother and aunt and uncle so I bring them over. But it feels bizarre that the only person missing from the family equation is my husband.  

when I'll stop looking for the ring on someone's finger before I can look into his eyes. 

if people will ever stop joking about what a horrible cook I am. 

when I'll be able to gaze around my house and feel like it's really mine and not just a type of limbo for us. 

how long I'll feel an ache in my heart when my son picks out body wash in the store and says it smells like Daddy. 

what type of person I am that I felt such a huge sense of relief when my husband told me that he's going to be away for four weeks this summer due to his work schedule. Instead of being sad for my kids, I was happy for myself. No stress for four weeks! 

when divorce won't dominate every thought that I have and every conversation that I engage in. 

when and how I'm going to be able to return a call from the wife of one of my husband's oldest friends. I know she's calling to see how I'm doing. I haven't discussed any specifics with her about the situation. Do I just tell her I'm fine or do I grab the elephant in the room by the trunk and wrestle it down to the floor? 

This Ridiculous Life

Sometimes life is beyond strange and ridiculous. Today we went to the Humane Society which is about thirty minutes away from where we live. My daughter had a birthday party a few weeks ago and she asked for donations for the Humane Society instead of presents. We are a family of animal lovers and it makes the kids feel so good to raise money for a worthy cause. My daughter collected $105 and she was beyond excited to bring it in. 

We walked into the Humane Society and my daughter told the woman behind the counter why she was there. The woman thanked her warmly and said she would write out a receipt. She asked my daughter for her address and when my daughter told her, the woman said that she and her husband were in the process of buying a house in that town. I asked her which house and she named the exact same one that we were supposed to see that day. The house that I had previously looked at and had moved into in my mind. The house that I had mentally done landscaping and renovations for right up until I received the email saying that our showing was canceled because an offer had been made and it was under contract. I jokingly told the woman at the Humane Society that she had stolen the house right out from beneath me. We chatted for a bit about the unbelievable coincidence. 

When we left, my sister and I must have laughed for twenty minutes about the odds of meeting the person who made an offer on the very same house that I was interested in. Do you ever wonder if fate is just messing with you? There were about ten volunteers at the Humane Society and the one that helped my daughter is the one that we had an odd connection to. 

Somehow meeting that woman made my disappointment at not being able to consider that house as an option a little more bearable. She seemed so excited about her new home and she spoke about her and her husband and their dog moving in to it. I'm sure that it was destined to be her home and it wasn't meant for my kids and myself. Perhaps fate wasn't really messing with me at all. Perhaps it was giving me one more reason to let go of an option that was never really mine to begin with. 

One Less Option

Today I found out that the house we were planning on seeing tomorrow is now under contract. I'm a little disappointed to have an option taken away from me but maybe a little relieved that I don't have to weigh that in my mind anymore. There are no other feasible houses in my town so I guess we will keep our current home for at least the foreseeable future.

On a fun note, my sister and I took our kids to a minor league ball game with some friends. I noticed a few happy families there, mothers and fathers sitting like bookends next to their children. I didn't feel the overwhelming bitterness targeted at them like I normally do. Healing? Maybe, but I'm not sure I'd go that far. 

House of Promises

Tonight I'm not raging. No, tonight I'm obsessing again. About my house. One person tells me to sell. 'Don't be crazy, you can't depend on him, sell, sell, sell.' Another person advises me to keep our home for as long as I can. 'It's too much stress right now. Don't do that to you and the kids, stay.'

Over and over in my mind I have constant arguments. Me versus me. I crunch the numbers and look at amortization charts. If I keep my house, when could I likely get approved to assume the whole mortgage? Maybe July 2016. Two years of having my husband's name on the mortgage. Would he even agree to that? He said he would consider keeping his name on it in order to keep us here. He thinks that's the best thing for the kids. He said he'd do what he can financially to make it work for us. Once upon a time I would have believed him. Once upon a time I would have had every confidence in him. But I don't know him any more. I don't know the man that he's become, or maybe the man that he always was. 

Do I listen to my instincts and sell my house as fast as I can? Or am I being vindictive because once we move, I can say to everyone, 'See, this is what he's done. He's made his children lose their home. See how horrible he is.' It's really hard examining your every thought. Trying to figure out what's real and true and what's brought about by pain and thoughts of revenge.  

My sister and my niece are flying in from Atlanta tomorrow. They'll be here a week. We have plans to go to a waterpark, hike, see some relatives, and we'll be visiting one of the houses that I saw last weekend. The cute old yellow farmhouse with all the charm. When I say old, I mean OLD. 1850's old. It's got some history, right? I'm just hoping that history doesn't crumble in around me if I buy it. But when I consider a future of struggling to pay the mortgage on my current home and the threat of foreclosure, I don't know what's the bigger risk. A crumbling stone foundation or a house propped up by the promises of my husband. Both feel equally unstable. 

I need to stop the obsessing for the night. When my thoughts spin endlessly, my emotions get the better of me and rage erupts. 'I hope your fucking new life is worth it,' I want to scream. Hurting your children, financially devastating us, we both had to take out loans against our retirement accounts to pay for lawyers. Was it worth it? I'll never know his answer and I probably wouldn't want to. 

Flight To CrazyTown Departing At Gate Three

I almost boarded the plane to CrazyTown today. I had five minutes of time to kill at the end of my work day so I did some obsessive digging about Army Boy's girlfriend. I found the address of the house that she recently bought and I saw a picture of it. Her house is bigger than mine and it looks just as nice! You can sleep with my husband but don't have a nicer house than me, that's hitting me where it hurts. The next thing you know I'll find out she has the Pottery Barn coffee table that I've been coveting. You stole my husband, you make more money than I do, will the insults ever end? 

I started fantasizing about sending her a 'Congratulations on Your New Home' card and sign it with a note from her 'neighbor'. It would say something like 'Congratulations from a neighbor who knows that happiness isn't built on deceit. Neighborhood watch is doing its job. Have fun in your house of lies' but I know it would be obvious who sent it. Then I figured, why try to hide who it's from, I'll just include one of my husband's infamous 'penis in my kitchen' shots addressed to some random Craigslist sex ad. I had it all planned out, I'd drive to her town and drop it off in the local mail and then I'd zip by her house to check it out. Isn't that a great idea?? Revenge, make her pay!

Luckily I deplaned from my flight before I went through with it. Army Boy is a sick pig. He sent random people pics of his genitals, he had an affair and led a double life. One of his oldest friends recently told me that Army Boy has become a weirdo (and he doesn't even know any of the things I mentioned above). This person can see that, I can see that, just about everybody that I know can see that. Seriously, what the hell am I seeking revenge for? This desperate skank is in a relationship with a person that makes me ill. A person that I don't think is fit to breathe the same air as my children (but I know they have to see their father, yeah, yeah, yeah). I'm plotting revenge over him? Him?? 

Maybe I'm seeking restitution for my kids, their lives have been turned upside down by this. Then that got me thinking of my sweet children. I want them to be proud to call me Mom. I know my husband isn't worried about how his kids view him, he's just out to please himself. I want my kids to think I'm the best thing out there since Ben & Jerry's Peace Pops. I don't want to taint them with the image of me driving like a crazy woman while waving my nasty card in the air, laughing maniacally at the pain I'm going to inflict. 

<deep breath> 

Be the person your kids think you are. 

Fear

Divorce is all about conquering fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of change. Fear of being alone. Fear of never finding love. Fear of having to sell your house and not being able to provide the home that you feel your kids deserve.

How do you handle this fear? Shove it out of your mind? Stop focusing on it and turn your attention to something else? Make so many lists that they start to overlap each other? Been there, done that.

My husband called me a ‘plotter’ in one of our arguments. I call it being a ‘planner’. He obviously never fully appreciated all my finer qualities. I like to know what my next step is. I like to be fully informed about all my options and be in control of my future. Leave it up to fate? I don’t effing think so. I research, research, research and when I want something, I act on it. Each time we bought a new car or when we bought our new house, I was the driving force. ‘Let’s do this and here’s why…’ I’d have to convince my husband about every change that we would make. If I was a ‘plotter’, then he was a ‘plodder’. I’m sure he would say I didn’t appreciate his finer qualities either.

Right now, I'm having a hard time figuring out what I want. ‘Put it in God’s hands,’ some would say. I hate to snort at that but I’m sure God has better things to do with his time then help me decide what to do. Who has the most difficulty with divorce? Obsessive compulsive people like myself who had their next five years (no, ten years) of their lives planned out. What’s that saying? How do you make God laugh? Tell him your plans. 

I won't be throwing our future to fate any time soon. I’m going to keep making my lists and when it drives me crazy, I’ll turn my attention to something else until I can stand to think about it again. Fear will be overcome, I don’t know how many lists I’ll have to make, or how many plans I’ll have to scroll through my mind, but it will be overcome. 

Rambling Post Alert

Yesterday when I picked the kids up at after care, they both asked if we were moving. 'I don't know,' I said. 'I need to figure that out.'

'But we don't want to move,' they both said and then began crying.

'If we do move, you'll be fine,' I said.

'But we won't have any friends,' they continued crying.

'You'll make new friends and Mommy will too,' I replied, trying not to cry myself. 'If we move closer to Grandma and Grandpa, won't that be fun?'

'No! Why can't we just find a house here?', the kids asked.

'Because houses are very expensive here and the ones that aren't are too old and run down,' I answered.

'Why can't we just stay in our house?', they cried.

'Because I might not have enough money to pay for it. I don't know. You don't have to worry about it. Your job is to be kids and my job is to do the worrying and figure it out,' I replied, trying not to get upset.

'No, your job is to love us and our job is to worry too,' my daughter said. <tug at the heartstrings>

Then my son said with vehemence, 'I'm not moving. I'm leaving my bed here and when you move, I won't have a place to sleep so I'll just have to be left here.' (Is he staying that because he doesn't have a bed at my husband's apartment??) My daughter chimed in with her own thoughts about how she can sabotage the move and they both got angrier and angrier until I distracted them with 'Let's go out to eat tonight!'

It makes me so angry that my kids are going through this. I know it's a first world problem, we won't be homeless or starving but it's not the life I envisioned for any of us.

On the way home from supper, my daughter asked how many houses are for sale in our town. Only twelve, I said. She asked if she could see some of them. I had just looked at two houses this weekend with my best friend. A dilapidated old red one, no possibility there. As we walked around it, I could almost see the dollar signs floating in the air, bouncing and bumping into each other. When I stepped in one spot in the entryway and the floor gave way and I felt like I was going to plummet to the basement, I mentally scratched it off the list. The other house we saw was an old yellow farmhouse, slightly renovated but still with obvious issues and LOTS more to do. It's completely different from our current house but kind of charming in its own way. I drove my daughter by the red one first. 'EW!', she yelled. 'I wouldn't want to live there.' Then we drove by the second one, the yellow one. 'This one is cute,' she said excitedly.

'It is cute,' I said, 'but it needs a lot of work.'

'And it's too close to the road,' my practical daughter said. (Yup, I had thought the same thing.)

'Why can't we just stay in our house?', she asked again. <sigh>

This is going to be exhausting until we get things figured out. I'm trying to keep my resentment for my husband under wraps but it's hard when I get the constant questions from the kids and I don't have the answers. I was complaining to a coworker today and she said I need to go back to counseling because I still have a lot of anger. I don't think any amount of therapy is going to help my anger issue at this point. No, not until the housing situation is figured out and I know where my children will be living.

I emailed my husband yesterday morning and told him that I'm going to need an idea soon of how much he's going to pay in child support and is he willing to keep his name on the mortgage for a specific amount of time? My next step is to contact my lawyer and have her start working on at least having him sign an acknowledgment about what he's going to pay. I need some type of information here, I can't make an important decision in a vacuum, a black hole of the unknown.

I think I might try putting our house on the market, for sale by owner. See what that brings for interest. In an ideal world, we would get a great offer and that would mean that I would have money for a down payment on another house. In a realistic world, we might break even and I'd get nothing other than a paid off mortgage. I'm preparing myself for the questions, whispers and gossip in my small town. Luckily I'm getting out of Dodge. In an effort to save money, I'm only sending the kids to two weeks of summer camp. The rest of the time the kids will be attending Granny camp. We will be spending most of the summer at my parents' house. I'll be commuting to work and the kids and our dog will be staying there full-time. 

Swallowing the shit sandwich is hard when you're faced with the possibility of having to move in with your parents once the house is sold. I haven't lived there since I was 18. I left for college and never went back other than for visits. Now at the age of 39, I'm poised to crawl back to my parents' house with my two kids in tow. I am thankful that I have that for an option but I'm bitter that it might become my reality.

From the Mind of the Obsessed

Divorce is a process. A roller coaster. An insurmountable mountain. A book with an unwritten ending. The most recent chapter is the family home. My home. My children's home.

When I'm laying in bed at night, I start to catalogue our options. We could stay in our home. Back when my husband and I were still speaking in sentences instead of grunts, nods and succinct phrases about the kids' sport schedules, he told me that he wanted us to stay in our home. He said he would give me the money I needed to keep our kids here. I don't know if it was his guilt speaking or maybe his shame at possibly being known as the asshole who made his kids lose their family home. I have no idea if he'll follow through on what he said until the divorce is final though.

I think the best thing for the kids is to decide by the end of the summer where they will go to school. Then they can start the school year off and not have to change mid term. So we have a few short months to figure things out. And people wonder why I still hate my husband with such venom? Uh, it couldn't possibly be the fact that I'm not sure where my kids and I will end up in August could it?

The main reason for keeping our home is...it's our home. My blood, sweat and tears have been poured into this house. Well, more like paint, closet shelving and organizational systems but still, it's home. It's familiar to the kids, an oasis in the storm of divorce. We stay among our supportive friends, our second family. No moving trucks or packing up necessary, it's status quo. If we can afford it. Even if my husband gives us what I've asked for, things will be tight. No more overflowing Target carts or trips to Pottery Barn to find the perfect rug. And I would never be approved to assume the whole mortgage on my own so my husband would have to keep his name on it. The thought of depending on him long term gives me hives. But I would do it so my kids wouldn't have to face any more upheaval than they already have. They are already excitedly talking about the next school year and what teachers they will have and the friends that will be in their classes.

The main reason for selling our home is....financial, but starting over sounds nice too. The kids will probably always associate this home with their dad. The other night when I was putting the kids to bed, my son heard a noise in the hallway. It sounded like footsteps. He whipped around and saw our dog and then said, "I thought it was Daddy." There's a knife wound to your heart. A different house would be ours, no memories or ghosts of Daddy in that picture. My husband is starting his life over, so why can't we?

We could sell our home and look for a cheaper house in our same town. Unfortunately not many houses are for sale and the prices are high. So we would be exchanging our brand new home for a smaller, older (likely VERY old) home. With old homes comes the unknown. Leaky roofs, unstable basements, crappy plumbing. The thought of possible future maintenance costs gives me an ulcer. The kids wouldn't have to change schools but we would have to drive by our old house all the time. Would that be too painful? It would mean staying in the town where we have a history. Everyone knows your business. You used to be married, but now you're divorced. And oh yeah, your father in law did the same thing to your mother in law didn't he? Well, that's a shame, must run in the family huh? OMG, the humiliation is crippling. I know people will say it's not my humiliation, but I'm the one that picked my husband, had children with him, was married to him all these years. The humiliation at being the betrayed left behind spouse is real, maybe it's only in my mind, but it's real to me.

If we sell, we could move closer to my parents and my mother in law, about an hour from where we currently live. Houses are cheaper and I could hopefully afford a nicer home than I could in our current town. The grandparents adore their grandkids and would help out tremendously. No more daycare costs! That's a giant pro for moving. Another huge plus would be moving farther away from my husband. I'm a bitch, I know. But the thought of him having a harder time popping in at the kids' games makes an uncomfortable knot in my stomach dissipate a little. And never having to keep an eye out for his car and wonder if you'll accidentally run into him and his girlfriend at the grocery store, well, that sounds like heaven to me. The kids would have to leave their friends and change schools but kids move all the time, right?

Sell, stay, sell, stay. I want someone to make the decision for me. I want someone to look into their crystal ball and tell me what I should do. My husband seems likely to leave it all up to me. Why not, I'm responsible for everything else right? When I told him that I thought we should sell, he said, "If you think that's the best thing to do, I'll support it." When I wrote him back and said we need to discuss it because I'm not sure what the best thing for the kids is, I got the standard answer... radio silence. Maybe it's not the discussion to have over email but when we're together in person, the kids are there and this is not exactly the conversation that I want to have in front of them. What to do? What to do? WHAT TO DO?? My level of crazy is going to increase with each day as the summer ticks by and the self imposed deadline of a new school year approaches.

Treasure These Moments

So last night I heard it. The dreaded 'I want to live with Daddy' phrase. Do divorced kids compare notes in a special class? Do they talk about how to bring their parents to their knees? How to make them lose their marbles and turn them into raving lunatics?

The first few weeks after my husband left, the kids and I were in the 'too shocked to yell at each other' phase. We got through each day putting one foot in front of the other. Days ended with the three of us curled up in a giant heap on the couch, my son laying next to me and my daughter draped over my knees. 'I get her crook,' my daughter would yell as we stumbled our way to the couch every night.

Well, the shock has now worn off. The days of treasuring every minute with the family left behind is OVER. Last night we went to an open house for a summer camp the kids will be attending. We went with my daughter's good friend and her mom. Oh this will be so much fun, optimistic me thought. The kids will swim and the moms will chat. Well it didn't take long for my fucking rose colored glasses to be shattered. The first crack in them appeared when my daughter's friend said that my daughter threw a rock at her during recess and hit her in the head. It left a bump but they made up! I slid a look at the mom in the passenger seat next to me and her face was frozen into a pained grimace. 'We don't throw rocks,' I said in my best my-kids-are-going-through-a-divorce-give-them-a-break voice. Then the fighting began. Seat up, seat back. My son began tormenting his sister in the back row. 'MOOOOOMMMM!'

I think I outran every police officer in a five town radius getting to the restaurant where we were going to eat. After we filled our faces, things will be better. Hahaha. Nope, the kids didn't have that on their plan of things to do that night. Commence round two of fighting.

Swimming in the pool will be fun! Can you believe I still had faith at this point? My daughter had an accident in her bathing suit just before she went in the pool. Her nervous stomach does not deal well with stress. One would think she would mention the accident to me before she entered water that other children might possibly swallow. But nope I had to notice the stain on the back of her suit walking out of the dressing room. OH. MY. GOD. This was where I started to get an idea that the night wasn't going to be full of happy kids frolicking in the pool. No, the night was going to involve me dragging my protesting daughter into the bathroom and ripping off her bathing suit bottom and trying to inconspicuously rinse it out in the sink. 'Nothing to see here, fellow swimmers. I am most certainly NOT rinsing out crap from the bathing suit which will soon be in the water in which your child will be swimming.' I thought about telling my daughter she couldn't go in the pool. And then I thought about the ensuing fit and the tears and me swearing in front of 50 children and their parents who probably didn't just wash shit down the drain of the sink while hunching over to hide it. Fuck it, she's going in the pool, I'm sure the chlorine will take care of the possible e-coli. And nobody drinks pool water anyway right? (I did wash her suit out thoroughly so I really am a concerned citizen.)

The kids got in the pool and paddled around and I may have said a few words to the other mom but I was a little distracted by watching my daughter and mentally keeping her bowels in check. (Just like having to think about keeping the plane aloft when you're flying but this has less possibility of dropping you to your death.)

Finally my daughter clung to the side of the pool and gave me the look. 'Get me out of here, I might have another accident.' I rushed over to the pool and wrapped the towel around her, 'Oh, you're cold, let's get you out of here,' the liar in me said. The kids got out of the pool and changed. Fighting with each other, fighting with their friend. But it's almost over! We're walking out of the building and pass by water fountains. The kids stop for a drink. There are two fountains and three kids. Should it really take five fucking minutes? Finally my patience or what little I had left snapped, "Let's go,' I hollered. 'I need a drink,' my daughter screamed. 'Let's go,' I yelled, 'we need to get home. You're tired (and Mommy needs a fucking drink).' The other mom is hurriedly walking away. I think she had enough fun for the night as well.

'If Daddy was here he'd let me have a drink. You hate me! I want to live with Daddy!', my daughter screamed. For a split second I wanted to scream 'Dad has seen you 25 hours in two months. I bet I can guess what his answer would be but let's call him!' But I didn't say it. I didn't want to break her heart. Ha right, I didn't want the other parents to call welfare services. Thank GOD there were other people around who would act as witnesses to my worst divorcing mom moment. I kept my mouth shut.

We walked back to the car with my daughter complaining about how thirsty she was. The drink from the restaurant in the car wasn't wet enough for her.

This weekend my husband takes the kids for their first overnight. 'How will I handle it?', I whined to myself a few days ago. Well now I might not even stop the car completely when I drop them off. I hope they fight the whole time they are there and my daughter has diarrhea 87 times on my husband's watch. Yup I'm a vengeful bitch, just living up to my reputation in my husband's eyes. I'm going to hang with my best friend over the weekend, shop, drink some fruity alcoholic concoctions. I'm going to walk into my kids' rooms and sit on their beds and picture my husband washing shitty things out in his sink and I'm going to laugh and laugh and then I'm going to go sit in front of the TV and watch Breaking Dawn Part II. I still believe in love. Vampire love.

Thank you my beloved children for acting as you did. You made things a little easier on me. Maybe it's an instinct they have to help their parents deal with impending separations. Very similar to teenagers, I'm sure, who try every patient bone in their parents' bodies, making it a little less tear-worthy to drop them off at that dorm where you hope if they learn one thing in college, it's that they actually don't know everything.

The Family Home

'Don't hang on to the family home, you'll be house poor.' I've read this in articles about women and divorce and I've heard it from my friends. But the thought of selling our home makes me sick inside. Should we sell? Or should I try to keep the home where my kids have lived for the last five years? The home where they can safely ride their bikes on the dead end street, racing by the houses of my caring neighbors who supported us during my husband’s deployment. The home with the swingset in the backyard which we put up immediately after we bought the house while the kids watched excitedly. The home where we host a yearly holiday cookie swap for our friends and neighbors. The home where countless birthday parties were celebrated, the home with dreams and memories in every corner. Should we sell? I don't know.

Last weekend my daughter received a text from her friend. It said, 'You guys are moving.' My daughter was in bed and didn't see the text. I could have deleted it, ignored it and never mentioned it but then I'm sure my daughter's friend probably would have said something to her in school. My kids had no idea that we might have to move. The divorce and the illnesses that we've faced recently seemed like enough for the kids to have to worry about. When I saw that text, my heart stopped. Now was the time to tell them the cold hard truth. We might have to move.

The next morning, my kids were sitting on the couch watching TV. I took the iPod out of the cabinet where I had hidden it and showed the text to my daughter. She read it and then looked at me. I said, 'I don't know if we are going to have to move or not. We might, I need to figure that out.' My daughter said, 'If we move we'll have to change schools. I won't see my friends!' And then she immediately burst into tears. I looked at my six year old son and he said, 'Why, Mommy? Why?' How do you tell a kindergartener that you might not be able to afford your home? You just say it. 'Mommy might not have enough money to stay here since Daddy doesn't live here anymore', was how I answered his question. Was it right that I said that? Should I have brought Daddy's name into the discussion? I bet a child therapist would say no but I say hell yes. I didn't choose for any of this to happen. I will try to deal with it as best I can for the kids' sake but I won't pretend that any of this was what I wanted.

Now that the kids know, it's both easier and harder. I don't have the burden of keeping it from them anymore. But now I have to answer the questions.

Where will we move? Probably closer to Grandma and Grandpa.

But I don't want to leave my friends! I know but we have to figure out what the best thing to do is.

How much does it cost to live here? A lot.

Don't you have enough in your bank account to pay for it? No, I don't.

I won't have any friends in Grandma's town. You'll make friends.

I don't want to move. I know. 

Are we REALLY going to have to move? I don't know, we'll figure it out.

It's exhausting to think about putting our home on the market. But there are reasons other than financial ones to sell. When I have the energy, I need to look at those reasons. Weigh them. Dissect them. Obsess over them. What to do? I don't know. That question spins in my mind incessantly now.

The Cowardly Soldier

I'm sure you've heard the story of the cowardly lion but you've probably never heard the story of the cowardly soldier.

Once upon a time there was a soldier who fought in two different wars. He bravely left his family for two years to fulfill his duty to protect his country. 'That's my husband. That's my Daddy', said his proud family.

After he returned home from war, his wife and kids lived their lives from day to day never knowing that Daddy/Husband was building his own new secret life. Cowardly Soldier was brave enough to carry a gun but not brave enough to destroy his family until finally he decided that 'life is too short' and he pulled the trigger and imploded his family.

Cowardly Soldier left his home behind and barely talked to anyone from his old battalion. Long time comrades were ignored because Cowardly Soldier didn't want to discuss what he had done. Betrayed Wife can't (or won't) ignore comrades so she must decide on what tale to tell. Betrayed Wife also has to face the neighboring troops every day and explain why they won't be seeing Cowardly Soldier anymore. Cowardly Soldier can retreat but Betrayed Spouse is manning the homefront and must face everyone.

Cowardly Soldier wants to see the short troops one weekend so Betrayed Spouse says he can pick up short troop Son at his friend's house in the morning. Cowardly Soldier says let me think about it. He decides to pick up Son later in the day. The reason is not given but Betrayed Spouse bets that Cowardly Soldier doesn't want to face his son's friend's father and shake his hand. 

Cowardly Soldier hides in his bunker if there's any enemy mortar. He ignores emails about short troops' reactions to Cowardly Soldier's retreat. If Cowardly Soldier doesn't acknowledge the enemy then it's not there because so far the enemy has decided not to employ dirty warfare. Betrayed Spouse has to answer all the short troops' questions because Cowardly Soldier is MIA most of the time.

Cowardly Soldier detaches from his own family. Maybe there's a spy among them and they are not to be trusted. Or maybe they will perform an interrogation and question why Cowardly Soldier has acted out his battle plan. Cowardly Soldier knows he can't give in so he refuses to engage.

Betrayed Spouse can't sleep at night because she's worried about the welfare of the short troops. Cowardly Soldier never inquires about them. Does he think about them in his bunker and wonder if they are surviving? Betrayed Spouse doesn't know. Betrayed Spouse does know if you are the leader of troops you should do everything possible to protect those troops. No man left behind. Betrayed Spouse believes Cowardly Soldier missed that day of training.

Betrayed Spouse has never carried a gun nor fought in a war. But she is cleaning up the battlefield after a sneak attack that occurred so quickly it was like an explosion in the dark.

Betrayed Spouse feels a little guilty for calling Cowardly Soldier cowardly. But a friend told Betrayed Spouse that there is a difference between physical courage and moral courage. Betrayed Spouse would agree.

The End

Silver Linings

I've been overweight for most of my life... well, except for the five minutes senior year in high school when I decided I was tired of being fat and I starved myself and ran day after day after day. Then college hit and so did the freshman 15 (or 20). When I met my husband junior year of college, I was curvy but not outrageously so. That came after I had my first child and then my second. 

My most painful memory in high school is wearing a tangerine sweater and sitting behind a boy and he turned around and called me "Hugo". Why is the name Hugo so painful? I have no idea but I'm sure it was directed at me because I was overweight. When the movie Hugo came out a few years ago, I certainly wasn't the first in line for a ticket. Two hours of hearing my most detested word in the English language, I don't think so. I would have ended up in a corner crying about the mean boy in high school.

When I found my husband's Powerpoint on why I was to BLAME for his affair, it stated that I was overweight and refused to lose weight. My husband was the cook in our house and I ate what he made. He should have been flattered. Heh heh. Just kidding, I did indulge in the cookies a little too much but he's never said to me, 'Honey, I think you should lose weight, it's not healthy for you and I worry.' No, he just brought it up as a convenient excuse as to why he boinked someone else. Well, I've lost so much weight since he told me about the affair that my pants are falling off of me. Believe me, I'd rather be overweight than go through the pain of a cheating husband but it is a nice side effect. I'm three sizes smaller than I was back in February. One more size to go and I'll be back to what I was senior year in high school. I've quit biting my nails, a habit that I've struggled with for years. I've stopped drinking soda (that one might be due to the kidney stone). I don't know if I've subconsciously been feeling bad about myself the last few years because I suspected his affair but I'm going to keep rolling with these changes. Maybe I'll end up being a better person in the end. A slim woman with long beautiful nails sipping on a glass of water while watching the movie Hugo.

* Some people may read this and think, there's the reason he cheated, she's fat, now I understand. I say to that look at Elin Nordegren, Tiger Woods' betrayed ex wife. She was gorgeous and a class act. Husbands don't cheat because their wives have some extra baggage in their caboose. 

The Thought

The thought...

...of trusting someone enough to get close to them makes me shake...literally. 

...of being alone for the rest of my life paralyzes me. 

...of another man touching me makes me vomit a little in my mouth. 

...of never having another Christmas as a family of four makes me want to cry into my pillow. 

...of having to co-parent for the rest of my life makes me want to kill somebody (you know who I mean). 

... of seeing my kids drive off with their father for years of parent-child visits makes me want to pack up my kids and run away.

...of hearing my kids talk in twenty years about how the divorce changed them makes my heart hurt. 

...of hating someone that I used to love is astounding (yet here I am). 

...of always having to check the 'Divorced' box on forms saddens me. 

...of my husband doing what he did shocks me. How could he? 

...of 'why didn't I see this coming' frightens me. What the hell is wrong with me for being so blind? (That's a rhetorical question.)

...of selling my house exhausts me. 

...of telling my children they might have to move away from their friends destroys me. (I told them this weekend and my daughter cried and my son asked 'Why Mommy, why?')

...of sliding my foot over after a nightmare and only finding an empty bed makes me wish my dog slept with me. Time for another dog. 

...of being a man-hating bitter old woman terrifies me. 

...of looking at my husband and never seeing the man I thought he was _____s me. There are no words to describe it. 

...of shedding any more tears over that worthless piece of shit infuriates me. I wish it wouldn't happen but I know it will. 

Thoughts...Who the hell needs them? 

The Puppet Master

Army Boy sent me an email yesterday asking about one of our kids' sporting events. I was running high on rage since I had a message from my daughter’s teacher when I got in to work that morning (not to mention it was our anniversary.... Happy Anniversary to me, Happy Anniversary to me....). The teacher wants to meet with myself, the guidance counselor and a few other teachers to discuss my daughter and the program that they have her in at school. This program is supposed to help boost her self-confidence. My 9-year old daughter has always been dramatic, sensitive and emotional. She struggles with having any confidence in herself at all. And this was before her father walked out the door. Her teacher is overly communicative – to a fault unfortunately. I prefer to have the school handle most things but her teacher likes to share occurrences that would probably go by the wayside if her parents weren't in the middle of a divorce.

The self-confidence program is actually doing the opposite of what was intended. My daughter comes home feeling bad about herself and sees it as a competition against another student in the program. Very counter productive. The phone call from the teacher, so close to the end of the school year when I can almost taste our freedom and shake off a little stress, sent my rage-o-meter sky high. So I answered Army Boy’s question and added a little something extra.

______

Our son doesn't have a ball game.

Teacher left me a message this morning and wants to meet next week with the guidance counselor and two other teachers to talk about the self confidence program. I'm going to say no, I have no interest in meeting and that our daughter is going through a difficult time right now. If you're interested in meeting with them, you can contact them.

Once the school year is over, we need to put the house on the market. I'm sure I can't depend on you for the money that we need to swing it and the kids should not have to worry about hearing about you and your girlfriend from people who see you around. Since I can't trust you to put the kids first in anything you do, I will put them first in everything I do.

Oh by the way, happy anniversary.

Your Loving Wife,

Kay

______

Not my finest moment but I'm pissed. I feel like I'm alone in my worries. I didn't create this mess but I'm left with two confused kids and a teacher that is trying to be helpful but is causing more harm than good I'm afraid.

I can picture Army Boy talking to himself when he read my email. ‘DO NOT let her get you all worked up. DO NOT let her emotionally manipulate you and force you to act in a violent manner towards her or the kids or destroy/damage property or lose your job’. That last line was actually from his PowerPoint. A direct quote. Apparently I can manipulate him so much that it would force him to act violently. Good to know. I never realized I had so much power. I must be like a puppet master pulling the strings. Too bad I didn't have the one connected to his dick. If I had pulled that one back, it would have saved us all so much drama.

Happy Anniversary

Many years ago my father in law had a long term affair with a woman named Diane. Army Boy (AKA my husband) hated that woman with a white hot passion. What a whore he would say. Piece of trash, slut, every foul name you can think of he said. My father in law and Diane didn't last long after my in-laws divorced about six years ago. I've heard through the grapevine that my father in law is on girlfriend number three or four or maybe five now. I have no idea where Diane is, probably off sleeping with some other married man.

Today is my wedding anniversary. Fifteen years of bliss. Well maybe thirteen and two years of deception and betrayal apparently but who's counting.

I have my finger hovering over the send button on a text. I know I shouldn't but sometimes being the better person isn't as fun as it sounds. What's the gift that you're supposed to give for fifteen years? Paper? Crystal? Gold? How about a hate filled text and a set of divorce papers.

----

Happy anniversary. Your father and Diane must be so proud that you found a Diane of your own, a woman with no morals nor empathy who is desperate enough to cling to someone else's husband and father with no regard for the family she is helping to destroy. Water seeks its own level though. Dishonorable cowards and unscrupulous whores somehow find each other. But surprisingly your father and Diane aren't together anymore. I guess lies and deception and ruining a family doesn't always lead to happily ever after. I'll be sure not to mention to the kids that today is our anniversary because then they'll ask what Daddy is going to get me and I'll have to reply that I've already received it and it was divorce papers wrapped up in a nice bow.

-----

I'm not sure which side will rule me today. Bitterness and disgust or the better person. Today I'd like to shove that better person down deep and spread a little hate and discontent and pain. But in order to feel pain you have to have emotions and right now I think that's a quality my husband does not have an abundance of. At least for his wife of fifteen years and the mother of his children. Happy Anniversary Fucker.

Goodbye Stent, It's Been Real

I had my follow up visit to the doctor for the kidney stone this week. The stent was still taking up temporary residence in my abdomen, it had to be removed. I dreaded it for days. I was more worried about the stent removal than I was to have the actual stone evicted. The reason - I would be awake this time. No general anesthesia. <whimper> My body decided to have a little fun, it thought that it would be a grand time to start menstruating. Thanks body, my period right now is exactly what I needed. I know, the doctor is a urologist, he's seen it all. But can't I retain a little of my dignity? Apparently not.

The stent removal consisted of a scope with a camera ran up my urethra and into my bladder. They put some fluid in the bladder and then fish around for the string to the stent. It took them several minutes to catch it. Doctor and nurse working side by side between my legs. 'Open, now close,' the doctor told the nurse as he navigated the fishing pole and she ran the hungry hippo at the end of it. 'We almost had it. It's a tricky one.' File that under words you don't want to hear your urologist say. You can watch the whole fishing expedition on the monitor next to you, the camera is broadcasting the whole thing. Popcorn is not included. Finally they caught the string and pulled out the stent. It was a pretty blue. My favorite color.

Don't you want to sign up for your own stent removal? Sounds like loads of fun right? Well, if you ever have to go through it, please know.....it's not that bad. Nothing like what I had myself psyched up for. Once again my imagination is my own worst enemy.

So, the worst part of my doctor visit wasn't the stent removal. The worst part came at the end when I asked my doctor if it's likely that I'll get another kidney stone. He said the odds are 50/50. If you heard something strange echoing around the world at about 3 PM Tuesday, that would have been me yelling the Darth Vader 'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!'

Runaway President

I'm trying a new name on for size for my husband. I'm sick of calling him my husband. I don't really think about him that way anymore. He's just a cockroach that scuttled into my life and made himself at home for way too many years. I'd like to squash him but unfortunately he runs too fast. 

I'm going to call him Army Boy today. I could call him Army Man but he really isn't a man at this point. He acts like a 12-year-old boy ignoring most of the responsibilities that he has. A boy who gets upset when things don't go his way and he runs off.

Army Boy is president of our homeowner's association (HOA). He never scheduled the last meeting of his reign before he motored off to find his happiness. Yesterday I was copied on a snarky neighborhood wide email from my next door neighbor who I'm pretty sure is part of the witness protection program. He rarely goes outside in daylight. Maybe he's a vampire (and not in an Edward kind of way). His email stated that the HOA meeting is three months overdue and he wasn't sure why and if there was a reason, HE was never informed what it was. 

My immediate impulse was to send a response to my neighbors stating that Army Boy abdicated his role as leader of our street when the moving truck pulled up in front of our house. I really wanted to air some dirty laundry. We don't have a clothesline so I was ready to let our soiled linens hang in the virtual breeze. Then I thought why is this my responsibility, I'm not the President, so I forwarded the email to Army Boy. Twenty four hours later and I'm only hearing crickets in response. Color me surprised. Army Boy doesn't acknowledge anything uncomfortably related to his behavior of late. Ignore it and it's not there. Ignore it and someone else will take care of it. Unfortunately that is the case, SOMEONE else will take care of it. One more mess for me to clean up. 

Stairway To Heaven

What does a soon to be divorced woman do with her visiting friend and their four kids for entertainment? Build front steps of course. 

We haven't had steps in the front of our house for four years. We had a porch built and somehow the steps just never happened. Life gets away from you and then your husband cheats on you and wants a divorce and steps don't seem like much of a priority. That is until the mail lady comes with a package and she strides up your charming brick walkway arriving at the edge of your porch and then she looks around perplexed. Am I supposed to levitate to gain access to this domicile, she thinks? She tosses the package on the porch and thinks these assholes should really get some front steps and then she stomps back along the path to nowhere. I'm only guessing at this scenario but from the angry way my mail lady races up and down our dead-end street and the speed that she whips her car around I'm guessing that going postal isn't too far from her realm of possibility. 

My friend and I wondered if we should consult YouTube on how to build steps. Nah, we'd rather just wing it so with our high heeled flip flops and sunglasses for safety goggles, we plugged in the table saw and we were off and running. We tried one method that we were convinced was genius. We finished building the steps and placed them against the front of the house. My daughter tried them out. Up she climbed and then she turned around to come down. 'There's a problem here,' she said. Somehow the top step overhung the bottom step so much that it was nearly non-existent. Instead of building steps we had built more of a ladder for the front porch.

After cursing and laughing and saying yeah, we should have checked YouTube, we had two choices - say screw it and give up or start over. My friend and I have done many projects over the years (wall mounting tvs, hanging closet organization systems) and we have never admitted defeat. So we ripped everything apart and started again. 

The second attempt went much more smoothly and with scrap pieces of wood from the shed, we managed to cobble together some steps. After looking at them critically, we agreed that the steps are too narrow and they need to be stained but with a few strategic shrubs, you might be able to overlook the fact that they were built by two stubborn blondes with limited experience in using a power tool that could maim you. And as a bonus to the finished steps we still have all of our appendages attached. All fingers and toes accounted for. We may each lose a toenail but that's a small price to pay for one less reason for your mail lady to hate you. 

Who needs a husband when you have a best friend that says fuck it, plug in the table saw and we'll figure out how it works.