Holiday Greetings..or...Pain Courtesy of Your Mailman

I love the holidays. What I don't love - receiving Christmas cards in the mail addressed to my ex husband and myself. Apparently word of the demise of our marriage hasn't spread as far and as wide as I thought. I guess it only feels like everyone knows your business and is pointing and judging. I'm not the center of the universe after all. Shocking. 

Many of the cards have joyous newsletters about the wonderful year that particular family had in 2013. 'We moved back to our hometown and were greeted with open arms. Little Becca is doing great and is exceling at everything she tries. Bob is a wonderful husband and Gloria's cookies won the grand prize at the county fair this year. Top Chef is going to be knocking at our door before too long but Gloria is much too busy leading the PTA/volunteering at the church/singing in the choir/winning the Nobel Peace prize to consider it.'

I'm thinking about sending out a New Year's card with a newsletter of my own. Hmm. That would be fun. '2013 was an extra special year. I'm one husband short of a full deck now so please leave off the 'Mr' part in future correspondence. And don't include any happy family photos because I will likely use them for toilet paper. So good to hear from you, have a great New Year's.'

Merry Effing Christmas

I can't imagine not spending Christmas with my kids. Not seeing the excited anticipation in their eyes when they yell, 'It's Christmas, can we go downstairs now?' Not hearing them exclaim over each item they pull out of their stocking or each gift they tear into and shout, 'It's just what I wanted!' I didn't sign up for any of that and thankfully didn't have that as my reality, yet I still have to deal with an empty spot in my heart sometimes.

Here I sit alone in a house looking at the toys scattered around from the festivities of yesterday. No echoes of excitement as the kids play with the treasures that Santa gave them. No child pleading, 'Mom, will you help me put this together?' The silence is deafening. 

The kids are with their dad for two days. Two days, just two days. Somehow this time of year makes it feel like longer. And the happy intact family across the street mocks me as they play outside, laughing and throwing snow at each other as I watch them with a sneer. 'Tis the season to choke on your bitterness. Merry Effing Christmas. 

Where's My Playbook?

'What are you getting Daddy for Christmas, Mommy?' my son asked at breakfast. Sweetie, we are divorced and when you're divorced you don't buy presents for each other was my response. Slightly awkward but he didn't pursue it thankfully. 

The other night my son was on the phone with his father and he was telling him that we were going to see The Hobbit the next day. My son held the phone away from his face and said, 'Mommy, can I ask Daddy to go with us?' I must have winced because my son said, 'You don't want him to go with us DO YOU?!' I didn't know exactly what to do so I said he could invite him if he wanted and he did. Immediately after my son hung up the phone, I got a text from his father. (I'm training myself not to call him Army Boy anymore. I'm done with that level of immaturity.) 'Do you want me to go to the movies with you?' I'll give their dad some credit. He must have heard my son's exclamation and was checking to see what I thought. Yes, you can go, I said, it would make our son happy. 

I had a few doubts when I thought how weird it sounded to be going to the movies together. Freshly divorced and on a family outing? Hmmm.That's just a little bizarre maybe but whatever. I never said I was normal.  

During one particularly scary scene in The Hobbit (that dragon is FREAKY), I felt my son's hand creep into mine and I raised it up to give it a kiss. I looked over and saw my son's other hand clasped tightly in his father's hand. And a thought popped into my head - all is right at this moment in my son's world. He's got his mom and his dad sitting on either side of him and he's enjoying the movie that he's been begging to see. Any discomfort that I might have felt withered away. Divorce doesn't come with a playbook and each family and situation is different. I do what I feel is best for my kids. Period. End of story. 

Merry Christmas and Happy Divorce

My divorce is final. I got some official looking documents in the mail. It's sort of anti climatic at this point. All that pain and angst and then boom, you get something delivered by the friendly mailman and you can start checking the 'Divorced' box on forms. Great, good times. I love being labeled. Now I can add divorcee to my list.

All those guys that were waiting in the wings until I became a free woman, feel free to call me now. I have about three hours of spare time a month. I'm sure that will be plenty to start off a new relationship.

December is zooming by. Hosting forty people at a cookie swap in my home, holiday concerts for the kids, Christmas plays, all the good tidings that the season brings. I love this time of year and I'm not going to let a divorce dump me into a funk. My kids are doing well, they're wonderful and a delight, and I've got my health after a scare. I found a lump in my armpit and convinced myself for a weekend that I had breast cancer. Nope, my doctor said, false alarm, I'll live to see another year thankfully.

Divorce is rough but mostly I can think 'Eh, whatever, I'll get over it.' I still believe it sucks royally for the kids but they could be going through worst things so I'm going to be counting my blessings this holiday season. I'm going to deck the halls and eat, drink and be merry. If an errant thought about a cheating husband comes into my mind, I'm going to force it away and put another bow on the ol' Christmas tree and turn up the Christmas tunes and sing with the kids.

Hiatus

Contrary to popular belief I'm still alive and perhaps even more surprising, I'm not even in prison. Yay me! Army Boy and I had a huge falling out, he knows about the blog, he fucking hates me, I'm two faced and oh, I think he's having problems with his girlfriend. <tear> So sorry, I hope that works out for you, I said in my most insincere voice. I really thought your fairy tale romance was going to last and if the two of you don't make it, how can I ever believe in love again?  Honestly telling your betrayed soon to be ex wife that things aren't going according to your plan? Probably not the best idea, you won't be getting sympathy here. 

Anyways, Army Boy and I have decided to give our marriage another try. We discovered we still care for each other and want to try to put aside all the hurt and bitterness and move ahead together to face our future. Of course I had to admit that everything was my fault and since I'm sure that is the case, I had no problem taking complete culpability. 

Okay, after you've picked yourself up off the floor from laughing or have screamed at your computer and said OMG WTF!!!, I hope you know that's a load of crap, just like my marriage for the last few years. Army Boy and I have been trying to work out a settlement.* I had to shut the blog down for a while. He screamed at me that I could leave it up but I'm pretty sure that wasn't how he truly felt. I'm getting better at knowing when he's lying. He did mention he wanted a chance to tell his own side of the story so maybe I'll have a link to Army Boy's blog in a future post. Coming up with a name for that would be super fun, we should have a contest. 

* I believe we have a settlement and divorce papers should be arriving to a mailbox near me soon. I guess I'm supposed to be happy, the terms are pretty much everything that I wanted. Well, originally I had wanted a husband who was faithful and not a douchebag but I've learned you can't have everything in life so you gotta take what you can get and create your own happiness. 

Army Boy probably won't be thrilled that I turned my blog back on. But my response to that is, you still have your whore, I still have my blog. I'm told that the whore might read the blog occasionally. <Hi Whore! I have something special on my Christmas list for a homewrecking piece of crap.> I find it hysterical to imagine her reading some of these posts and thinking what a horrible soon-to-be-ex wife I am, no wonder Army Boy cheated on me. You can rationalize anything in your own mind if you're delusional enough. I have fantasized about texting her once the divorce is final and congratulating her on the 'prize' she's won but why bother? I'm not going to waste any more time thinking about the likes of her (other than laughing maybe). I'm really starting to believe that I'm going to be the winner in all of this. Like Kellie Pickler's song says, 'But I've been told that a cheater is always a cheater, So I've got my pride and she's got you.' 

I'm going to do my best to transition from a betrayed spouse to just an ex-spouse. Yup, I'll be divorced which is never what I wanted but you know what, I've got my kids, my family, my health, a slimmer body, my dog, a career and I'm going to be counting my blessings.... I might slip into the bitter is better role periodically but I'm Moving On is going to be my mantra now. 

Unleashing My Inner Crazy

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned... no, hell hath no fury like a woman fucked over by a piece of shit for the millionth time. I'm unleashing my inner crazy and it feels good. At this point, I don't really give a shit what happens with everything else except making Army Boy feel some pain. Yup, I've said it, I've let go of everything else and now I'm out to inflict some pain and suffering. Retaliation. He drove me past my breaking point with his latest stunt and he's going to regret that he did that.

After texting Army Boy a few choice words and hearing nothing back, I hit him where it hurts. His career. And lo and behold, I get an immediate response back. So the talk of the kids didn't get him riled up, the talk of the house sale didn't make an impression, but the mention of his precious career, then he sits up and takes notice. My Catholic inner nice girl is now quelled and the dark side of my personality has taken over. I'm going to inflict some revenge or die trying.

Army Boy blamed the whole court debacle yesterday on his lawyer. Well, I'm not falling for that load of horse shit. My eyes are wide open, and I won't be giving him any more chances to fill my ears with false promises. I hope whatever hole Army Boy is hiding in is a deep one because he's going to need some protection from the rash of shit I'm about ready to bring raining down on his head. I hope he's shaking in his shoes right now wondering what the hell his crazy almost-ex-wife is going to do. If I make him feel one iota of what I went through as I tossed and turned and laid awake all last night, then I will know that my job is done.

2x4's and Blows to the Head

How many times does one need to get hit in the head with a 2x4 before you learn a lesson? Apparently I needed one more smack to cement the fact that Army Boy is a complete fucker.

Two weeks ago we sat down and talked very amicably about the terms of our divorce. We even shared a few laughs. Army Boy looked at me and said he wished he could turn over his whole paycheck to me so the kids and I don't have to pay any more for him being an ass. I let myself breathe a little easier and thought, 'Maybe he really does want us to stay in our home. Maybe he really has the best interest of the kids in mind and he's finally feeling some regrets. Maybe whatever medication he's taking is turning him into a human again. Maybe he's on step 8 of a recovery program, the step where you stop being a complete and total fucking asshole.' My doubts reared their ugly heads when he said he wouldn't really agree to what we decided without having his lawyer look at it. Of course, that's just good business sense to have it reviewed, I tried to convince myself, it was just a formality, even though my friends and sister said to watch out, he's never going to agree to it, his lawyer is going to tell him he doesn't have to. 

So today I find myself standing outside a courtroom, faced with being one step closer to the demise of my marriage. I actually went up to Army Boy and greeted him and chatted a bit. Then we walk into the courtroom and the rug is pulled out from under me. Army Boy is lowballing and back pedaling on everything we agreed on. He lied to my face yet again. The months that he's been telling me that he wants us to stay in our home was a lie. He just kept stringing me along until the end when there was no choice but to tell me, fuck no. Everything he agreed to was an absolute and fucking bald face lie. A fabrication to give me false hope. 

The fact that he could look me in the face two weeks ago and pathologically lie once again to me is scary. And even scarier is the fact that I fell for it again. And perhaps the most astounding thing is his lawyer told mine that Army Boy is terrified that I will get him fired once our divorce is final. That I'll tell his commander that he's a shitbag and he will be booted out of the army. Uh, if you give me what I need to keep my house, I need you to be employed. If you give me shit and I've got nothing to lose, then I'm going to release the inner psycho in me, the likes of which you've never seen. I would think that's an easy concept to understand and would be a motivation to give me what I want if he's so worried about his job. I'm not above blackmail, or I prefer to call it 'leverage', 'negotiating power' or 'hand'. You pay, I keep my mouth shut. You no pay, I share my truths with any one who will listen and that includes those in uniform as well as civilians.  

If he wasn't such a fucking coward, he could have told me over the summer that there's no way he could financially swing what I was asking for. He could have talked to me about his bills and calmly said, I can't survive on what I'm left with. I would have been pissed but I would have dealt with it and avoided what I don't want to do - move the kids during the school year. Now because Army Boy is a fucking coward who has no balls, I am faced with telling my kids that we need to sell our home and they will be switching schools. 

Thanks Army Boy for continuing to be a worthless excuse for a human being who can lie with such ease and fool me yet again. Thanks for letting your lawyer play the bad guy as you refuse to look at me in court. Thanks for ignoring my texts about telling the kids about the house and ignoring me when I said you can be the one to list and sell the house because I have enough on my plate with getting the kids switched to a new school. Thanks for fucking up my life, Army Boy, and making me spend another day bawling my eyes out because of shock and disappointment and yes, even some hurt. 

And I'm sure your mother will thank you when my parents tell her that she needs to find a new place to live because my parents won't let the kids and I be homeless and have offered us the apartment that my mother in law rents from them. Blood is thicker than water and her son screwed their daughter over so bad that my parents are having a hard time looking at her. My mother in law isn't to blame for this but she's another piece of collateral damage due to Army Boy's morally bankrupt personality. 

Go Squat Somewhere Else

Yes, I still have a tenant. A roommate. A squatter at this point. Over the summer, when we weren't home much, it was a breeze to share space with a stranger. I collected the rent money and went off on my merry way, often to the farthest set of outlets with the kids in tow to buy new apparel for my divorce-diet shrinking body. Now that we are home and the summer breezes have turned into 'batten down the hatches, winter is here', I'm resenting that stranger who told me it was just a month or two that she needed a place to stay. The month or two has turned into four, and my fear is she's never going to leave. I like money but I also realized I like my privacy too.

Don't get me wrong, my first experience with a renter could have been a lot worse. She seems to like my kids and our dog. She's very patient with all of them, and she's quite nice. But she's also a, how do I put it kindly...a fucking slob. And a pretty lazy one to boot. I know I'm anal when it comes to organization but it's my house. If my stuff is picked up, yours should be too. At least in the common area. And would it be too much to ask for you to wipe the fucking stove down after you've cooked your greasy midnight snack bacon which splattered all over? Would it kill you to clean the bathroom once in a while? I know you share it with two kids but for me to have to do it every week seems a little, I don't know, GODDAMN unfair. 

There are days when I drive up my road and I say a little prayer that her car is gone and she's not home. Very similar to how I felt coming home to Army Boy for the previous six months before he tore my heart out and shat on it. Maybe my squatter is secretly cheating on me and that's why I don't want to be around her. 

Or maybe I'm still PMSing or maybe, just maybe, I'm torqued up because I have go to a court meeting tomorrow about the divorce because Army Boy is too fucking stupid to finalize anything and apparently wants the court and some lawyers to tell us what to do. Heart warming really that he can't make a decision about his own children and needs someone to tell him what to do. Or more likely, he's too much of a pussy to tell me to my face that he's not going to give me what I asked for and he's going to let his lawyer play the bad guy. I texted him that he can pay my attorney bills because we should have been able to come to an agreement overselves and our lawyers could have just reviewed it. Dividing assets of nothing doesn't take an accounting degree. But wait, I believe his skanky whore has an accounting degree from a mail order school. Even she should be able to advise him that nothing divided by two is still NOTHING. And I'm sure it's the money thing that Army Boy is worried about because he told me the schedule he wanted to see the kids and I said yup, sounds about right. 

I'm prepared to stay up all night worrying and angsting (that's a new word I just coined) and tossing and turning and swearing and cursing and plotting someone's demise. And I can only hope my stovetop is clean in the morning or my squatter is going to get an early wake up call via a wet sponge to the head and me yelling, 'Clean up that fucking grease or you can move out today.' 

I Wish I Looked Good in Stripes

When is a bad time to be PMSIng and feeling like you could commit murder and feel no remorse? The day you have to see a soon to be ex spouse at your son's basketball practice. No word from him for a week and he shows up at practice and tells our son he's going to help coach. I literally had to bite my tongue to stop from saying - what a switch from a year ago when you stormed off the field at soccer practice and pouted that you weren't one of the popular parents and you refused to be on the field again even though you had promised our son you would be his coach for the season. What a switch from you saying you weren't being included in the coach conversations and when I said I wasn't either but I just figured out the drills, you said, 'Well I guess you're a better person than I am.' 

Yes, I'm still a better person and I will let you live to see another day even though my hormones are raging, and I spent a few hours this week reviewing the terms of our divorce and conferring with my lawyer. I'm a better person because I would love to tell the head basketball coach that you're a disturbed dirtbag who takes nude photos of himself for a hobby and sends them to girls who I wouldn't even want to guess their ages. I'm a better person because I won't yell across the court that you're a fucking asshole who pretends to a good dad to the outside world but you couldn't even be bothered to pick up the phone to ask your kids, 'Hey honey, how's your week going?' 

I hope the PMSing passes soon because he's either going to end up in a body bag or on a respirator, and I'll be in prison and I don't look good in orange or stripes. 

I'm Building a Fence

Boundary setting. Putting up some fences. Drawing imaginary lines. Yup, that's on my to-do list, and I'll get it done if it kills me.

This weekend Army Boy and I brought our son and a few of his friends to a college basketball game. It was a post-birthday type celebration for my son, without being labeled 'a party' (no presents required). I had told Army Boy about what I had planned weeks ago when I was coordinating the event because 1.) I needed help shepherding five 6/7 year old boys to a venue with a thousand people and 2.) if Army Boy had planned something like that, I would sooner have my eye gouged out than miss it. (Extremely doubtful Army Boy would plan something but still, I want in on it if it includes an event if my child's life).

Together we enjoyed our son and his friends. Giggling in the backseat, punching each other, banging each other over the head with water bottles, telling fart jokes, cheering at the basketball game, begging for candy. Typical boy behavior and I basked in all of it. I love being around my kids, I love seeing them with their friends, I love doing things that will make them happy, I love every second of it. (Well, hearing that they were thirsty and hungry for the 50th time after we had just spent $40 on snacks and drinks wasn't a highlight, I'll admit.) I assumed that Army Boy felt the same way and I felt bad for him for missing something in our kids' lives so that's another reason why I included him.

Then I read the comments for this post. Am I doing the 'pick me' dance and saying it's for the best of the kids? I don't think so, I wouldn't take back Army Boy if he begged me and swore up and down that he was thinking about me when he snapped those photos of his ____ <ick, I can't bear to write the word now>. I wouldn't take him back if he inherited a title to some far off country and it would make me a queen. But, I'm not delusional enough to say that I don't want him to come crawling back and admit that he made a horrible mistake. So maybe I am doing a version of the 'pick me' dance but my type of dance isn't meant to end with a pair of partners, it would be designed to end in a solo.

The last comment echoed in my head. Army Boy DID decide not to be there every day for his kids. He DID decide that his search for happiness was more important than tucking them in and kissing them goodnight. Why the hell am I pitying him? Why the hell do I feel sorry for him if he misses an event in his kids' lives? I'm judging how he would be feeling based on my own thoughts and desires. He walked away from being his kids' full-time father, my pity is wasted on him.

The day after the basketball game, Army Boy sent me some inane small-talk type text. Really? We're going to pretend to be friends now and text pleasantries about the weather or other non-important matters? We're going to pretend that you didn't fuck me over and pull the world out from under your kids? I blame myself, I've been sending mixed messages. Well, that's over. I'll still be civil, I'll still let him join us when he asks and if it feels right for the kids, but I won't be engaging in casual conversations. I won't be putting on my 'let's be friends' mask any longer.

I never responded to Army Boy's text. I felt guilty about it at first.That's the Catholic, people-pleaser in me I guess. I squelched that feeling down and chose to feel empowered instead.

Eat a Cookie, Please

I hate it when your husband cheats on you and dumps you and gives you anorexia. Yeah that's a little of what I'm dealing with now. Can you have a little anorexia? 'Hi I'm Kay and I just need to lose a few more pounds and he'll realize what he walked away from.' How fucking stupid can you get. 

I haven't been to see a counselor since the spring. I was doing better, I thought. I knew I wasn't the crazy one, he was, so I took the summer off. Well apparently I declared myself healed a little too prematurely. My daughter's counselor asked to see me alone and I thought she likely just wanted to talk in private about my daughter's challenges. Nope, she wanted the full story of what had happened with Army Boy and wanted to let me know I was a little on the thin side. Really? I haven't been told I was too thin since...well, NEVER. 

The counselor wanted to make sure that I was okay and was eating enough. I'm eating fine, I said, but I did pass out in the shower last week, probably due to tiredness. You need to take better care of yourself she said. Yes I know and I'm working on it. Then she asked me if I would rather lose a pound than gain a pound right now. Well duh, I don't want to gain all my weight back. Then she proceeded to tell me how many calories you need to eat to gain weight and yada, yada, yada. To be honest I was only half listening. I'm not an idiot, I know it takes time to gain back weight but hey, it all adds up after a while. 

Then the therapist said that she has counseled many people who, when they lose control of the rest of their lives, take control of the one thing they can - their own bodies. Hmm, I'm listening now. She said they exercise and lose weight and feel great but then they can't stop because at least they can control that one aspect of their lives. Hmmm, I'm still listening. 

She asked me if I had hit my ideal weight yet. I said maybe one more pound to go and then I'll be under that threshold and I'll be done. She said you already look too thin. Then I admitted that four pounds ago I had hit my ideal weight but, God, wouldn't it be nice to have a buffer and lose a few more in case I gained a few back, and I would STILL be in my ideal weight range. (Yeah, even I can hear the crazy ringing around in that sentence.) 

Then she asked me about exercising. I said most days I get up and walk 5-6 miles and sometimes I walk again at lunch with my friends for another two and a half miles. I said I know if a friend told me she did that every single day, I would say that wasn't necessary, you need a break. But somehow I can't convince myself of that. I feel like a lazy ass when I don't get out of bed at the crack of dawn and I hate to disappoint my dog who is gazing at me with those big brown eyes, pleading 'Please, let's go for a walk'. Also, I enjoy walking with my friends and venting to them so I really don't want to skip those lunchtime walks either and blah, blah, blah. I can hear the attempted rationalizations piling up about why I'm pushing myself too hard. 

So maybe I am a shade on the crazy side and I'll go back to the counselor's again and start telling her all my deep dark thoughts about why I can't eat that cookie that is calling to me. 

You Don't Need to Wear a Costume, You're Already the Horse's Ass

Army Boy emailed me a few days ago. 'What's going on for Halloween? Can I tag along?' Knot in my stomach immediately forms. 'Hello, you walked away from this family, how about you go fuck yourself?' That thought bubbled in my mind and almost, ALMOST, flowed from my fingers onto the keyboard. One thing stopped me though.

I went out to lunch with a friend this week. Her parents divorced when she was in college. It was an ugly, 'I can't stand to even be in the same room with you now' messy divorce. My friend said that she wishes her parents could tolerate each other because it would make things a whole lot easier. I kept that thought in mind when I responded to Army Boy. If my friend was an adult when her parents got divorced and the conflict was upsetting to her, how would my 7 and 9 year old kids feel about their parents constantly being at each other's throats?

So I wrote back to Army Boy and did what I always do, I said you are welcome to join us. I know many people think that I need to set boundaries and I probably do but I'm really not a masochist or a sadist. I'm a realist. This is my life now and he is what he is but he is also the father of my children. We both love our kids. I could say we each love them in our own way but I won't go down that road.

Army Boy joined us for trick or treating and the kids said they had a great Halloween. And that's all that matters really. I got through it and it wasn't even that difficult. I just think of Army Boy as a dim-witted distant relative now and it makes it much more palatable to be around him.

Superwoman Doesn't Live Here Anymore

I've always wondered how the rich and famous can end up in the hospital due to exhaustion. Yeah right, my cynical soul would mock, that's just another way to say they're addicted to some drug. Well, on Friday morning, I found out that maybe I can sympathize. 

I took the day off from work because I wanted to go to an assembly that my son's class was running. It was also the day of the school Halloween party, an event that I volunteer at every year. I got in the shower in the morning, feeling a little tired but not horribly so. As I stood under the spray, I got dizzy. Like never have I been so dizzy in all my life dizzy. I leaned against the shower wall, grasping the bar and thought, I really need to go lay down on the bed for a minute and then I'll be okay. The next thing I knew, I opened my eyes and I was lying on the floor of the shower with the water spraying down on me, shampoo and body wash bottles scattered around me. Did I just pass out? Nah, can't be. I must have just thought about going to the bed and couldn't make it so I laid on the floor. 

I got out of the shower weakly and stumbled to the bed, laying there for a few minutes. But time has a way of ticking along even when you don't want it to so I got up and woke the kids. While we were eating breakfast, I thought I had a bit of a headache and when I put my hand on my forehead, it made me wince a little. I went to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. There was a large egg on my forehead and my cheekbone was swollen and bruised. Apparently I had passed out in the shower and my face broke my fall. I also have bruises on my hip and high on my shoulder. Fainting gently and ladylike is obviously not a talent I possess. I would more liken it to a sack of potatoes falling off a shelf. 

This is a lesson to me. I don't have to be superwoman, it's not necessary to get everything done every single day. The six mile walk in the pre-dawn morning can be skipped; laundry can remain in the basket for a day; declining any more volunteer requests is fine; feeding the kids PB&J one evening is perfectly acceptable; and turning off my never ending fountain of worry is okay. I thank God that I didn't hit my head any harder when I fell. My shower has benches in it and I could have easily split my head open on one of those. My guardian angel must have caught me. 

I'll be taking better care of myself now because I know by doing that, I'll be taking better care of my kids as well. So the weekend consists of watching a movie, baking cookies and going to a pumpkin carving party. No running the roads and staying up late for us, a much needed break is here and my kids are delighted to just hang for a while. 

By the Numbers

1...the number of times I'll get married. One and done. Never again and you can quote me on that. 

2...the number of kids I have and I'd give my soul for them. 

3...the number of months I walked around like a zombie, feeling like I was having an out of body experience after Army Boy blew up my world 

4...table for four has become table for three and I can request that at a restaurant now without flinching

6...the number of miles I walk in the early morning hours before the sun rises. The divorce demons are still helping to keep me active.  

8...the number of months it's been since Army Boy dropped his bomb. I'm myself again, the fog has lifted. 

30-45...number of minutes in the evening I have to myself after the kids hit the hay and before I fall into bed. If anyone has any way to create more time, drop me a line. 

80...number of pounds I've lost since bomb drop day. Yup, I was a big girl, fat and happy. Now I'm a thinner girl and hopefully will end up even happier. 

A million...the number of times I've dreamed about hurting Army Boy like he hurt me. But those thoughts are dissipating now and hopefully 

will 

soon 

dwindle 

to 

ZERO...which is what Army Boy is to me now. 

Good Times

Parent/teacher conference time. Also known as the week I get a knot in my stomach thinking about hearing about my kids' academic achievements. I'm more nervous about their conferences than I ever was about my own. The afternoon began with my son's conference. Army Boy showed up at the tail end of it. He got the times mixed up and thought it started at the time it actually ended. I wonder how the firing of his personal secretary/wife is working out for him. 

In my son's conference I discovered that he accidentally broke another student's finger by closing a door on it. Yup, I said BROKE A KID'S FINGER. OMG. It wasn't malicious and was a total accident but still I wanted to crawl into a hole when I heard that. He never mentioned it to me when it happened. Maybe he blocked it out of his mind the teacher said. Good times. 

My daughter's conference centered around the very emotional day that she had today. One of her friends called her a cheater during a game and my daughter got really upset. I forced myself not to look at Army Boy each time the teacher said CHEATER. If it was a drinking game, I would have been intoxicated by the end of the conference. Cheater, cheater, cheater. Did Army Boy squirm each time the teacher said it? No clue, I was afraid to look at him in case the revulsion showed on my face. He probably didn't even flinch since he's so delusional about how he's really done nothing wrong through all this. Good times.

My daughter's conference was just about over and as we were standing up, the teacher said, 'Oh, I wanted to tell you something your daughter said. She told me that she really wants a stepmom or stepdad.' The sound that came next was my jaw hitting the floor. Why, why would the teacher mention that to a divorcing couple? Oh really?, I squeaked and now I'm visualizing Army Boy thinking that gives him license to introduce his whore to my kids. Yup, the teacher said, she must have a friend with a step parent and she wants one too. 'Well, she also wants me to have another baby,' I said, 'and that's not happening either.' I'm not sure why I felt I had to say something so personal, I wish I could manage an uncomfortable silence without filling it with diarrhea of the mouth. Good times. 

But I survived another round of parent teacher conferences and can pat my kids on the back and say 'Good job, Honey', well, except for that broken finger. 

Shove Your Email Where the Sun Doesn't Shine

I love when you're going about your day, almost forgetting that you're in the midst of a painful divorce and that your husband is a cheating POS dirtbag that you would like to punch in the face every time you see him and then you receive an email like this:

I'm embarrassed that we live in a society like this. People actually work for a company like Ashley Madison? A company that touts cheating and hooking up just for the sake of it? How low our society has sunk that things like this are out there and embraced by so many people. Where have all the values and decency gone?

I'd like to write to Ashley Madison and tell them to fucking vet their email distribution list a little more closely because I'm the last person on earth that should receive an email like this. But the wonders of web tracking exist and I'm sure from visiting sites like match.com (when I think, maybe, possibly, I might find a man attractive again), Ashley Madison hooks on to my online presence and sends me shit like this.

I'm going to print the email out and set it ablaze with the new candle that I bought last weekend. The scent of Autumn Mist will cover the stench nicely.

Thanksgivings Past and Thanksgivings Future… A Family Divided

Every year my mom hosts Thanksgiving. From the time I was little right up until now, she would cook for hours and hours and put on a food-induced coma of a feast. My uncle joins us and when my mother in law moved in to my parent’s apartment about 7 years ago, my mom began having my mother in law and Army Boy's sister and brother (and whomever they might be dating at the time) over along with Army Boy and my kids and I. My kids got a two for one deal; they were able to see both sides of the family, in one large gathering. The in law side of the family sometimes outnumbered my mom’s ‘real family’ but she still hosted the dinner every year, doing most of the work involved in having 10-12 people eat at your house. I think my mom enjoys it or she puts on a good show that she doesn't mind doing it, she’s never complained and we all devour a grand meal every time. 

A few days ago my mother in law was talking to my mom about my sister in law’s new boyfriend. My mother in law wondered out loud if my sister in law would be bringing her new boyfriend to Thanksgiving this year. My mom told me later that she didn't say anything because she wanted to speak to me first. My mom said that she has no intention of hosting Thanksgiving dinner for my in laws this year. She’ll still make a meal for my uncle and my kids and me but the invitation for the in laws has been revoked. 

I asked my mom if maybe my mother in law was planning on hosting her own Thanksgiving and that’s where my sister in law would bring her boyfriend. My mom said no, that family is a family of takers and not givers, and my mother in law definitely was not meaning that she was going to have her own meal. For my mom to say that about anyone is a little shocking. My mom sees the best in everyone, she rarely puts anyone down. She even defended Army Boy recently and said that it seems like he’s trying to be a more involved parent and that we need to give him the benefit of the doubt. (Yeah I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt right after I run him over a few times with my car.) My mom said she’s going to tell my mother in law that she can host her own Thanksgiving dinner and invite her own children (including Army Boy). She said that she'll make it clear that my Dad won’t kill Army Boy when he drives up to my mother in law’s apartment so Army Boy won't have a convenient excuse not to attend. 

What a strange Thanksgiving this one is going to be. Even if my mother in law has Thanksgiving at her apartment and Army Boy goes, it’s going to be so foreign to what the kids are used to. I have some doubts that Army Boy is going to dare to step foot in a house that my parents own plus he hasn't seen his mother since she had her surgery in May. To say he's not close to his family or interested in being with them in an understatement. I’m sure my kids will adjust, they are troopers and seem to be rolling with whatever changes come their way but it makes me sad that the years of combined family holidays are over. 

Pshaw, Says No One Ever in 2013

I'm feeling a bit like a heroine in a bad Lifetime TV movie. Sometimes I get caught up in my own story. I once read a word in an old Harlequin Victorian romance novel. I guess I thought if someone in the 1800's could say it so could I in the 1980's. So I wrote the word 'pshaw' in my diary (Pshaw, that boy doesn't like ME?!) and my sister read it and never let me live it down. 

'Uh Kay, people really don't talk like that.' 

'Yeah, they do.' 

'Maybe if they're attending balls and dancing with Dukes and Lords but you live in New England and are sitting in front of the Atari playing Pit Fall so never use that word again.' 

I'm a little of a wingnut sometimes. So while I'm feeling kind of melancholic, philosophical or maybe just plain ridiculous, I'm going to throw some quotes out there. 

The first two are ones for my kids and I to live our lives by. 

http://www.fuelyourwriting.com/files/beyourself.jpg

(I could say that my husband was taken too but that didn't stop his whore from banging him but I digress... This is supposed to be an inspirational quote.) 

http://practicebetterbusiness.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/inspirational-the-difference-between-who-you-are-and-who-you-want-to-be-is-what-you-do-love-quotes-quote-favim_com-554123.jpg

And one for Army Boy -

http://www.theindiepedant.com/?attachment_id=8608

Do What You Think Is Best, Mommy

This weekend I took my daughter to her semi-monthly counseling appointment. Bowel issues, divorce issues, school issues, yeah, I was concerned for her over the summer. Either the counseling is going well or she's just better at dealing with things, because she's turned back into the silly girl that she used to be. There's still a bit of an attitude there but I blame that on being nine years old going on fourteen. Since our lives are so busy now with sports and the kids going to their fucking stupid asshole of a father's place every other weekend (I know, I'm not too bitter, right?), I wondered if we should stop the counseling appointments for a while and see how things go. I asked my daughter, 'Do you still want to go talk to Poppy?' (Poppy is my name for her counselor. She reminds me of a free spirit with her aromatherapy bottles and her druid books on every available surface, her dogs milling around our feet, vying for a place on the couch.)

My daughter said, 'I don't know.'

'It's your choice,' I said, 'if you think you still want to go, you can or we can take a break for a while.'

My daughter said, 'Do whatever you think is best for me, Mommy.' My sweet girl. God, kids kill me with their innocence and their faith in people.

Today we received the soccer schedule for the weekend and the kids have to be in two different places at the same time. I'm used to this, for years, I've been doing it on my own as Army Boy was either deployed or disinterested in being part of our family or 'off riding his motorcycle'. I can figure things out, find a ride for one of the kids. Then about two minutes after I received the schedule, I get an email from Army Boy. 'How do you want to handle the weekend? Do you want me to pick up our daughter and take her to her game?' My first response is hate - 'Apparently you finally remembered that you have children. You have time for them again after writing them off for the whole summer? You don't have better things to do with your weekend days now, those same things that took you away from the kids for over a year?'

I want to slay him with words and start something. I'm spoiling for a fight. I want to tell him that it's too little, too late. But I know it won't matter because it will just be the buzzing of an annoying bug in his ear. What I say doesn't matter. It was so much easier when he was disinterested this summer, for me at least. Out of sight, out of mind. Now having to deal with him so much makes me want to scream. I really do not want to depend on him for rides for the kids. 

I can count on one hand the number of times he actually brought our children to an appointment or a sporting event on his own, and I can also count the number of times he was late and caused more stress because the kids are never his first priority. I don't want to depend on him for anything. But I don't know if my own feelings about his piece of shit-ness are taking over or if I'm thinking of the kids here. It's got to be confusing to them to have him be here, be gone, and now be around again. I guess it's better for them to have a father who actually wants to see them but I don't trust him at all. I'm trying to heed my daughter's words of 'Do whatever you think is best for me, Mommy' but it's hard when your own feelings provide a lens that you can't see through.

Is Disingenuous My Middle Name?

Another Saturday Soccer jamboree....another day of family togetherness...or as I like to call it, my own personal hell on earth. Army Boy was supposed to have to work this weekend but because our government can't seem to get its head out of its ass, his drill weekend was cancelled. Thanks Democrats and Republicans for bickering like a divorcing couple and giving me one more day of biting my tongue at a sporting event. I'll send you the bill when my bloody nub has to be sutured back on.

Actually it's almost getting too easy to put aside my disgust for Army Boy and just play pretend for a few hours. Wow, either I'm the world's best actress or I'm the most disingenuous person alive. I flip the switch, slap a smile on my face and play nice for the whole world to see. I wonder what the other parents would think if they knew what was going on. Would they applaud my 'putting the kids first' mentality or would they think what a fucking doormat to stand next to such a douchebag? If only Army Boy knew how many times I wanted to whip out my visual aids documenting his futile attempt to 'find his happiness'. Hello, local police officer and father of my son's closest friend, do you want to see why douchebag and I are divorcing or would you just say that's our personal business and avert your eyes from the spectacle of Army Boy's penis in my kitchen? If only people knew what goes on behind closed doors, but I bet everyone has a dirty secret and probably wouldn't take much notice of mine. It's only personal when you're living it. 

The long day of soccer went by quick. Army Boy was on his best behavior, playing Mr Personality and Father of the Year. He even stood by my daughter's team and helped coach. What a fucking change from last year when he was supposed to coach my son but he felt like he was being 'left out by the popular parents' so he walked off the field and wouldn't go back. I had to finish the season off and tell everyone that he hurt his back. I'm such a fricking liar when it comes to covering for him.

I got home tonight and gave myself a mental pat on the back for getting through the day and being the bigger person. Hell, I even shared my carrots with Army Boy at one point. (No, carrots aren't a euphuism for something, I actually shared a snack that I had brought with me.) Then I lay in bed, exhausted after another day of doing everything, and I read the comments on this post. HOLY SHIT, AM I AN ENABLER? Am I letting Army Boy off too easily? Am I serving myself the shit sandwich and gulping it down with ketchup? WTF, am I doing? I know I'm a people pleaser and conflict averse. I'm the baby of my family. I'm the one that tries to make people laugh and if that doesn't work, I plead 'Can't we all just get along?' But am I being too nice in this circumstance? Am I going for sainthood or will I be getting the gold medal for stupidity? A crown for being the biggest spineless pushover in the history of betrayed spouses? 

I'm not sure why I don't want to give Army Boy a hard time. For my kids' sake, for my own. I know I don't want to be raging all the time. It's too exhausting, too draining. Maybe I just want to pretend for a few hours that we are on okay terms, that we have an amicable divorce so I can hold on to my pride a little bit. Being the spouse left behind is pretty fucking demoralizing, it cuts you off at your knees and is akin to someone telling you 24/7 that you're too much of a loser to hold on to your husband. (I know if a friend was going through this instead of me, I certainly wouldn't think she was a loser but it's hard to be objective when it's yourself.) If I can put on the appearance that I don't give a shit about Army Boy, maybe I can make myself feel like I can retain some of my dignity. I'll use my favorite phrase again..'I don't know'. 

Hey Mom, Remember My 7th Birthday When You Almost Burned Our House Down?

Today is my precious son's seventh birthday. Six years old has shades of still being little. Seven years old is saying goodbye to a little kid and hello to a big kid. Seven years old makes me think of driver's licenses and shaving. I don't know why but I'm sort of sad over my sweet little man turning one year older.

I want my son to have the most special day ever, especially since this is his first birthday without Daddy living in the same house. Some of our old traditions will continue and this year I vowed to create some new ones as well. One of these new traditions is making a special birthday breakfast treat. My coworkers suggested Monkey bread, it's delicious and so easy, they claimed. I stayed up late last night wrapping my son's presents and then got up early this morning to make the Monkey bread. It's going to be a GREAT birthday, I thought. I even invited Army Boy over to supper so our son could see his dad on his birthday. (Yes, I'm a sucker for punishment, I guess. I hate Army Boy with an all consuming passion and disgust but I love my boy and he wanted to include Daddy.)

The monkey bread was easy to prepare but then I got to the part where it said I needed a bundt pan.... Hmmm, I don't have one of those but I do have a round cake pan. So, with a shrug, I dropped the ingredients into the pan and topped it off with the yummy looking butter and brown sugar concoction the recipe called for. I was feeling so efficient as I popped the pan in the oven just before I got in the shower. The timer was due to go off just as the kids were getting up. The house will smell delicious and the kids will be delighted, I thought as I skipped up the stairs. I was giddy with 'this is going to be a great birthday' fever.

When I got out of the shower, the scent of cinnamon is wafting in the air. The kids are going to LOVE monkey bread (they've never had it before), it's going to become their new favorite! I woke the kids up and went downstairs and checked on the bread. It wasn't done yet but looking at it was enough to make my stomach rumble. I can't wait to taste that and serve it up to the kids!

I did a little bit of cleaning and then I smelled something. Not cinnamon, not brown sugar, but something burning. Uh oh. I approached the oven and saw a little bit of smoke billowing out of it. Ooops, some of the sauce was running over the cake pan. Ah, that's why the recipe said to use a bundt pan, of course, dough rises. Good to know, I'll remember that next time. I popped a cookie sheet under the pan to catch the drippage. I'm feeling pretty good, I'm giving Martha Stewart a run for her money.  I continue with my cleaning. Then I smell more smoke and see it furiously pouring out of the top of the oven. OMG, I hope the fire alarm doesn't go off, our renter got home late last night and is sleeping. I opened all the windows and doors and then out of the corner of my eye, I see a bright flash of orange in the oven. What's that?

H.O.L.Y. SHIT the oven is on fire! I'm going to burn our Goddamn house down on my son's birthday. I stare blankly at the orange fireball behind the glass door. Then the smoke alarms go off and chaos erupts in the house. The kids come running downstairs yelling, the dog is going crazy. My daughter asks, 'Should we evacuate?' (I think she was excited to use the information taught to her by the firemen that visited school last year. I almost expected her to stop, drop and roll). I open the oven door to see WTF is going on and flames flash out towards me, the heat almost singeing my eyebrows. I turn the oven off but every time I open the oven door the flames get higher. My renter comes running downstairs and sees the fire and yells, "I have a fire extinguisher!" She races back upstairs. I envision spraying that fire extinguisher in my house and the mess it will create but then I envision my house going up in flames on my son's birthday. I need to put this fucking fire out, preferably without mounds of foam involved. I know there's something you can throw on a fire.. corn starch... nope, that makes it worse. Baking soda! Phew, that puts the flames out but the oven has now turned into a chimney and black smoke pours out of it.

Coughing and choking with eyes burning, I pull out the monkey bread which is still looking very doughy and I give my son a piece of it. Happy birthday, I say. He takes a bite and says, 'It's awful.' Really? Undercooked dough tasting of smoke doesn't dance on your palate? Shocking. I make my son his usual breakfast of French toast and as the smell of smoke hangs in the air and we shiver from the cold breeze rolling in every open window, my son states calmly, "This is the worst birthday ever."

At the bus stop, my neighbor comments on all of our windows and doors opened in the 50 degree weather. Yes, I made my son a special birthday breakfast, flaming monkey bread. My son walks towards the bus and says, 'Mommy, I'm going to tell everyone all about this at share time today!' Have a great birthday, I yell, as I think about spending the next two hours cleaning out the oven.

I might not have given my son a delicious treat for breakfast but I gave him a story that we can laugh over in ten years (probably around the time the smell of smoke dissipates from my house). Apparently my speciality is making memories, not culinary confections.

I Don't Know

I don't know how I survived the day of sitting next to Army Boy at a soccer jamboree but I did. 

I don't know what I should have said when Army Boy asked what we were going to do for our son's upcoming birthday. Army Boy wants to have supper all together and he wants to go to the friend birthday party that I throw every year for my kids. Dumbfounded I was. (Yes I turn into Yoda sometimes when I'm in shock.) I agreed but now I wonder if that's swallowing too big of a piece of the shit sandwich. 

I don't know how Army Boy can pretend that everything is as it used to be while we were at the soccer jamboree. He sat next to me and talked to a few of my friends. One of my friends said that she couldn't believe the gall of him to just stand there and act like everything is normal and nothing has changed. Apparently he sees nothing wrong with anything he's done so he doesn't feel any shame or embarrassment. I can't fathom it. 

I don't know how I should act at this point. Tell Army Boy to stay the fuck away from me or just close my disgust off and say whatever. 

I don't know what Army Boy is up to. He's taking extra interest in our kids and appears to be vying for father of the year. Apparently he forgets that not seeing or talking to your children for seven weeks over the summer is an automatic disqualification for that and instead you are in line for the asshole of the year award. 

Trying To Live In The Moment

Divorce is teaching me one thing. Actually it's beating me over the head constantly. Live in the moment. Don't plan too much for the future, just get through the day. Before Army Boy dropped the bomb that exploded my life, I was a constant planner, a to do-er. I amused myself by making list upon lists of projects and things I wanted to accomplish. 

These days I make lists but they are of what I want to get done that day. 'Find new car insurance.' My current car insurance company recently informed me that our policies will not be renewed after they expire. Uh, excuse me, what the fuck?! Evidently me hitting the deer and filing the claim was the last straw. Army Boy had claims in 2011 and 2012. I can't even recall the 2011 one but the 2012 one was for a parking lot post that jumped out behind him. Completely and totally not his fault, he says. Heh heh. So three years in a row we have had claims and now we are being fired as clients by the car insurance company. We've been their customer for eighteen years and have paid thousands in premiums. Apparently loyalty is not recognized in their eyes. Similar to how Army Boy didn't recognize monogamy. 

I'm trying not to look too far into the future because it's a scary bitch. And I'm trying not to even think about the weekend because once again the kids will spend the night at Army Boy's frathouse, I mean, apartment. They'll head off with him on Saturday afternoon after we all spend the day at a soccer jamboree. A whole fucking day of togetherness. I can only hope that I have to spend the entire jamboree standing next to the jackass that makes me question whether there are any good men left in the world (other than my son). The jackass that made me realize how foolish I was for so long. The jackass that wrote to his girlfriend all sorts of sick things that scroll through my mind every time I see him. Thank God, it's a soccer jamboree and not a baseball tournament. All those bats laying around would be mighty tempting to use on his face. 

I Should Be Nominated for an Emmy (If My Life Was a Sitcom)

Navigating what feels right in divorce is a tedious, exhausting path. What's right for your kids, what's tolerable for you. It's a fine line. This weekend, Army Boy came to watch the kids' soccer games. ('At least he's making an effort,' my saintly mother said. I bit back my 'yes, he's father of the year, right after he takes a photo of his genitals and zaps it off to various whores' reply.) I saw Army Boy walking across the parking lot at the game and I thought about ignoring him but then I didn't. I waved and he came over to join me on the sidelines.

One of my good friends went through a similar experience to me nine years ago. My husband and hers actually know each other. Both were in the same unit of the military. When her husband cheated and deserted his family, Army Boy said he was a dirtbag and what a horrible person he was. Yes, the hypocrisy now astounds me. My friend's ex-husband, the original Dirtbag 1.0, also came to watch his daughter play. She's on the same team as my daughter. Dirtbag 1.0 sat far down the field from his ex wife and they never interacted at all. After the game, his daughter went over to him and they left together because it was his weekend to have her. I observed this whole scenario, weighing it in my mind as I stood next to Dirtbag 2.0. 

Several people have told me that I shouldn't feel the need to talk to Army Boy at the kids' events. I can stay away from him and tell him to stay away from me. But I don't know if that's the right thing to do for my kids and for me. I think the awkwardness of it would be too stressful. I don't know. I can't imagine the kids trying to decide who to stand with and what to do. So for the soccer game, I stood next to Army Boy and talked to him and joked and laughed and pretended that it didn't bother me that he chose a new life over his old one. Maybe it's my pride or maybe it's just my aversion to being disliked by anyone but I seem to want to play nice. Sometimes hating him feels like too much effort. It certainly feels fake to stand there and pretend to put aside all the disgusting things he's done but when I think about doing anything else, it exhausts me. 

What is the right way to handle this? I have no idea. I don't condone what he did, I think he's a sick mother fucker but acting in a way that doesn't come naturally to me is just too exhausting to contemplate. 

Screw Me Once, Shame on You, Screw Me Twice, I Wish I Could Hurt You

I gave a little too much credit to Army Boy recently and it came back to bite me. Over a month ago, I traded in my beat up mini-van for a 'new to me' car. I had just barely paid off the mini-van and hadn't received the title yet. The dealer took it as a trade-in and then later on contacted me saying that I needed to get them the title. I had assumed the dealer would get the title themselves (maybe erroneously so) because I had signed some form authorizing them to do so.

I called the loan company for my van and was told that yes, they had mailed out the title to me and I should be receiving it soon. I wait and wait and no title. I get another call from the dealer - where is the title? I don't know, I respond, they told me they sent it but I haven't received it.

Weeks go by and I don't hear from anyone. Maybe the dealer got sick of waiting for me to get the title and they took care of it themselves. Nope, I then receive a letter from an attorney saying that I'm being taken to collections because I have not turned over the title to the dealer yet.

So again, I call the loan company for my van. Yes, they sent the title out weeks ago and here's the address that it went to. Yup, that's my address, I say, I don't know why I haven't received it yet. Then something in the back of my mind goes off. Someone had casually asked me if perhaps mail was being forwarded to Army Boy's address and I had said that I'm sure some of it was but it wouldn't be anything important and if it was, I'm sure he would give it to me..... Do you see where I'm headed with this?

I text Army Boy, 'Did the title for the van get forwarded to you?' He responds, 'Yes, I wasn't sure if you still needed it or not.' HMMM, he wasn't sure if I needed it or not but it never occurred to him to maybe send me a fucking text and ask me? I told him that I did indeed need it and now I'm being sent to collections because I haven't turned the title over yet.

Once again, thanks to Army Boy for continuing to screw me over. You cheat on me and walk out and you still continue to fuck me over every chance you get. Funny how he told me months ago that he 'doesn't hate me' but he can't quite force himself to send me a two line text - 'I got your title. Do you need it?' I guess I've wronged him in so many ways I don't even deserve the most basic of courtesies.

How About A Side of Annoyance?

I'm at the annoyed stage now. That comes after rage which followed sadness which followed denial which followed numbness. What comes after annoyance? I don't know. I'm hoping to make its acquaintance soon though.

Every time I have to deal with something to do with the divorce I'm annoyed. Fucking son of a bitch. I got the draft for the final terms of the divorce in the mail. Now I have to review twenty pages of what is going to determine the end of my marriage. Think of it like a business deal, I hear. Well I typically don't have intimate knowledge of the penis owned by the other participant in the business deal so I'm having a little trouble disassociating my feelings from the process. 

When I don't hear from Army Boy about arranging the kid drop off, I get annoyed. Curses flow freely. Really, I have to be bothered with this? 

I'm annoyed that Army Boy hadn't shaved when I saw him. Did he skip shaving because he knows I like it? Because he wanted to look good when I saw him? Well, I used to like the stubble. Now he just looks homeless. Here's $10, go buy yourself a fucking razor and shave. 

I'm annoyed that I went home and cried for twenty minutes after Army Boy picked up the kids for the weekend. I'm annoyed that he asked me to take them back at 3:00PM the following day but I'd be even more annoyed if he wanted them longer. 

I'm annoyed that our no-communicado mode of operation lead to Army Boy dropping the kids off at my house while I was waiting for him in the parking lot fifteen minutes away, where the other child exchanges had occurred. Why did he think he had to drop them off at home instead of the spot where we have met the last few times? Annoying. 

I'm hoping the stage after annoyance is acceptance and happiness. But I'm pretty sure the annoyance stage is going to be the longest one yet....and that is annoying. 

Personal Assistant Wanted

Do you like to pick up balls dropped by others? Can you grocery shop and put gas in a car? Can you remember to feed the dog and help two children with their nightly homework? Do you enjoy helping someone else keep the crazy away because her ass doesn't sit down at home unless she's going to bed? Would you like to be paid in peanuts and drowned in effusive praise and overwhelming gratitude? Send your resume...hell no, show up at my door and you're hired.

Betty Crocker

I wish you could train your six and nine year olds to not mention their father in front of you. I know I can't ask that but damn, it's hard to bite your tongue sometimes.

I've turned over a new leaf. The former me who hated cooking and existed on takeout and frozen pizza while Army Boy was deployed is gone. I'm embracing cooking now and using my obsessive compulsive nature to try to be successful at it. I'm researching healthy recipes and planning two weeks of meals and clipping coupons and trying to be the fucking Martha Stewart, or maybe I should say the Betty Crocker, that I never had any interest in being previously. 

Army Boy was always the cook in our house and a damn good one. Every meal he would make, I would rave about how delicious it was. If he said it was too salty, I would say it tastes fine to me as I shoveled in one more bite of food that I did not have to cook. 

Tonight at supper the kids tried the cranberry pork that I had made. It wasn't the best, they said, but at least they tried it. Then they said that I'm a better cook than Daddy is now and that he never cooks for them. He only makes them burgers and peanut butter and jelly. Now I know my kids tend to exaggerate so I said that I'm sure that's not true. Yes it is, they said, he says he doesn't have any food at his place.  

So either Army Boy is saving all of his cooking for his whore and is mostly staying at her place and that's why he has no food at his apartment or he's too fucking lazy to cook for his own kids. It's ironic that the shoe is on the other foot now. When I took the easy way out and fed the kids less than stellar meals (if Army Boy wasn't around), he would ask me if I was feeding them ice cream and cookie dough for supper. I'm trying to be a better mother and person for my kids and along with that comes the need to swallow down the comment of Daddy being a fucking hypocrite.  

I'm Okay... Really

I received an email from a very nice reader (Hi there!) who stated that she was concerned about the tone of my last post. She said that I still seemed to be raging and this is kind of disconcerting because it’s been six months since I found out about the affair and what a pig my husband is (my words, not hers).

Yes, I do still rage occasionally even half a year later but I would never do anything crazy. Practical and reserved are my middle names. Teachers even made those actual comments on my report cards in school. ‘K is very reserved’ stated my third grade teacher. My answer to that is I’m an introvert, everyone can’t be the life of the party. The world needs introverts too. (And that makes me think of my husband’s favorite quote, ‘The world needs ditch diggers too’.) I might spout off the rage but I’m not going to act on it… well, most likely I won’t act on it.

In defense of my rage, the terms of our divorce are still up in the air. I have no idea about the custody arrangement, the financial arrangements or about anything. To a control freak like me, that’s a little bit of bitter pill to swallow. I’m trying to go with the flow and not stress and worry too much but it’s still weighing on me about whether or not we’ll have to sell the house and move the kids in the middle of the school year. I know they’d get through it but I just don’t want them to have to go through more upheaval.

The second part of my rage stems from not seeing Army Boy for so long over the summer. The wound feels fresh again, it hasn't developed that callous over it like it would have if we had kept seeing him continuously. All the gross things that I read that he wrote to his whore and all the disgusting photos that he took and the things that he did just scrolled through my head in fast forward when I saw him. The memories are fading a little but when they get stirred up, they are quite powerful and vomit inducing.

I appreciate the concern of that reader. What a wonderful caring individual to reach out to a complete stranger and say ‘Hey, are you okay? I’m worried about you.’ I won’t let my rage win, I use my poison pen to get it all out.

The rage is dissipating and I've moved on to another obsession. A new addition to the family. Know of any Keeshond breeders or rescues with a puppy for under the price of a used car? We offer love and companionship and a large Newfoundland as a sister. 

Ape Shit & Bat Crazy

The injustice of being the only responsible parent is almost more than a person can bear. The stress of doing everything day in and day out while your fuckhead of a spouse is off finding his happiness makes you want to learn how to shoot a gun.

And then, when the asshat actually does what he says he's going to do, actually call his children, this strikes fear in your heart. Maybe he's turning over a new leaf and he's going to want the kids and fight for more custody. Maybe he's seen the error of his ways and he wants more time with them. 

It's going to be a long night as I lay here and ponder his motives. He's called the kids twice since he moved (a nice way for saying I threw him) out in April. The first time he called was because I texted him to pick up the damn phone and call because our daughter was crying about missing her father. The second time he called was tonight. Why now? Why have no contact for seven weeks over the summer and then see them for a weekend and decide you're going to start calling? 

I'm really sick of him practicing what kind of parent he wants to be to our children. I know what kind of parent I want to be, a good one, a parent who sees her kids every day. And if he takes that away from me, I'm going to go ape shit, bat crazy, off the deep end. There are really no words to describe what I will do.

2013 - Will You Please End

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Suckfest

Yesterday I met Army Boy in the town between our two homes to do the kid drop. When Army Boy arrived in his car and got out, my six year old son put his backpack in his trunk and climbed into the backseat of the car. I don't think he said anything to Army Boy and he definitely didn't hug him. My nine year old daughter wrapped her arms around her father and gave him a big hug.

'What time do you want to meet tomorrow?', I asked, avoiding looking at him. I can't bear to even make eye contact. 'What time works for you?', he replied. 'I don't care,' I said. During this exchange, my daughter still has her arms latched around him, her face pressed tightly against his stomach. 

'How about 3:00?', he says. Fine I say. 

Maybe I'm living up to my vindictive bitch nickname but after not seeing nor talking to your children for seven weeks, I expected him to at least want them until the evening. I need to learn to keep my expectations nonexistent. And I need to learn to form a protective cocoon around my heart because both of my kids' reactions to seeing their father again after nearly two months makes it crack a little. 

And it brings a few tears to my eyes to write this which really pisses me off. Why is he willing to forego seeing his own children on a daily basis in order to try to obtain the mythical 'happiness'? Why were we not enough for him? I don't understand it and I never will. 

Joy Riding

I saw Douchebag on his mid-life crisis motorcycle while I was on my way to pick up our children at after-care. I'm carrying the full load of back to school busyness and he's out joy riding on his mother fucking bike. Where was he going? What was he doing? I don't allow myself time to care. I've got two kids and folders of papers and homework to help with. I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Credit Cards & Doctor's Appointments

Somehow I find out about things without even making an effort. I know I'm good at research but to not even have to try is just lucky. Army Boy's car was broken for a while and I wondered how much he had to pay to get it fixed. How will I find out since we speak in no more than grunts and nods? Well, last week I got an email from a bank telling me to set up online access to my account. I assumed it was concerning the loan for my car so I went through the motions and requested access. Today I got notification that the access was approved and I was able to log in. Lo and behold it wasn't my car loan at all but a credit card for Army Boy. 

I have no idea how or why I got notified to receive online access to this account. Am I joint on the card? I wouldn't think so since it looks like a new account. Now I know what Army Boy paid for his car repairs though and it's not chump change. I'm starting to get worried that Army Boy is wracking up credit card debt and won't be able to pay me what I need to keep my house. I really fucking hate divorce. 

I also got a voicemail about a reminder for a doctor's appointment that Army Boy apparently has this week. Seriously he hasn't changed his contact information yet? I hope the appointment is to treat a horrible STD that he's recently caught. It's probably some mundane thing but I'm just going to tell myself it's for an STD and laugh. 

Retail Therapy and Me

Army Boy is taking the kids this weekend. No, he still hasn't called them. Why bother, it'll only be seven weeks soon since they've heard the sound of their father's voice. I have all these visions in my mind of what their reunion will be like. But I'm betting it will probably be 'Hey Dad' and they'll walk by him and get in the car, just like they saw him yesterday. Should it bother me more that they don't seem to miss him too much? I get a knot in my stomach when I think about seeing him again after so long. I can't wait til it's over and done with. Quick, like removing a bandaid, let's rip it off and start the recovery from the sting. 

What will I do this weekend? Some much needed cleaning and organizing or another outlet trip? I've dropped six sizes since February. Divorce diet is a killer but it's effective. I could use a few more new clothes but I've spent a lot lately. Rebuilding your wardrobe takes an investment though, right? I can't wear pants that I can pull down without unzipping all the time. I think I need to go to Shopaholics Anonymous. I know drowning your sorrows in retail therapy isn't smart but at least I'll look good going to the poor house.

Back To Reality

The exploration of New England is coming to an end. The kids and I went on our last pre-school outing this weekend. We did an alpine slide down a mountain. Fun but pricey. Thank God for some free tickets we received. 

Back to reality in a few days. Back to being at home more than just a few hours of crashing in bed on the weekends. Back to cooking supper every night, back to doing laundry. Yes, I was spoiled by my mom this summer and I enjoyed every second of it. The kids and I will soon start living full time with our renter. It's going to be interesting. 

With the busyness of school and soccer season almost upon us, there will be no more running away on the weekends. Endless hours spent in the car going anywhere but here to avoid thinking about how much our lives have changed in six months. My mom said she can't believe how I can never stay home on the weekend, how I always have to be 'running the roads'. I didn't tell her that it's for my own sanity. I just hope the walls of my house don't start closing in on me like they were doing at the end of last school year, before we escaped for most of the summer.