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.