A couple of weeks ago I moved back into the house I shared with my now ex-husband and two children. My ex husband and I are still on very good terms, we’re best friends, he annoys the shit out of me and we never have sex. Our relationship is exactly the same!!!
I’m in the guest bedroom, and he’s in the master. When I give people the tour of the house now I feel like I’m on Downton Abbey, “This is where I used to sleep when I was Lady of the Manor.”
It’s been an interesting experience being back in the house where all the happy married memories are, as well as the not so joyful ones. All the same stuff is annoying me as it did then, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t leave him again. I already played that card. Continue reading →
One of the main reasons we are alive is to accept ourselves the way we are. They used to say “warts and all” but I don’t have any warts, and if I did I’m sure they wouldn’t be the hardest things to accept. What is hardest to face about ourselves stares at us daily from the faces of our children who reflect the hideous traits they have either inherited or learned from us. No wonder we yell, but it’s about as effective as yelling at a mirror. Continue reading →
This Mothers’ Day Blog is dedicated to the single moms. Because it’s been a long time (if ever) since you’ve had someone to force your kids to make the cards and be extra nice on your “special day.” For all the times you are alone, and have to burst a vein in your temple screaming because there’s no dad to come in and lift the kids to their final destination. For all those days when you are so exhausted you think you may fall asleep standing behind the stove with egg in your hair but there is absolutely no one else to feed the little fucker. And for today when most of the greetings you get are from the other moms wishing you a great day…
It turns out that when you separate from your spouse, and you have elementary school age children, for some reason those children don’t take it upon themselves to make you cards, and buy you gifts and flowers and make you breakfast in bed. That shit is clearly over for me. The school makes them do a couple of “thoughtful” things – one of mine wrote a poem rhyming the word “share” with the word “share.” Which I felt was very Meta. The other made me an adorable heart keychain, saying that he left “The thing I write about how I like you” at school. Then they promptly forgot to be extra nice to me, or nice to me at all. Of course it helps if you’re actually home and not at your boyfriend’s house doing activities to forget you ever had children.
This was my Mother’s Day gift – I got to spend it with my favorite adult, while the kids’ favorite adult (my ex) got to take care of them. By the time I got home at 4 o’clock it was clear that my boys had forgotten not only Mothers’ Day, but also my existence. The boy we have visiting with them said “Hi” and “Happy Mothers’ Day,” because he’s being raised by a single mom who is clearly doing a great job. Then the boys continued their conversation about which girls they would like to see skinny dip. (They are 7,8, and 9.) Continue reading →
The story capturing the attention (if not the heart) of the nation is that of Pennsylvanian mother Brenda Heist who “on a whim” decided to leave her divorcing husband and two children, and hitchhike down to Florida to start a new life. It has been eleven years, and thousands of police hours were spent looking for her, not to mention the grief of those children (now in their twenties) but Ms. Heist (her real name) made the decision never to contact her family and tell them she was alive. She lived in homelessness, destitution and poverty… so she wouldn’t have to be a mother.
Oh sure, she was stressed about her upcoming divorce from Mr. Heist, and had just been denied public housing for herself and her two children. But ultimately this woman decided that a life spent living on the streets, scrounging for food, living under bridges with the dangers of being a homeless woman, was preferable to dealing the daily bullshit of two children.
Apparently when you’re a boy, a perfectly normal evening activity is to beat up another boy for fun and sport. Of course being one of those pink wearing, sweet-smelling, book-reading girly girls I was not aware of this until it was presented to me in 3D living-room color, by the small men I incubated in my womb. I really should have known even then, when the first one pummeled me right up until the moment of birth.
My second child was so still that I continually made sure he was alive by listening to the heartbeat in the fetal monitor that had been procured somewhere, and then mysteriously disappeared. There’s probably an APP for that now, my pregnancies were so mid-2000’s. It was one day when I was watching the Clint Eastwood directed boxing movie, “Million Dollar Baby” that the fetus started boxing, letting me know that he was alive and ready to rumble. My second son is rather impressionable.
A damper has been put on the nightly beatings because the younger, suggestible fighter has an eye issue. It started yesterday when I got that call from the school nurse that any parent dreads. There is no good news, just the fact that she’s calling means your day is ruined. I know you’re supposed to be selfless and not think about a potentially disastrous call about your kids’ health in terms of “your day” but I never said I was selfless. I never even implied it. Continue reading →
Despite our best precautions I see that you are not adjusting well to the separation. My clue to this is that you tell me you hate me roughly three times a day, and while I know that it’s not true (you don’t really hate me) and you always apologize, I’m getting the idea that you just might be blaming me for something.
You have been alternately enraged, self-righteous and teary, you would think that I had broken up with you.
When you get a little older you will understand many things that you do not now. I mean, you don’t even know about sex yet, how can I even begin to make you understand everything about marriage. Shit, I just turned thirty-nine and I still don’t really understand what went wrong. But I will tell you one thing that doesn’t help, and that’s you acting like a menstruating female. (I know you’re not so clear on this concept yet either, but trust me, you will be and then you’ll be mentally marking off calendar days like every other male on the planet.)