Divorce, Humanity

the middle.

the kids are flying off to Florida tomorrow for a long weekend and a swim with some manatees.

the ex is dating, has broken up with the woman he was with immediately after leaving (foggy dates there, intentional) and it’s coming back around on me.

I don’t care. I do care. ego is involved. things are not equal. they won’t be. my kids are very lucky.

and I’m going to miss the kids a lot. its only one night more than regular that they’ll be gone from me, but the fact that they’ll be having all these first-time experiences without me is a little bit peaky. and airplanes.

and i’m having stress dreams about disrespect and the way i felt when i was married and the futile feeling that i had about my life all the time.

and i’m calling my friends and they are holding my hands, and my LM is being lovelier.

and man, there is this gift in all this… that i’m not there anymore, that he isn’t in my life anymore, that i can yell and be mad and not be constantly gaslit about my own worth and sanity.

that i forget. and remember. and yell in the empty kitchen, to myself,  ‘he is not in my life ANYMORE’. and the yelling feels right, and loosens my shoulders.

here i am.

sometimes i am mad. catch me at 9:30 at night when not one.single.kid. is making any progress towards sleep and i am a fucking harpy of doom.  totally.

and i don’t have to hear anymore about what an ‘angry person’ i am.  because i am so much more than a person who gets angry sometimes. and really, i always was.

i’m not there anymore. and the fairytale fell apart and the crying in the wedding dress is done. (i’m sure i’ll have some more moments, but.)

and i’ve got amazing kids with me all the time, and i’m allright man.  right here in the middle of all this, i’m still allright.

Breakfast Table Mess UnwifedMotherExpletive

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Divorce, Humanity

Hello! Still not simple.

there is something that unravels in your chest when you are in the right spot.  shoulders let down, breath slows.. its a piece of you that you don’t even always recognize as being wound.  (this one is tricky. not a wound. but wound, the tightly wound spool of thread…)

I think, even in a good marriage, you forget to take those moments of unravel. but I don’t know, surely, as I only had a good marriage for a short while.

it is akin to surrender, this unraveling, as a vulnerability in and of relief, a certainty that you are in a safe spot.

seems so simple.

but hello. it isn’t.

all the tiny steps you take to get there. to unlearn and relearn and step out and step back… those tiny steps to move away from a gigantic broken, blistered heart? ‘tiny’ being a euphemism for ‘each and every one is a gigantic, monolithic mass of granite that you can’t see the top of when you first approach.  we’re talking rock climbing every step of the way, with our out-of-shape, middle-aged everythings. I’m talking bloody fingers every reaching hand, every single one. and then the release. that spot.

just so you know. sigh. i’m climbing.

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Divorce, Humanity

where its at. what i got.

  1. I survived the November/December overwhelm but something needs to be different when it rolls around next year.  There is grief for my father, yes, which can’t be undone. but it is complicated by the loss of the marriage (Yes! Still! I can’t believe it either!)  and all the dreams I thought were mine for so long…  the holidays are a minefield of negotiations, two kid birthdays and thanksgiving, christmas eve, christmas day, new years eve, new years day and all of the days in between… and full days of childcare/love in amongst it all.  negotiations between what is and what I thought life was, negotiations between their father and me, so many of them. Negotiations for myself and my expectations of real life and real love and the real-ity that I am in with the Loveliest man. (he’s still a lovey)  I’m fully exhausted.
  2. https://youtu.be/0Uc3ZrmhDN4 
  3. There is the world, which is frankly, and still, just TOO MUCH.
  4. I have made my own laundry detergent. LM did the grating of the soap and it still smells lovely. Fels Naptha, Washing Soda (think baking soda) and Borax.  I think that is it.  Pretty sure. no link for now because everything i just looked up was corporate or link-laden. i hate that.
  5. I have more plants than fully makes sense.
  6. I’m going to forbid my kids any plastic bottles, starting tonight, which, believe it or not, might cause an actual walk-out. it used to be a thing to get drinks after sports. cold ones. now there’s a whole lot of ‘suckit up, kids, we’re almost home’. I’m going to save a lot of money as well. so, bonus.
  7. and, lastly. i hate gingerbread houses with a passion straight from the divine. molten lava hatred.  this one was delivered to a little girl by the LM, who did not know.  It was all pre-formed, all of it. all i had to do was frosting it together. has my hatred dissipated, you ask? no. no it has not.

What’s your list like? Tell me.

Gingerbread House Unwifedmotherexpletive

Divorce, Humanity

Holidaze. Stupid stupid. (ode to pms?)

yeah, i am in some sort of dark tube of hellacious premenstrual bollywood currently.

so there.

i’m dreading the days i will miss the kids before christmas, when they are at their dad’s. i already want to cry about it. probably will.  ( i get them back christmas eve, but there is no telling me, in current state.) last year i stayed in pajamas and drank too much wine and wrapped things and cried. some people call that heaven, i know.

sigh.

it’ll pass. i know. yes. and i still have been wondering if i should revamp my consideration of my anti-depressants. i’ve stopped taking them, roughly 8 months ago. (plenty of rollercoasters, that i’ve survived just fine…)

premenstrual rollercoaster, you all are my witnesses. hand to god.

its like this: self-loathe. rationalize. hit the wall of regular life. self-loathe. bump in the road grows insurmountable. quit. lie down. do laundry. self-loathe, rationalize. and so forth.

and it might all subside in the next 24 hours. if i’m lucky. might have to wait 36, or 48 more. i’m a loser like that. see?

(don’t ever underestimate the power of a hormonal swing, my friends. ever.) (((if i ever had a need for a picture of swing, now would be the time. now.)))

Elephant Office Unwifedmotherexpletive

Divorce, Humanity

lost and found, but lost.

hi. I’m at the end of my recovery day, from yesterday’s full 24 hours of hell, from both ends. the kids were at school for the bulk of it, but after school were play auditions for two kids, and a soccer game so I needed to ask for help. and it came, with trumpets. kids were taken to tryouts, soccer was watched and that kid got to go out to dinner with his dad…dinner was served to other kids, homework was done.  a small crew of 3 adults did what I do on a normal Wednesday.

I’m not going to tell you I’m not proud of my life.

and I’m going to tell you that you are lucky if you have family and love like I do. so lucky.

today is recovery. fair amounts of water, boredom in bed, sickness at the thought of food, but hungry.  by the time the bus rolled around today, I had moved myself to the kitchen cozy. spent an hour just chatting with my girl because I missed her yesterday. an hour. the bliss of it. just cozied up. I learned about the lady who did all the math for the moon. (Katherine Johnson) Everything stays the same, yes? but these tiny differences? that my girl sits on my lap and tells me all about the LADY that did all the math to save the men who traveled to the moon? oh, it’s rich with possibility. if this were a comic, we would turn the page to the next ms. marvel.

but since I’ve been in bed all day, I now can’t sleep, as weak and ridiculous as I feel. and so I’m here, apologetic.

one thing: I paid to print out the whole of my old blog, wifemotherexpletive.com  

1016190912I thought it would be so cool to go through it and pick out the things that I loved, that I have written, those bits of beauty that slipped through and away during those years.

and I can’t. I read the first post, and the second, and did some flipping. and it is just unbearably sad. I was so sad, all the time, and mad, and lost. like the perfect puppy who lives under the bridge while the happy family walks by, unseeing. I hate ‘near miss’ movies, and I’m pretty sure I lived one for a long time. Maybe the hate comes from the experience.

It was ten years of my life, that writing. and makes two volumes, when divided chronologically. the first is so fat, rich with hope and trying. and the second volume thin, with so much less of everything.

I don’t want to look into the memories, or remember what the code was in my stories, as I was trying so hard to communicate with my husband my devastation at what i was, what we were.

Its been crushing me a little, into sickness maybe? and this is the season when I feel devastation the deepest. if one has any choice in that, at all.

so there it is. my late-night blog. what the hell do i do with all that?