If I wasn’t me, I’d ditch me. I suck.

But it’s my one job, to get myself through life, no matter how much of a mess I make, like…

Drink too much

Surf the net

Find a picture of the new Mrs. at a ball game

Text and email it to people, including my kids and their dad — the Mr., pointing out how ugly she is (Don’t take any shiny red apples from her!) (Where did she park her broom?)

Then tell Mr. I hate him and when can I plan on him dying?


thI would have looked down my nose, and shunned someone else by now, who behaved this way.  But I don’t have that luxury.

I’m stuck with this petulant, sarcastic, mean, me.

It does give me LOADS more empathy for similarly situated people.  Taking the high road is…well, it’s damn near impossible…for me.

The reason for my behavior is hard to describe.  I don’t want him back.  I don’t want to live in the past.


I cannot get over being betrayed.  I don’t deserve it.  And for her.  (She really is ugly and I’m not.  I used to think I was kind, and she is very aggressive and self centered).  My son said that it didn’t make sense like that.  Well, how does it make sense, then?

So, I troll around hoping to find clues that Karma has shined her light on them for collectively hurting me.  I look for changes on her Facebook page.  I drive by their house every once in a while.

Nope.  No signs.  They are either living happily ever after, OR, their hardships are hidden away from Facebook and the outside of their house.  Like my hardships were.  Like people’s hardships are.  I want them to have hardships for being such shitty people, and fast.

But, that is none of my business.  Karma has her own timing, and maybe, somehow, in some way, they don’t deserve “bad” Karma.  And, I’m over here racking it up.

I can grasp that.

Until the cycle starts again.

God I’m sick of my immaturity; my inability to learn certain lessons, no matter how many times I’m put through them.  It’s not a good look on this middle aged woman.


Anticipation and Change in Likelinleyland


Today is an abbreviated day at work with a retirement party at the end.

Tonight my daughter comes home for Thanksgiving break.

Sunday we fly to my “home” to see my mom and sister.  My son will join us Tuesday.

And, I get to spend time with people I’m related to, but barely know:  my half brother, my niece, one of my aunts, two of her grandchildren, and my dad’s cousin, who is in her 90’s.

Under my X’s dictatorship, my side of the family was deemed “religious hicks,” and therefore, unimportant and not worth seeing regularly.  For many years they lived further away from us than his “superior” family, so we spent WAY more time with his side.  And, they had WAY more influence on my kids than my side.

Well, change has come to Likelinleyland!

We may never meet up again, but at least we will meet.  We will share a meal.  We will be thankful together.  Maybe longer-term bonds will develop, but probably not.  At least maybe my kids will see that not everyone’s family is comprised of f-ed up egotists…

Oh, sure, let’s be clear, they’re f-ed up, too.  Everyone’s family is in some way.  What they’re NOT, are narcissistic East Coast elites, who can’t figure out how to carry on a relationship with someone one of them dumps.

And, those religious hicks, (not how I feel), are mine.  They have value.  Lots of ADDED value.  And some of that value swims around in my kids and me.

Let’s give some thanks!


A goal met, and bonus, a thorn in the X’s side

My wedding anniversary was 2/15.  The last one I celebrated, which was in a nice restaurant, was full of loud, yet restrained, and sarcastic, bickering about how our kids had never met my brother.  Or his daughter.  How his wife had died before they met her.  My X didn’t like my brother.  Although, he had never met him, either.  He doesn’t let things like that get in the way of his judgments.  I remember it being kind of an escalated clash, fueled by expensive wine.

Happy Anniversary.  He started his affair the next day on a business trip.

But, I digress.

I’m the youngest of three, and there is ten years between my brother and me.  Communication wasn’t king, as I barely knew him, but still, as the years marched on, a desire grew in me to at least have my kids and their uncle and first cousin meet.  Even if just once.

My brother is a ’60s hippie turned born again Christian.  His wife was a Jews-for-Jesus convert, although her heritage as a Hebrew was murky.  His daughter is…a force, strong-willed, determined (that’s the positive spin).

They weren’t my X’s cup of tea, and he had a nice, tidy, established grip on our family.  Especially our children.  And, although he is pretty hard to please as someone deemed worthy enough to hang around with (unless you are on his side of the family, then you have to suffer them just like he does), they aren’t really my cup of tea, either.

My brother and I weren’t very close for lots of reasons, but when our dad passed away, we got to spend time together and know each other a little as adults.

I found out that liked him — at least his 60-year-old self.  I respected him.  I wanted my children to meet him.

This is getting long…what was my point, again?

Oh yeah, I’m thinking of all of this because there’s a convergence at my mother’s for Thanksgiving — by brother, his daughter, my aunt, her grandchildren (I’ve never met).

I think it will be great.  Fun.  Past-due.  A goal met.

But, here’s the thing — what if it’s not?

What if they dislike each other and fight?  All generations — my mom and her sister, me and my siblings, my kids and their cousins?

Or worse?  What if they shout at each other about politics and religion, and sibling slights, and who got the family house, and money and, and, and…

Some would say, then it will be a lot like other people’s Thankgivings, right?

I can’t wait.  They ought to be able to say from experience if they like each other or not, if they plan to see each other again, or not.  And with a week or so at my mom’s, my kids will not have to negotiate a Thanksgiving on my X’s side with the old cast of family characters and the new step-mom, etc.  Ick.

I think they call this a win-win.  At least for me.




History is a know-it-all. Oh, and dad got married today.

This was going to be a continuation of my daughter’s struggles and her way through them.

She just texted me that I would be proud of her — she had an appointment with a counselor at school to talk about her issues.

“Oh, and dad got married today.  He told me in an email.  Triple whammy.”

Forget her play audition, the singing group she was rejected from.  We worked that through, I thought.  I mentioned that plays are a big time suck and she’s already in a singing group.  No need to join another.  Each group wants to think you care most about theirs.

I am in shock about her dad getting married, although, as history has taught me, that’s his pattern:  get remarried right away (this is 3) so it proves to everyone that you were serious about the new woman.  She wasn’t just a rebound.  Everyone can go back to trusting him and letting him (and her) back into their lives.

But, I’m not hurt.  My daughter and ex had had a fight, and things were strained, but it hurt her that he told her after the fact.  By email.

My hope is that it wasn’t an “event” that excluded her.  Like, for instance, did her brother know, but she didn’t?  Was he invited?  Was their grandmother invited?

I hope not, but I hope a lot of things, like that history would not be such an infallible predictor.



They’re both keepers

You know that saying “the student becomes the teacher”?  That’s me and my kids.

Image result for mother and kittens

I had a long conversation with my son, the dawktah, (on his way, anyway), last night.  He, like my daughter, is more wise than his years would indicate.

He’s a good blend of the modern kid who wants to eat locally sourced food, flush the toilet only when absolutely necessary, bike to school,  AND, old school respect your parents and…whatever.  You know what I mean.

He said about the divorce that it’s expedient for he and his sister to move on.  They aren’t living the core of the drama and they need to fit their parents into their lives when they can.  If that involves their parents’ significant others, and children, as the case is with their father, then that’s the gig.  They’re down.

He was also gracious enough to listen as I made a few things clear to him:

  • Even though I feel bad that I’m “not over it,” I’m not.  Even though they’re comfortable with their dad’s situation, they need to not bring it up to me.  In any way.  Names, places they went to that used to be our family’s places, jokes.  The building of their relationships.  Time is telling me that time is the only thing that might change this situation one day.  That day is not today.
  • Sometimes I really need them.  I don’t ask unless I really do, but when I do, I need them to take it seriously and find a way to be there for me.
  • They need to realize I’m in a group of one — their father’s only wife with kids (so far) — that he has left.  Therefore, only I know how it feels.  And, I am empathic, so shit takes a long time for me to slog through.  They need to be aware of that and honor it.  Therefore honoring me.
  • They need to realize that their dad may not be telling them the whole story, or “truth” if it makes him look bad.  Not to make him into a villain, but just so they realize I’ve sustained some deep wounds, and I could still use some nursing.
  • They need to take an interest in my side of the family.  And, I need to reconnect with my side.

When their dad left, he took his whole family with him.  The family we were closest to geographically and the family I had been a member of for 25 years.  The one my kids are still members of without interruption.  Not one of my ex’s family members could see a way to keep some sort of relationship going with me and also with him.  That seems lazy to me, and mean, but I’ve actually never had to deal with it, so maybe it’s too hard.  It is a loss, though.  Loss, loss, loss.  Lotsa loss.

I got that stuff off my chest.

He told me about starting his rotation in rural America, working with the town’s only doctor.

I’d call it a successful step forward in a relationship between a young man and his reemerging mother.


I have a son, too

I talk about my daughter a lot.  She’s the youngest.  I baby her.  She’s in college and is sometimes a child and sometimes an adult.  Well, that could describe all of us.  Ask my 77 year old mother, of whom I am the baby.

But, I have a son who’s older.  In medical school.  Very different.  First child like.  More…open?  Hard to describe their differences.  They are very much alike as well.  I’m not telling anyone with more than one kid anything new.

Image result for mother and grown son

I was very close to my son until his father took over parenting him when my son was in middle school.  And let’s face it, the younger (read less important female to my ex) child needed some attention, too.

My son and I have an appointment to talk on the phone tonight.  It’s going to be uncomfortable, I think.  When my ex gets fed up with an email exchange we are having, or texting war, he calls my son.  That happened recently.

Does he call my son because my son can talk reason, and can talk anyone off a ledge?  I’d like to think so, but it’s not about concern for my wellbeing.  It’s more about humiliating, I believe.  “Your mother’s acting crazy again,” I can hear him say.  That, by the way, is projecting and gaslighting, if you’re familiar with narcissism lingo.

So, my son knows more than I want him to know about his mom.  Not that I haven’t contributed to that.  When his father left me, I talked to him quite a bit.  Too much.  He seemed mature enough to handle it, and I needed desperately to talk things through.  I regret that.  I have plenty of friends I could have turned to.

But, the cat is out of the bag.  He probably knew I wasn’t perfect before I knew he knew.  ??  Is that right ?? I know he’s not perfect, either, but he is a joy and a great listener.  Open-minded.  Levelheaded.

I don’t want to, and I do want to, talk to him.  I have to.  Not about this divorce mess, but about his life, my life, and our lives.  We have to try to get on the same page again.  Move forward.  Be content putting the past behind us — all those bullshit sayings.

Wish me luck…




Time’s bitch wants her name back

If you’re new here:

It has been about 16 months since “-” left me for his (completely unfortunate-looking) subordinate the day after our 23rd wedding anniversary.  A woman I knew, and my daughter babysat for.

Image result for mistress time

You’re basically caught up.

At first, (for about 8 months), I wanted to keep my married name for these reasons:

I wanted to have the same last name as my kids

I wanted to keep using the name — and being — the person I had been for the past 25 years

My “maiden” name makes undesirable rhymes with many other words, and almost always needs to be expounded upon in person and over the telephone

My married name is a solid, short, generic, middle of the alphabet name

Now, I can hardly wait the 30 days it’s going to take for the court to grant me the right to use my “maiden” name again.

Hello?  The middle ages wants their term back… I think I’m going to call my previous name my “dame name.”  Maiden days are gone.

My maiden dame name is also:

  • Shared with one of my kids’ middle names
  • Was used by me for the 27 or so years before I got married
  • Can be used for good and/or evil with it’s versatile rhyming powers
  • Is also a solid, short, generic, middle of the alphabet name

Who knew I would feel this way at this time? Again proving that I, and you, and everyone, am/are/is Time’s bitch.  Can’t rush her.  Can’t second guess her.  Gotta roll with her.