I could write about this; instead I’ll write about that

I could write about how I went to my online pharmacy and saw that -‘s medication is being sent to his gf’s address.

I could write about how it dawned on me that the books he ordered for my daughter from Amazon in late August had his gf’s address (and name) as the addressee.

I could write about how when I refused, upon legal advice, to move from the house so he could rent it, he said, “And how do you propose to make up for the shortfall?”  I said that he created this mess and he could figure that out.  I guess he did, by moving in with her and her three children under 12.

I could write about that.

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Instead I’ll write about how one of my best friends is coming for dinner Friday night.

She lives quite a way away so she’s staying over.  Why not?

I’ll write about how we added a newer friend of ours to the pj party and she said she’d love to come!

I’ll write about how I keep falling in slow motion toward a warm pool of love with one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.

That’s what I’ll write about.

Because if you want the example to be to your son and daughter that you can leave their mother without ending it like a man, starting up with another woman before divorce proceedings have even started, and move into another man’s house, fuck his wife, discipline his children, and benefit from his hard-earned life, that is now being enjoyed by his ex-wife and her new broken man, I’m not the parent to look to.

If you want to be the example that rare people can bring you to your knees, where you take the opportunity to puke out your nausea while you’re closer to the ground, and you somehow pull your way back to standing, connect with your friends and enjoy time together, and not get involved until you are sure the person is caring, loyal, loving, and faithful, you can look to me.

I am that parent.

How long will it take each family member to sort out the truth?

Moving on

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The Loose Boundaries of Girlfriends of Married Men

As you may know, if you’re a faithful reader, my daughter and I have a “don’t ask/don’t tell” policy regarding her dad.  It was a rough start, but we finally got the hang of it.

Sometime we slip up.

Like today.  She told me that at parents’ weekend at her college last weekend she, her dad, and her dad’s girlfriend ran into the parents of someone my daughter went to grade school, middle school, and high school with.  We know these people P R E T T Y well.  We’ve been to their house for dinner.  He runs a popular bagel shop in our town.

They stared at the girlfriend.   Sensing their confusion, somehow someone introduced her by name.  So she had a name.  Still confused, they asked her if she was the parent of a student at the school.

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He he he, ha ha ha, OMG!  No one gave further explanation about why she was there with my daughter and her dad, or asked where I was.  They didn’t know that she left her three children with ?? to go to MY daughter’s parents’ weekend.  That has to feel good if you’re one of her kids.

My daughter finally suggested they continue the tour she was giving her dad and his girlfriend.

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Thank you for sharing that, daughter of mine.  Made my day!  I think I’m in the mood for a bagel…

Moving on with a smirk

Bad mom, bad person – confessions

Will this be good for my soul, or damaging?  Maybe not today, but someday, when this blog gets read by people I talk about.  I’m trying so hard to not be bad, that when I confessed to myself that I am, it was such a relief, and a wayth1H85ALWU to cope at the moment.

You may have read here, or known, that my X is going to my daughter’s college parents’ weekend and toting his girlfriend along, despite my daughter’s request that he not.

Then she called me and whined a little about it, and when I asked how this is happening if she said no, she said she wouldn’t discuss it with me anymore.

So, I’ve been desperately trying to mind my own business, concentrate on the good things in my life, let go of trying to control my daughter’s relationship with her father, but, that is only masking the filthy darkness that flowed down the shower drain in tears this morning (spoiler alert – stop reading if you want to maintain a good image of me, if you have one):

  • I hope the reservation I made to go to parents’ weekend, that I gave to X because he hadn’t made one, and my daughter didn’t want to deal with us both being there, is denied them because it was paid for with my credit card;
  • I hope they can’t find any accommodations (which I hear is typical in that small town and area) and causes strife between X and his 38-year-old girlfriend with three of her own kids she left behind to visit my kid;
  • I hope my daughter freaks out.  I can’t help it; I do.  She hasn’t talked to my X’s girlfriend since she babysat her kids approximately eight years ago, when her dad was married to me.  That has to be awkward, but hey, they’re all asking for it;
  • I hope they don’t do all the things they have planned to do because my daughter pulls out of them.  They’re all things her dad wants to do anyway that she does not;
  • I hope someone calls the girlfriend Mrs. [my last name].  After all, they expect my daughter’s parents;
  • I hope my X tries to call me for the first time in over a month for me to give permission for he and his mistress to use the room I booked and paid for and I ignore the call;
  • I hope he has to resort to asking our daughter to call me, so that maybe I’ll pick up, and I won’t answer her call either;
  • I hope she calls all upset about her choice to appease her dad, and how awful it is, and I don’t answer;
  • I hope she resorts to calling her big brother and then he tries to call me and can’t reach me;
  • I hope X wishes he hadn’t treated me badly;
  • I hope he wishes he had waited to leave until after our daughter graduated from high school, was the star of award ceremonies, went to prom — all the milestones, and moved right after to live in another town before college;
  • I hope she understands that a mistress is no substitute for her mother;
  • I hope they all cry like I did this morning in the shower.

It’s been nice knowing ya…

you…You…YOU…OUGHTA KNO-OW

I HATE seeing my ex’s name come up on my phone.  ESPECIALLY at work when I’m trying hard to be productive.  (Unlike now, when I’m writing tomorrow’s blog at work.)  He’s given up on trying to be cordial to me by letting me know when he’s shifting money around, etc., but sometimes our daughter disseminates important news by texting both of us at the same time.

I get it.  I just don’t like it.

I changed his name on my phone at first to “Mr. Duplicity.”  A little shout out to Alanis Morissette.  It gave me some wicked pleasure, but it still wasn’t satisfyingly right, and it was disruptive in a different way.

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I tried “Cheater.” “Asshole.”  The usual.  Does anyone else do this?

Got a text back from him to my daughter and me for the first time in over a month.

Yes, I affirmed,  “-” was the perfect symbol for him.  There’s no personality to it.  There’s no emotion associated with it.  I don’t “know” it.  In fact, it reminds me of the dash on gravestones between the person’s birth and death.  His name is on the gravestone and the dash there, like the spouse who was unlucky enough to die last.  I’m just waiting to chisel in that end date.

Harsh?

I would feel guilty about it, but  that’s not something I do much anymore.

Moving on

Sometimes you’re the asshole.

My daughter broke up with her boyfriend.  She is off to college in a few weeks and he is going to be a senior in high school.  She wrestled with this decision.  She was away from home this summer and started hanging out with a young man where she was.  She was upset about all the things she was giving up with her boyfriend of over a year, but had feelings for someone else and knew it was probable that the relationship wouldn’t make it through  her going to college.  I can’t help but compare this behavior to her dad’s.  Sure, she’s younger.  She doesn’t have children and decades she’s leaving, but her dad started his pattern of behavior before I came along also, wife #2.

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I hate him.  I love her.  I see her point of view more kindly.  But it scares me.

She found out one of her friends from high school has been romancing her ex – a young woman also going to college in a matter of weeks.  That’s some cold shit on both of their parts.  “Don’t tell her parents,” my daughter said, “And don’t write anything on her Facebook page.”  (She’s familiar with my lioness impulses to crush her enemies).

We do this to each other.  Sometimes you’re the asshole.  Sometimes you’re the victim.  Sometimes you’re the opportunist.

Maybe by seeing her role more favorably I can forgive her dad…



Nah.  Not yet anyway.

Moving on

The Queen of the World has come to a screeching hault

I don’t know if you were aware that I was in charge of this summer, in charge of the whole world’s summer, but that was me.

tired queen

Oh, you thought you hadn’t resigned as king or queen of the world yet?  Move over, we’ll lie on the grass with our heads in the clouds together — exhausted, controlling monarchs.

I had to manage my daughter’s job away from home, my interaction with my estranged husband while hating him so much I had the urge to hit him every time I saw him, my relationship with my son, who got a big ole eye full of what his mother is like as a “real” person, my tenuous job in a law firm on the brink of extinction, and [insert all my shit and all your shit].

I’ve come to a screeching halt.

Did Ith have to manage everything?  Were they, are they, mine to manage?  I can’t live on adrenaline forever.  In fact, it’s over.  I need a time out to recognize my my boundaries and what is actually mine to control.  The next royal in line can take the scepter.

Moving on

Post-Nuclear Family Behavior

Yesterday I woke up around 4:30, not unusual, and by 10:30 am I was making this for myself.  This is the product of living alone.  I would not have done it in front of my x, or children, for fear of ridicule or the tediousness of explaining myself.  I was always explaining myself.  They’re all so different from me.

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I remember once reading that a widow still set the table and used her best dishes to dine at home.  She cleaned her house on the same schedule and dressed up to go out.  That sounded right to me.

I blare the TV pretty much the whole time I’m home.  It talks all night.  Even when I read I have the TV on.  I keep a light on all night.  I never used to do that.  Will I “go back” to my previous “normal” behaviors?  Is this a phase?  Because now I drink wine before 10:30 am, and not at brunch, where we’ve all decided that’s ok.  This is the first time I’ve done that, so far, post-nuclear family.

I am neither the widow nor the morning wine-drinking insomniac.  Or, I am both.   Sometimes routine and boundaries feel good.  Almost always, actually.  But sometimes homemade pizza and wine six hours after you wake up feels just right.  And then a nap.  I washed some clothes and dishes too.

Moving on