Divorce and Children

Divorce sucks. There's no other way to put it. It just does. It's messy. It's emotional. It's heartbreaking. It's a complete pain in the ass. Day in and day out you search for every avenue to take that will do the least amount of damage to your wallet and still stay sane. You stay awake at night wondering where you went wrong x amount of years ago when you married that person. I mean it was supposed to be forever right? I mean that's what the story books tell us. Big happy family, with minor bumps in the road because no one is perfect, and happily ever after. You wake up in the morning resenting the person who 'did you wrong' and ruined everything. You spend your day trying to figure out how to 'make them pay' for everything they did. How dare they mess up your happily ever after! How dare they 'do this to you'! And that's how it goes day in and day out for what seems like an eternity. You're full of spite and rage. You want to take it all out on them and make them learn their lesson for ever even thinking of hurting you. It's natural to do this. It's healthy to go through all these stages because one day you'll wake up and suddenly realize that you just survived all this. You just came out on the other side a stronger person. Pat yourself on the back, you just over came quite a feat.

Like I said its natural to 'hate' the other person involved in your divorce. And yes, I said healthy as well. And its hard to over come something like the heart ache that comes from divorce. You want to take it out on every person around you. All too often though, those people around you happen to be your kids, and that's not fair. I'm not talking about not fair to you, I'm talking about not fair to them. No one should EVER take out their divorce agressions and anger on their kids. It's not their fault and they shouldn't have to pay for your pain.

I have two kids, very young kids at that, and they are extremely impressionable. They pick up on the strangest things you could ever imagine. And that's why I'm hyper sensitive about anything I say to and around them concerning the donor. There are times when I wish he would slip on a banana peal and fall into a ditch, and I'm sure there are times when he wishes I would get hit in the face with a frying pan. That's ok, its natural remember? I've sat around with friends talking about all the bad things that went on during my marriage and all the crazy shit he and I have said to each other since I left him. I've come home in tears and shaking because I've been so hurt or angry because of things that have happened between us. I've screamed. I've kicked. I've melted into a heap of snot and tears on the floor. But the reasoning behind all this is something that my kids may never know, not until they are much much older at least.

I don't bad mouth the donor in front of the kids. I'm sure I have once or twice by accident (I am human after all) but never to them. I'm also sure they pick up on the tension between the two of us when we're 'passing the kids off' to each other. But for the most part I'd have to say that being apart and dealing with the kids together is probably the best we have ever worked together as a team on. I don't know if its because we both come from divorced families or we've both come to realize that being mean takes a lot more energy than being nice. All I know is that day in and day out I smile when my kids ask about their dad, and I get them excited to go see him. I'm not his biggest fan by far, but I still remind my kids that mommy and daddy love them very much even though we don't live together any more.

My biological father was abusive to my mother when they were together, and then he was a dead beat dad. I didn't see or hear from him from the time I was 2 until I was 20. That's 18 years living with a woman who had been abused by a man who had supposedly loved her. She was angry with him. She hated him. And I'm sure there were times she looked at me and saw him in my eyes. But she never once let on to any of that. When I would ask where he was she would just smile and come up with some excuse that never pointed a finger at him. As I got older she told me bits and pieces of what she had been through with him, but always followed it with, "Now don't you go basing your opinion on your natural father with what I've told you. You have to come up with that conclusion on your own if you ever get to meet him."

And that's what I did. Long story short, I found out he was dying of cancer and I made my way to him (with my mother believe it or not). And I formed my opinion of him. Not a bad one. When I met him I learned that everyone has their flaws, some more than others, but that's how life is. A flaw doesn't necessarily make you a bad person, and because you once had that flaw doesn't mean you will continue with it. As humans we have the ability to learn from our mistakes. I believe my biological father did just that and was genuinely sorry for everything he put my mother through. I made amends with my biological father before he died. I told him I understood and it was ok. I forgave him.

I believe that because my mother was so amazing through my life when it came to him i was able to forgive. And it was her attitude toward the whole situation that has given me strength to do the same with my children. Like I said, divorce sucks and yes, people get hurt. But its our attitude toward it that shapes our children's attitudes toward it. You as a parent have no right to sit there and turn your kids against the other parent. I don't care how hurt you are. You're the adult. It's your responsibility as the adult to act mature and not make your children the victims of your divorce. It's your job to sugar coat it as much as possible. You may have been abused physically/mentally, you may have been cheated on, you may have just gone separate ways. But there is absolutely no reason for you to sit there and use your kids as ammo. Get over yourself and all the bad things that happened and teach your kids love and forgiveness.

The Situation Room

The White House has this really COOL room called The Situation Room where all the cool shit goes down. This is the place where Mr. El Presidante does his business (not the #2 kind). Business like controlling the ENTIRE US from this one room! Friggin' cool!

Picture it, 8am Monday morning, the President rolls up after smoking his menthol cigarette with a large gourmet coffee that your tax dollars paid for. He struts in with his entourage down into the Situation Room! He means business, this is an entire country we're talking about! Let's get this shit started and protect some people already! Boo-yeah mother fuckers, we've got a constitution to uphold!

That's what I'm talking about, that's how shit should get done on a Monday morning!

So yeah, about that. That's not 100% how it goes down in my house on a Monday morning. Yes, my house is white and although I am not the president, according to Foursquare I am the mayor of the Redneck Palace. That has to count for something right? Like yeah, duh, of course it does. So there it is, Monday morning, not quite 8am more like 5:30/6 o'clock. I'm just barely awake, depending on the coffee intake. I stop for a moment remember my days of being a smoker and go to wake up the kids. Great, now there are 3 zombies in the house. But there is NO WAY those 2 are getting coffee! I don't have a death wish.

Milk: check!
Cereal: check!
Kids are occupied: check!
It's now time for a some mommy time!

I slowly walk down the hall to the bathroom, I step inside and slowly close the door. *holds breath and waits* Still quite, good to go. I sit down on the toilet and *ahhhhhhh*. Time for some Angry Birds.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

WTF was that?!?!?! A stampede comes down the hallway and the bathroom, which was just seconds ago a personal battle against those damn pigs that just won't die, has now become..........The Situation Room. The kids council takes their place in their assigned seats (Pheobe on her pink frog potty and Theo in the bathtub). And the Monday agenda is presented to the Foursquare mayor of the Redneck Palace mommy.

"Who's picking us up from school?"
"Pheobe told me that I can't bring anything for circle time."
"Toe say me no eat cereal."
"I don't want to wear underwear today."
*tandem moon shine*
etc, etc, etc.......

And I sit there answering questions thinking I should have brought my coffee in with me.

"I'm picking you up today."
"You can bring one thing to circle time, but that's it."
"You can eat all the cereal you want lady bird."
"You have to wear underwear because you're not good at wiping your own butt yet."
"Pull your pants up, no moons during the day."

Then I explain the routine for the rest of the morning. Get dressed, put coats on, grab lunch boxes, get in the car, bring BF his coffee at work, go to school. Everyone is on board and ready to go! Ready, break! I then try to hustle them back out the door so I can wipe my butt in peace without someone saying, "Ewwwwww!!!!" Right kids, because me wiping your butts is so much more glamorous.

And that's how it goes down in The Situation room here at the Redneck Palace. We get shit done, literally. I'm sure the President would be extremely jealous if he new just how fabulous it is in my Situation Room. I'm sure y'all are jealous too. It's ok, I live the high life, I'm use to people wanting all that I have. Here, have a tissue. You too can be this lavish if you really try.

Your Psychopath Girlfriend

I'm not going to lie to you people, I am in some serious fucking frigging pain right now. I'm pretty sure my body was hijacked around 9am this morning. My day started great. My kids were like little angels running around with halos on. We were all up, fed, dressed, and out of the house by 6:45 (a new record). We stopped by BF's work to bring him coffee and for me to get my good morning kiss (this is how couples who see each other an hour a day get they're quality time in). This morning BF even picked 2 trumpet flowers for me that I took to work and put in a little paper coffee cup on my desk. We've covered the whole classless thing before. When I got to work my "boss" even bought me breakfast! Seriously, today started out as a major win! And it was a Monday no less!!!

Then it happened...my eyes started to well up. I want nachos. BF said he loved me and that pretty much did it. My day went to crap, because that obviously makes sense. Right? I mean that should send every girl into complete grump and bitch mode. Right? I want nachos. Come to find out those would be the magic words to send me into hyper space all day, every time he said them I melted into a heap of snot and tears and mystery.

So there I was, wondering why BF telling me he loves me I want nachos was sending me into emotional despair, when all of a sudden I had to pee. (Men, I know how much y'all hate menstrual talk so to avoid reading about blood and tampons you might want to take a beer break right now...also, can you grab me one while you're at it?) And I pee, like God intended us all to do, and there was God's little cruel joke...yup, blood...lots of it. I want nachos. And in typical Monday fashion I realize that I forgot to put on underwear this morning. Yes, forgot. And now I'm bleeding, as God intended, like a Criminal Minds victim. Let me just say, I am so thankful that, despite inflation and rising gas prices, restroom tampons are still 25 cents because there's no way a maxi pad is going to stay put without underwear in my Walmart leggings.

By 9:30 I was pretty sure my body had been hijacked by uterus eating aliens. I want nachos. By tomorrow I would for sure be giving birth, through my belly button, to some gray sharp toothed alien with a bad attitude and a hunger that would cause it to eat me, my children, and 2 cats. Do you think they like nachos? Because I'm not sharing. So this explains it all. THIS is why I feel miserable every time BF says I love you and I suddenly can't stop crying. And so my day goes, complete with shedding a tear for the earthworm and nematode I had to dissect in biology class.

By the time I got home I was an emotional wreck. Complete and total WRECK! I just sat there on the couch with BF staring into space. At this point I'm pretty sure BF thinks I'm a complete psycho. By the time he went to bed (30min later) I had tears streaming down my face and can't breath. I want nachos. And you know what? BF sat there completely exhausted from 17 hours straight of work and listened to every crazy thought that zipped out of my mouth. He looked at me with concerned eyes and stroked my hair as I crumbled in front of him. He held me when I doubled over in nonsense tears and told me it would be ok. I went off on a hormonal rant and he sat there selflessly being exactly what I needed. I still want nachos.

I have to say that I am the luckiest hormonal bitch girl around with BF in my life. I know he's modest and doesn't like it when I 'call him out' but its true. He gets me. He understands or at least makes it seem like he does that I just need to have that emotional break down and then everything will be alright. So thank you BF for being that rock that I need so often once a month. You may not think so, but you truly are a selfless amazing person with a huge heart, and I am beyond lucky to be able to hear you say I love you every day. Thank you for every thing you do.

Love Always, Your Psychopath Girlfriend Me

P.S. I settled for Flavor Blast Goldfish crackers in stead of nachos.

Hog Tying and Smelly Feet

There is a rodeo in my house every morning. At 6:35 the gate flies open and Pheobe runs down the hall with me hot on her tail. Once in the living room I wrestle her to the floor to commence taking off her pjs and change her diaper. This whole process all too much resembles trying to hog tie a calf. I'm still waiting for my gold buckle. I've got it down to 30.2 seconds. She squirms and kicks, screams and hisses. Once her pjs are off its time for the diaper change while she does her best impression of an alligator death roll. Done! Win! i rock this shit! And away she goes yelling "Nakie!!!" as she streaks down the hall once again. I scoop up her clothes and take off after her.

Let me just tell you, it is NOT easy to dress a 2 year old who is in perpetual forward motion without feeling like you might accidentally strangle her with the neck of her shirt. It's about this point when I start going over the story I'm going to use when I end up having to call 911. "Well you see, I just got the shirt over her head when she took off like a bullet..." Then I suddenly remember that BF would probably be the one picking up the 911 call. "Baby," I would say "It happened". No excuse necessary, he's seen the whole process before.

But somehow, every morning, she survives and my future in prison is put at bay once again. She is fully dressed and we are heading out the door by 7am. Once we are all in the car we head out and head south to the daycare. Everyone is dressed I think I forgot to put on underwear, again, fed I forgot my egg samich on the counter, and ready. About a half mile from the daycare a sock goes whizzing by my head. And then another one. "Stinky feet!" Great. Thank you Pheobe. I look back and there she is, after everything we just went through, shoes and socks off with her pant legs pulled up above her knees waving her feet around.

The rest of the drive is spent pretending to smell her feet declaring, "I have never smelled anything so horrible in my life!" And so our mornings go, in a twilight zone of hog tying and smelly feet. I swear tomorrow I am super gluing her shoes to her feet.

If I Get Kicked in the Balls.....A 4yr old's perspective

So there we are, as we usually are at dinner time, sitting around the dinner table...eating. Surprise! Normally dinner is spent strong arming and threatening to beat  the minions into eating at least 1/3 of their dinner. And that's about it. Nothing exciting. Usually more exhausting than anything. So there we are, still, trying to eat when Theo looks up at me "Mommy," he says "when someone kicks you in the balls do they kick right here?" *points between his eyes* *silence all around* And so the conversation begin

ME: Um, you mean your eye balls?

THEO: No mommy, your balls! If you get kicked in the BALLS do they kick you right here? *points between eyes again*

BF: *commences spasms*

ME: Well, not exactly.

THEO: But if they kick you in the balls it's right here. *again pointing between his eyes*

ME: *prays to God* Please God don't let this be happening now. He's only 4 and I'm totally not ready for anatomy lessons. I swear if you make him ask me about the birds and bees next I'm going to come up there and kick you in your holy bits. With all do respect.

THEO: Mommy! Balls! What happens when you get kicked in the balls????

BF: *turns back on conversation with increasing spasms*

ME: *deep breath* Your balls aren't on your head.

THEO: Huh?

ME: Your balls are by your penis.

THEO: My penis?!?!?!?!

BF: *spurts out violent giggles*

ME: Yes, by your penis. *holding back junior giggles* They're part of your penis.

THEO: My penis has balls?

ME: *oh good lord, I can't handle this.* *giggle* *I can't believe how many times I just said penis* *giggle*

THEO: Why?

BF: *now almost all the way to floor with laughter*

ME: Well.....*fuck*

THEO: *confused look* Why would someone want to kick me in the penis?

ME: *crickets*

BF: *pretty sure he's going to die of laughter*

ME: *looks at BF* Ok smart ass, you have a go at it! You're the one with the penis, not me.

BF: Theo, if you get kicked in the balls you get get kicked in the ding ding.

THEO: *look of bewilderment* Oh.

ME and BF: *done* *laughing so hard we're almost crying*

THEO: *Obviously even more confused, gets up and walks away*

So there you have it. I'm a 31 year old mother of 2 and I can't even have a conversation about penis' and getting kicked in the balls without dying of laughter. I'm so mature.

Wordless Wednesday

8am

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I Took The Pledge

I've been there, I've been bullied on my blog. When I first saw it I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Almost like you felt when your first 'love' dumped you in high school. So I did the first thing that came to me, I turned to Twitter. I was nervous at first. The bullying had also spread to Twitter at one point, but this was my blog we were talking about. To me it was like walking into my house and smashing my tv in front of my kids. My blog=my happy place.

So there I was, about to tweet it out there....let my tweeps know what had happened. And it was amazing, up sprouted support from my tweeps all over my timeline as well as a few who 'stuck up' for me on my blog. It was an amazing feeling. But I knew I didn't want it to happen again. But it did. Two more times by the same person. I ended up ignoring her and she went away. This was 4 months ago. I still dread logging on some days, afraid that 'Truth Speaker' (obviously an anonymous name) will be there lurking somewhere in my poor blog's comments.

I took the pledge because I don't want this to happen to other mommy bloggers. We all make mistakes and none of us are perfect. And we put that out there in the bloggosphere, all our mistakes and all our flaws. It's those things that make us......well us. And help us connect with other mommies so we don't feel alone, not to get bullied. So take the pledge and stop the bullying! Take a stand mommies!

Bringing Sexy Back

I feel sexy. Really sexy...well 99% 90% of the time. So my boobs have a bit of a sag and my nipples no longer point straight ahead. I have a bit of a foopa and a slight jiggle in my hips. I even wake up some mornings shocked to find that my mother's thighs took over mine. But I really do feel sexy. I love every curve of my body(especially the ones created by my minions). I think I even feel sexier than I did in my 20's. I come to work/school and I get complimented on how good I look. My boobs still have admirers! *gasp* Win!  Even my ASS gets a compliment here and there! *yikes* Double win! Most importantly, I get home to a BF who looks at me like he wants to rip my clothes off and touches me as if I were a fine piece of crystal. THAT makes me feel sexier than EVER!!!

So what does make a woman sexy? More importantly what makes a woman FEEL sexy? These are the questions that overcame me one evening when I was drinking heavily feeling exceptionally sexy. So I put it out there to all my tweeps and feeps  fbeeps um, Facebook people. I asked the men, "What makes a woman sexy?" and asked the ladies, "What makes you feel sexy?" The following is a list of responses I got.

Ladies First (obviously):

*nothing, seriously nothing...well maybe vodka.
*shaved legs
*always wearing pretty underwear
*booze
*high heels
*high heels in jeans
*wine
*being pregnant
*doing my hair and make-up

Men (neanderthal grunt):

*confidence
*wearing my FD t-shirt
*curves
*can hold a conversation
*confidence
*as long as her bones aren't sticking out we're good
*eyes
*confidence
*when she makes the first move
*confidence

Ummmmmm, so.......obviously women are superficial drunks men don't know what they're talking about. I mean what's more sexy that a drunk woman in heels with her VS underwear on backwards?!?! You men have such a warped sense of sexy. Confidence? That's so 90's! And besides, confidence only comes after a glass of wine or 5. Let me put it to you this way, I put on BF's FD t-shirt the other day. When he got home he told me to take it off as well as the rest of my clothes while I was at it. Obviously a fail. So the next day I wore a dress that hugged my curves while I batted my eyes at him and used my best pick up line "nice shoes, wanna fuck?" Again I was told to take my dress off as well as the rest of my clothes while I was at it.

To further prove my point the next night I had a glass of wine or 5 and stumbled strutted around the house in my heals which I discovered the next day didn't even match. He told me to go to bed already, which I did. I then passed out cold laid there in bed in my pretty VS underwear as he resumed playing Black Ops on the Xbox.

So there you have it, men obviously have no idea what they're talking about and we wouldn't listen anyway. So ladies, hold up your vodka bottles, put on those heels, and do your hair and make-up all pretty like because tonight we're sleeping alone and waking up in a puddle of drool making babies!!!!!

Disclaimer: BF and I are NOT making babies, its physically impossible and quite frankly a horrible horrible idea. We've done enough damage to the world already by procreating in the past and producing way too many offspring with other people.