Oh What the Hell… Let’s Keep Going

Yesterday it was the picture my mom put up back in 2016 when I picked up the U-Haul that would transport what few belongings we were taking with us back to Indiana. Sam the truck driver, read the caption.

Today it was the little timeline notice showing that I had moved to South Bend on this day five years ago.

Wow- let that one wash over you for a moment. Five years since Jerry Lee lost his job and decided financially supporting his children wasn’t a priority. Five years since I walked through my house putting price tags on everything I owned to attempt to sell it. Five years since I sold off my furniture piece by piece. Five years since I packed up and moved here. Five years since I cried as I drove out of my neighborhood. Five years since I’ve lived in a house that is truly my own.

My view driving into my subdivision.
My house
My pool
My enclosed porch

A lot has changed in those five years, as you might imagine. I finally got a better job. My daughter is beginning her final year of nursing school in a month. My son has finally graduated high school. Shockingly, I found love again. I lost my beloved Beau. My mom lost her dog. I beat Jerry Lee in court over and over and over again. Fingers crossed he’s finally learned. And in about 3 weeks my love, my mobster, will be moving to my area. Hooray! No more weekends only. No more 2, 3, 4 weeks between visits. I’ll write about that more later.

I could be sad. I could wallow in sorrow over all that was lost. My word of the year is attitude and the word the year before was change. I’m going to look at it like five years ago my life began all over again. One chapter ended. Another chapter began.

Another Year Gone By

June 10th came and went yet again. It happens like clockwork, once a year.

It’s a funny day for me, June 10th. It used to be nothing special. Just an ordinary day. And then the year 2016 hit. June 10th became probably the worst day of my life. Even worse than DDay #1 and DDay #2. I can still picture myself in my car; I can still picture the road I was on. I received a text that would change the course of my life and the lives of my children.

I lost my job today. I won’t be sending you anymore money.

That was it. That was all the explanation needed in his opinion. He had upended our lives as we knew them but those two sentences had it covered.

With that he checked himself into an alcohol treatment program at the VA for three days, a fact I wouldn’t discover for another 6 months. I was only the discarded wife. I didn’t need to know what was going on. Harley, the fiancee, had it all covered. She was the important one. She was entitled to all the facts. I got conjecture. And stomach ulcers!

To this day I remember the awful feeling, knowing I needed to keep it together because Rock Star’s friend who had flown in from Utah for her birthday was still here and I didn’t want to ruin her visit. Rock Star was going away to camp for a week as well only a day or two after I got the news and I didn’t want to mar her experience. I remember her friends coming over and talking about how they had heard she was amazing at gymnastics and they really wanted to go to a few meets next year to watch her, and me knowing that she probably wouldn’t be here much longer. I remember emailing my lawyer, and her first emailing me back immediately, and then calling me. I remember getting the email from his attorney telling my attorney that he didn’t know how long he would be out of work and that he was attempting to qualify for disability. I knew then he wasn’t planning on going back to work any time soon.

After that, I remember breaking the news to Picasso, who took it pretty well. And I remember Rock Star coming home from camp, happy and excited to tell me all about her experiences, and me changing her life in an instant. I remember her crying and telling me, “I don’t want new friends! I want to stay here!”

I remember going through my house and deciding what I would take with me and what all I was going to try to sell. I remember days spent out in the sweltering heat having a garage sale to pad my bank account because I was living on savings at that point. And I remember packing up my few belongings and loading them up in a UHaul and driving 600 miles away from my home, leaving most of what I had ever owned behind.

It was tough for a very long time after that. The world was dark and gray. I felt no joy. I was resigned to my fate and waiting for death.

Finally, about 10 months later I began to feel better. The world began to look a little brighter. I had a tiny bit of hope. I could imagine a future. And then a mobster fell out of a tree onto my head and I’ve done my best not to look back.

June 10, 2017 was a Saturday and it was part of that first weekend I met the mobster in person. I wrote a post about it. We went up to Lake Michigan; I spent a lot of time sharing pictures of my family and friends with him. We had a delightful time; it was a much better day last year than in 2016.

This year June 10th was our one year anniversary of meeting and it was spent in Utah together with my kids. We flew in for a wedding and I happily showed my mobster off to my closest friends.

It is my hope that we will spend every June 10th together, although that may be a little more difficult next year when it falls on a Monday. Come hell or high water I will take that damn day back. I will never forget what happened that day in 2016 but I’m going to make sure that every June 10th from here on out is a marvelous day for me. Suck it, cheater!

One Year Later

I had been planning on writing this post several weeks ago but… I’ve been busy with a guy.

My chipper attitude is not solely due to the mobster. He’s a huge part of it but even before meeting him the clouds were beginning to part.

I fully admit I’ve been engaged in a year long temper tantrum/pity party. I’ve had brief moments of hope and happiness but the darkness would quickly wash over me again.

I also admit I have been a horrible friend, a self absorbed whiner, and a very selfish person this last year. It has been all, “Me, me, me! Listen to me wail about my pain! I’m tired. I’m poor. I hate life.”

Something has changed recently. Maybe it was my mom returning and being available to help with kids, dinner, and laundry. Maybe it was Rock Star finally get her license and a car. Maybe it was both of my kids being happy. Hell, maybe it was the fact I finally got my back support so I could breathe a little. I felt normal again. Maybe it was something as simple as cultivating relationships and feeling better at my job. Or jobs.

I’ve been thinking of putting myself out there and volunteering again. I’ve thought about doing things I want to do. I have been able to look ahead just a little bit once again.

I have a court date looming. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I hope I nail his ass and he pays for every awful, evil thing he’s done to me and my kids. If the worst happens and he gets away with his 2 year financial rape of me… well, I’ve been through Hell and I”m still standing.

When it’s all over, no matter how it ends, I will still be the better person. I’m stronger than him. I’m more capable. I’m the better parent. No matter how many times or how many different ways he tries to beat me down, to defeat me, to try to suck the joy out of life and make me want to give up and die, I will always emerge from the fire- stronger, better, ready to kick his ass.

This blog has not been a ray of sunshine for a full year. But you know what? It’s like I’ve said all along: I just have to wallow and get through this in my own time. ’Tis true. There was no way to rush it.

I had to go through every crappy feelings, every crappy experience, to get where I am. I will never be one of those people who can be grateful and optimistic when I’m struggling to survive and things are going badly. I am, however, one of those people who can look back on it all and say, “I survived. I did it. I made it through.”

For those of you who might still be in those dark days I want you to know it gets better. I can’t tell you when it will happen for you but it will happen. Don’t rush the process even though you may want to. Don’t feel guilty when you’re down and don’t try to convince yourself that you shouldn’t be feeling that way. This shit is hard. Recognize it. Accept it. Wallow in it. Let it wash over you. And then get up and get on with it.

Everybody hurts. Everybody has problems. There are so many kids out there abandoned by parents. Kids out there that have lost a parent. There are people out there going through the exact same thing as you- they were lied to, cheated on, made a fool of. People lose loved ones- perhaps a child, a spouse, a parent. Sometimes they lose homes. Or pets. We’ve all got problems.

I don’t say that to guilt anyone. Again, I say wallow in it and let yourself feel every sucky emotion. And realize you’re not alone.

I wrote once about someone looking at her life six months post break-up. At the time my life was a mess, and looking at how far I had come was not a pleasant experience. This past weekend, June 10th marked the one year anniversary of what was probably the worst day of my life. I think it was worse than finding out he was cheating on me again. It was the day that led to me losing damn near everything. It was the day I knew I was going to have to tear my kids’ world apart yet again. I knew I couldn’t keep it all together and I couldn’t do what I originally wanted to do, which was to stay put so Rock Star could graduate where she started.

On this one year anniversary I happened to be with the mobster. I paused for a moment and mentioned it, to which he replied, “Don’t think about that.”

You know what? It was okay. I  could acknowledge it had been one year since my life fell apart, and then get on with my day. I didn’t dwell. I didn’t get sad. I acknowledged it and then turned my attention to this fabulous man who drove hundreds of miles to get to me.


The Potential End Of This Blog

I’ve been at this blogging business for a little over a year. Let’s call it 15 months. This is post #399. It’s not a record by any means. I’m not an every day poster but I’m pretty close. There have been a few times where I’ve disappeared for a few days. And there have been times where I’ve published two or three posts in a single day.

When I first began writing this I pointed out that the problem with blogs like these is that they seem to have a built in end date. For people who are reconciling after an affair they tend to stop writing once things seem to be on track. For those who divorce they tend to end right around the time they find someone new and begin a new life with that person. Most of the men who cheated and now write a blog tend to quit once their wives come upon their blog. Some of them end abruptly. Some let you know they’re closing down the keyboard. As they heal they no longer feel the need to write. In some cases, they simply get too busy- with work or with a new life- to continue writing.

I don’t know where my own path is going to take me. I feel like I was in a better place when I began writing. I hadn’t lost everything. I hadn’t been forced to move out of my home and leave 95% of my possessions behind. I wasn’t crying every day. I even posted recipes now and then. I could be funny and light hearted. I tried to write mainly about my observations, my life experiences with CF, and my outrage at some of the stories on my beloved ID TV. A lot of it was processing everything I had been through the last twenty years with CF- trying to make sense of it, realizing for probably the first time that he had been no prize, and licking my wounds (and coming out swinging) after being so grievously betrayed. I thought maybe I could share what I learned about my failed reconciliation and entertain you with stories of CF’s antics, including his ongoing pity parties. I was mostly upbeat and happy and prepared to get on with my new life. Then June 10th happened and I feel like so much of this blog has been extremely dark. It’s been nonstop whining and complaining. I wish I could just stop and act like everything is wonderful but it’s not. I trudge along, most days not crying anymore, but still not looking forward to anything in life. It’s one big endless cycle of work, sleep, work, sleep, run kids around (oh who am I kidding? It’s run A kid around). I can’t even write about murdering cheaters whose stories wind up on ID TV because I don’t have much time to watch ID TV anymore! I suppose I could point out the endless entitlement that cheaters and their cheating partners exhibit, but I think Chump Lady already has the market cornered on that and how many of those do you really need?

I don’t really have a unique story to tell and there’s nothing remotely interesting going on in my life so it’s not like I can regale you with tall tales from the Midwest. There is no fun or excitement or new adventure heading my way. I have no plans to ever date again so there won’t be any posts about the trauma or joy of dating after divorce or dating in your late 40s.

I don’t think most people want to come here and read about my woes. Unfortunately, that’s about all there is to share with you. And honestly? I never wanted to write a blog about the huge suck-fest that post divorce life is for me.

I don’t want it to sound like it’s all doom and gloom. Things have gotten a bit easier in the last few weeks. My mom has returned and she is a tremendous help. I’m no longer working, running my daughter up to school, cooking, and doing laundry. My mom is a laundry phenom and she’s quite the cook as well. Before Rock Star got her license she was also willing to run her to school so I could have an extra 30 minutes to eat breakfast and get ready for work in the mornings.

Plus, Rock Star got a car last weekend. She saved up and paid for most of it; my mom loaned her the rest. I did pay the taxes for her. So now I no longer have to run around, taking her to school, picking her up from track practice, running her to and from work. She can even help me out by taking her brother to school if necessary.

AND I only work a half day today plus I have the rest of the weekend off from both jobs! So that’s a little bonus that has kept me going after 5 straight days of getting up at 3:30am and working 13 hour days.

I promise I won’t leave until the divorce is final. I think for those of you who have been faithfully reading all this time I owe it to you to let you know how hard I get fucked over in my final court hearing, so I’ll be around at least until May. Oh, and also to let you know how soon after the divorce is final that Cousinfucker and Harley tie the knot. I know that’s coming. Shall we start a pool? The divorce is final May 5th. I wouldn’t be shocked to find out they’ve married on May 6th. If it were possible to get married the very day he gets divorced I would put down May 5th as my choice. Any of you want to place your bets?

I’ll also take bets on whether or not he ends up inviting his kids to his wedding or even informing them of the fact.

I’m not for certain taking my final bow in a few months. I’m just thinking about where, if anywhere, this blog is headed.

Update: Our divorce is being continued. Or perhaps there will be a settlement. I’m not holding my breath because Cousinfucker wants to get out of this marriage with as little damage to himself as possible. He won’t be offering up much of anything and I am about 99% sure he won’t agree to my terms. So I’m probably married to this useless waste of space until August or September.

We can still do a pool. You’ll just have to say how long you think it will take before they get married after our divorce is final as opposed to giving a date.

Oh! Feel free to also place your bets on how long the marriage actually lasts and whether or not he discovers her cheating on him. For the record, my guess is yes, he will eventually find out.

The Best Revenge


I came across a meme the other day, very much like the one above. I also came across this:


and this:



Logically, I know that this is all good advice. I knew this way back when I was a mere 21 years of age. There was a guy that I dated for about a month. He dumped me for one of my best friends. I briefly fantasized about being an alcoholic and watching my life fall apart, and then quickly realized neither of them would really care about the mess I had made of my life.

The stakes are higher but it’s the same philosophy now, 25 years later. Me being miserable for the rest of my life won’t make CF or Harley feel bad. Hell, if anything it would probably make them ecstatic. The thought that I can’t make it without him has to be glorious news to Cousinfucker’s ears. I’m sure he takes great satisfaction in knowing that my life has fallen to shit and that I will never have anything to call my own again. There will be no more shopping trips, no more vacations, no more day excursions, no splurges. My kids will never have anything they want anymore. I can’t afford it and I doubt I ever will. That must make him and the whore so happy.

If I killed myself tomorrow, or was diagnosed with cancer, or just had a heart attack like I’m hoping for, he wouldn’t feel shame or regret or guilt. No, he’d be dancing on my grave, thanking me for letting him off the hook for child and spousal support. Oh, did I say thanking me? No, he’d never actually thank me. He would dance gleefully and probably shout out loud about how happy he was that I was so stupid and pathetic, though. Ding dong the witch is dead!

In my head I KNOW all of this. I know that the best revenge is living well. I know the best revenge is to be awesome and amazing and to show him that I don’t need him and that the kids and I are doing great without him. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me suffer. I want him to hear that I’m doing awesome without him, that I have a full social life and I have a great career and I’m making money and I don’t need him to support me (although I will take his money- I earned every dime). I don’t want him thinking he’s broken me because, honest to God, I sometimes think that’s exactly what he tried to do with his cross country move.

I sometimes think he wondered to himself, “Hmmm… how can I destroy Sam? She’s way too happy for my tastes. I need to knock that bitch down a peg or two. How can I make her suffer? I know! I’ll move her across the country and take her entire life as she’s known it for the last eight years completely away from her. I’ll move her to a desolate place where she can’t get involved and will have few friends so that she must rely on me. I’ll give her everything she’s ever wanted. And then, when I’m the only one she has and when she has everything she’s ever wanted, I’m going to walk away and leave her empty handed and completely alone. She will never recover. Finally, she will know what it’s like to live life like me- never happy, always miserable.”

Yep, that about sums it up, I believe.

So knowing this, knowing I don’t want to be pitiful and knowing I don’t want him to beat me the question then becomes HOW do you do this? How do you rise? How do you live your awesome life? How do you find happiness in a world of gray repetition? It’s a nice little quote but it doesn’t offer much guidance.

How happy am I supposed to be when I’ve lost everything? I’ve lost my house. I own very few possessions. I live with my mother. My husband cheated on me with HIS COUSIN, for crying out loud. I work two jobs, both of which pay a whopping $11/hour. I’m NOT living a fabulous life. I’m just not.

It is demoralizing to get up every fucking morning at 3:20, work stocking shelves at Job #1 and then get ready to work as a damn bank teller for another 9 hours. And the end result isn’t a fantastic lifestyle. No, it’s being able to barely pay my bills, put food on the table and buy household necessities. Or as I prefer to put it: I don’t have to choose between wiping my ass and eating.

Rock Star wanted to know if I could take her clothes shopping. I had to tell her no. After years and years of being able to indulge her whenever she wanted to go shopping, I can’t drop even $100 on clothes for her once in a blue moon. I don’t find anything happy or fabulous about that.

She wants a car so badly. She was promised a car when she got her license. Then her dad lost his damn mind. There is no car, and again, I so badly want to make her happy. I would love to present her with an inexpensive car. Obviously, if I can’t afford to take her clothes shopping I can’t buy her a damn car.

I hate not being able to go places. I hate the fact that I won’t ever get to take my kids on vacation again. I hate not being able to spend money like I used to. It sucks! Anyone who says that money doesn’t buy happiness doesn’t know where to shop! The fact of the matter is money problems are the leading cause of arguments and disagreements within most marriages. It’s a huge stressor in people’s lives, and more than a few people have actually divorced over it. Money may not guarantee happiness but it certainly helps. I prefer not having to worry about how I’m going to pay my bills over worrying constantly.

Because I get up at 3:20 in the morning and don’t get home until around 6 every day I have no energy to go and do things after work. I think about volunteering somewhere but the truth of the matter is when I finally get a chance to go home I want to take it. I want to go home and chill for an hour or two before I need to go to bed so that I can get up and do it all over again.

I work 6 days a week most weeks.  That means I have one day to catch up on everything I need to do. While I do get off work by 9:30 at the latest on Saturdays keep in mind I’ve been up since 3:20 am. If I don’t take a nap on Saturday and I run around getting stuff done then I’m conked out early-  like 7:30 or 8:00.  I usually don’t want to go anywhere. It’s exhausting. If I go and do something and run all day on Sunday then that means I have to go another 6 days at full speed before I get another chance for any downtime.

Then we add in the fact that he moved me 2000 miles away from my life and then, just as I was adjusting, I was forced to move again. I have to start all over and I’m tired of starting all over. I’m tired of reinventing my life again and again. I’m in a town I don’t want to be in. My friends all have lives of their own. I do not have a jam packed social schedule. I don’t even have a moderately packed social schedule; the last time I went out with any friends was approximately 6 weeks ago. My friends who would have had me over for a night of drinking or who would have gone out with me or kept my mind off of the hell I’m living or who were actually going through the same crap all live 2000 miles away. I rarely go out and do anything with anybody I know. I’m tired of MeetUp groups. I have no desire to start attending church again. I can’t get involved at my kids’ schools because I work constantly. I can’t even help out at the track meets because you need to be there by 5 and I wouldn’t get there until at least 5:30.

So I don’t have this great new social life. I don’t have a life that is full of activities that I enjoy. They don’t exist anymore. I don’t know anyone. Or rather, I have about 3 people in my social circle and they are unavailable most of the time. Quite honestly I think I’m being very generous when I say I have 3 people in my social circle. I used to have PTA, and Bunko, my neighbors, my fellow gym moms. I was a hockey mom. I volunteered for my son’s T-ball team. I have none of that anymore. I will never have it again. That part of my life is gone. He made sure to take it all away. I don’t know what to fill it with. I don’t know where to go to get involved. I don’t have the time or inclination to do it anyway. Like I’ve said before I’m tired of wasting my time with dead end events that never go anywhere. I have no desire to go walk dogs or take hikes or to go out and sit in bars with people I don’t know and end up having nothing in common with.

Yet there is a part of me (a very small part) that says I need to somehow keep trying because I will never find a new, fabulous life sitting in my mom’s living room. I didn’t get my old life by sitting at home. I got it by putting myself out there and reaching out. I didn’t meet some of my very best friends by watching TV and eating cookie dough. I did it because my daughter was involved in gymnastics and I would sit with some of the same parents. Some of them I really clicked with and we are still friends today. But I wasn’t working 55 hours a week then either. If I wasted some time it was no big deal because I had plenty of it to spare.

There is a big race coming up this summer. I have thought about training so that I can run. I only have time to do a 5K, as opposed to a 10K. But let’s be realistic. I’m up at 3:20. I work from 4-7. I come home, get ready for my second job, and then work until 5:15 or thereabouts. I head to pick up my daughter and finally get home around 6. I honestly don’t see myself strapping on my tennis shoes and going out for a run. I’m a very slow runner so eventually running 3 miles would take me almost 40 minutes. Take a shower. Eat dinner around 7. After I’ve reheated it because my mom is not going to eat at 7. She’s got dinner ready no later than 6! And then I have maybe an hour or two before I need to go to bed.

I’ve even thought about joining a gym but the same questions plague me. When would I go? My mom usually goes in the morning. She doesn’t want to wait until 6 or later. Now I have to actually drive somewhere so that’s taking even more time.

I see people traveling and taking vacations. I don’t have the money for traveling or vacations. I see people getting involved in things they love. I don’t have the time and I don’t know what I love anymore. That’s the truth. Everything I enjoyed was taken away from me and now I have to start over yet again and I have no clue what I want to do if I even had time to do anything.

I sometimes think the reason forgiveness and this whole “living well is the best revenge” tripe is so popular is because they have all these nifty phrases. Vengeance gets a bunch of warnings and people pleading with you to take the high road. No wise words. No inspirational memes.

I don’t think I’m going to be getting any sort of “revenge” on Cousinfucker and Harley anytime soon. That’s okay, though, because I prefer Confucius’s warning about revenge:



I’m fine with that. I’m willing to go down with the ship in order to take him down. It’s not like I have anything else. My happiness is nonexistent so I’ll stick with making sure I can make him miserable as well. Living that insanely happy life is probably a better form of revenge but I don’t think I’m ever going to get that so this is all I’ve got.


The Donut Discussions

With Rock Star driving she is more than willing to go and pick up food- using my money of course. She’s saving up for a car so her philosophy is she can’t spend any money. That doesn’t stop her from wanting stuff; she just wants me to purchase it for her.

A week or so ago she offers to go to Dunkin’ Donuts and get some donuts. Okay. Fine. I like donuts. I bet Janelle doesn’t eat them, but much like the Marshmallow Fruit Loops, I love them and indulge. I tell her I want a chocolate glazed donut. What does that look like in your mind?

See, in my mind there are two different types of donuts. There is the cake donut and then there is the yeast donut, which is what I think of when I think of a regular glazed donut.  So when I asked for a chocolate glazed donut I was envisioning a regular glazed yeast donut that had a chocolate frosting on top. Instead I get a chocolate cake donut that is glazed, much like my beloved blueberry donuts. Or pumpkin donuts. Those are delicious, too.

Today she goes out again. I let her know I want a chocolate glazed donut, NOT a chocolate cake glazed donut. We then begin debating the correct terminology.

She swears a chocolate glazed donut is the half-eaten one on the right and that what I deem a chocolate glazed donut is in fact correctly called a cake donut. She even got the donut guy in on our argument and he sided with her.


Personally, I think they are both wrong. I will continue to call it by its proper name: a chocolate glazed donut.


After 15 months Rock Star finally has her license! As I mentioned before, getting her there on the same day I could be there took some serious planning. I don’t get my schedule for the following week until Wednesday, sometimes Thursday, so I have no idea where I will be each day until that schedule comes out. I have an hour for lunch but when the test takes 30 minutes that doesn’t leave a lot of wiggle room and I really need to be someplace where I can get to and from the BMV in 5-10 minutes, and that’s pushing it! We do have a branch that is very close to the BMV and I was scheduled to be there one day after she was eligible to take her driving test, but there were no slots available on that day. We were also working with a very short time frame- she could take it at 11:30 or 12:00, pretty much. AND I needed someone to go pick her up from school to take her to the BMV because even an hour wouldn’t allow me enough time to go pick her up, take her to the BMV, take the test, sign the papers, take her back to school and get back to work. The following week I’m at the branch that will allow me the most time to spend on this task so we schedule the test only to find out my sister-in-law is working that day and my brother, who has just recently gone back to work, is working days instead of nights. Ultimately, I said, “Fuck it! Take an Uber and I’ll meet you there.”

Yes, I once again put my 16 year old child in an Uber, hoping that I didn’t pick one that would rape her or shoot people between drop offs.

Spoiler alert! She made it! And she passed! So we have another driver in the family. FINALLY!

I ended up letting her take the car back to school instead of paying for another Uber and just had my brother pick me up and take me back to his house so Rock Star could grab me and take me home.

The following day she asked to take the car to school and drop me off, which I let her do. Unfortunately, it bit me in the ass because I was relocated to a different branch that day and had to have my sister-in-law come pick me up and take me there! Then I had my brother come take me home. So, that won’t happen again.

It is kind of weird having her drive on her own now. Just the other day she had track practice and I was thinking I needed to take her. Nope. She took off on her own. Then I was going to lay down and take a nap and thought, “I have to get up around 12 so I can leave to pick her up by 12:30.” Then I realized she had the car and didn’t need me to come get her. I ended up sleeping a good five hours! She came home and went to work all without me being woken up!

My mom is back as well, so she usually takes Rock Star to school in the morning which gives me about 30 more minutes to get ready and eat breakfast in the morning. She also does laundry and makes dinner most nights so that’s very nice as well.

Plus, Picasso had a few friends over last week and she was willing to go out and buy some snacks for them, something I simply did not have any time to do.

It’s nice having a wife. 😉

I Am Amazing (Plus Inappropriate Conversations With My Daughter)

I had another long day, waking at 3:20, working from 4-7, dropping Rock Star off at school, coming home and getting ready for the full-time job and then working from 8:45-5:15. After that I headed to the school to pick up Rock Star after track practice. Finally, we arrived back home where I cooked the rice to finish up our dinner. About 30 minutes later Rock Star comes to me and asks when she’s going to learn to parallel park. Yes, in this amazing state parallel parking is apparently still part of the driving test. Awesome, huh?

Look, it doesn’t phase me. I can parallel park with the best of them. Rock Star still talks about the time I whipped into a parking spot on a hill after looking around for parking and almost missing our dinner reservations. “And that’s how you parallel park!” I said triumphantly before hopping out of the car. They were both amazed. Like I said, still talking about it today, almost two years later.

So there I was, 7:00 at night, teaching my daughter to parallel park. I had already changed out of my work clothes into some comfy sweats (hey, I’m not married so I can dress comfortably!) and a t-shirt. The bra had been whipped off and left behind and it didn’t dawn on me until after we stopped for gas that I was out in public braless. Oh well, that’s what coats are for, right?

Anyway, that was my badass moment of the night. I taught my kid to parallel park. Many days I feel like I’m completely failing both of them. But that night? I felt amazing, free boobies and all. Work all day, get dinner on the table, throw in a load of laundry, and then teach a child to parallel park.

Onto those inappropriate conversations… Inappropriate conversation #1: As we were driving back home Rock Star almost t-boned a cop car. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. She was at a stop sign and I thought she was going to go even though the car that was about 20 feet away had the right of way. Nobody was hurt. Nobody was even almost hurt. Everything was fine. But we started cracking jokes about what would happen if we hit a cop car. Choices ranged from offering up our cheeseburgers to flirting. Then Rock Star comments, “The flirting isn’t enough? Maybe I could offer a little bit more.” Instead of reprimanding my daughter for her dirty mind I chime in, “Hell, I’ve got 5 minutes to kill.” She looks at me and says, “Mom, that’s an insult, not a compliment.” Oh boy! How does she know this?

Inappropriate conversation #2: Has anyone seen or heard of the movie(s) called, “The Purge”? I’ve never seen it but from the few previews I’ve seen the basic premise is that for 24 hours all crime is legal. It’s every man and woman for himself/herself. I have no idea how the movie ends; I only know there was a sequel. She asks me what I would do if a 24 hour purge was really legal. Without hesitating I tell her what I would do, which I’m not going to say here.  Her response: “Wow. I was going to say I would go shopping and not pay for anything. Maybe go to McDonald’s and get a free sweet tea,” was her reply.

“Yeah, I went dark real quick.”

To lighten the mood, I’ll give you a funny conversation with her that same night. She’s telling me if she ever has a daughter she wants to name her Margaret because she likes the nickname Mags. Or she would name her Louella Ann. I’m just shaking my head. Then she offers up another name and asks me if I like it. “I’m not crazy about it but your father liked it. And it rhymes with Harley (well, her real name anyway).”

“So we’re back to Louella?” she deadpans.

I think this is my mother getting her revenge. For years I told her if I had a baby girl I was going to name her Bambi Fawn. “I’ll call her Dear, for short.” Now I’m stuck with Louella. I guess it’s better than Cinnamon.

Life Rollercoaster

Is this about over? I swear, every time I start to be a little more optimistic I get knocked on my ass. I was just thinking about how working two jobs has allowed me to have a tiny little bit of breathing room, that maybe I’m not so completely poor and that maybe I can provide just a tiny bit for my kids.

Then life comes along and says, “Not so fast!” I’m not sure what it is I’ve done to deserve all this hell being heaped upon me. I don’t sleep with married men. I don’t steal. I don’t beat my kids. I’m generally a very kind, giving person. I like to think I have a good sense of humor and am a good friend.

“What happened?” you may be wondering. Let me tell you. First, I open the letter from my attorney (who needs another 3 grand, btw). Jackass has got an expert witness lined up to testify that he’s unable to work because of his supposed PTSD. Great! An expert witness who will tell the judge that poor little sweetie pie can’t work because he’s suffering from the trauma of war.

You wanna know who should have a fucking PTSD diagnosis? Me! I was moved 2000 miles away from my entire life to make him happy only to find out he would never be happy. I put him and his happiness above me and my kids and our happiness only to be shit on repeatedly. I trusted that cousin fucking piece of shit and he turned around and spent an entire summer looking me right in the face and lying.

I’ve gone from being in the top 2-3% of the socioeconomic population to the bottom 5-10%. I’ve lost my home. I was forced to move out of the state. I was forced to move in with my mom or be homeless. I had to get rid of almost all of my possessions. I had to tell my kids we had to move. I had to rip their lives apart again. I’ve gone from being a stay at home mom who lives for her kids and does everything for them, to being a person who works 2 jobs, 55 hours a week, 6 days out of seven, who farms almost everything out for my kids and who dreads having to go to another event when I’m already so damn tired and my days are already so fucking long. I hate my life. I have absolutely no joy in it. I pray every day that I will die early so that I don’t have to do this shit anymore. But you don’t see me getting a fucking expert witness to testify that I’m just way too fucking fragile to work.

You know what I do? I scream and cry and cuss that sonofabitch out all the way to work. And then I pull myself together, dry my tears and go to work. Why? Because unlike Cousinfucker I don’t have a fucking choice! I don’t get to ignore my kids and pretend they don’t have needs because hey, out of sight, out of mind!

I’ve been doing this all along, with no one by my side telling me how wonderful I am and how horrible he was. I get up and I GO  every single fucking day. Every morning I wake up at 3:20 in the fucking morning. While the rest of the world sleeps I’m up and getting ready to go to my first job and stock shelves and toss boxes around. It’s not glamourous. It’s not easy. It’s not fun. And it pays for shit.

Then I come home, get ready for my second job, and I go to work and I smile and I joke with customers and I’m all happy and cheerful while my life is spiraling down the drain and I continue to go through this divorce from hell.

That’s what I do. Meanwhile, Cousinfucker finds himself an expert witness to testify that he can’t possibly work.

But that’s not all. Because Cousinfucker refuses to work and pay support I have been forced to work two jobs so that I can pay the bills and feed the kids. My second job doesn’t pay for a boat. It isn’t paying for a luxury vacation or three or four. It doesn’t allow us to go out and go on shopping sprees. No, my second job means I can buy food. If either of my kids needs something for school I can probably buy it. It means I’m not down to $1 by the time pay day rolls around.

My daughter works as well. She works so that she can buy a car because her dad decided he’d rather go fuck his cousin instead of sticking around and helping to raise his kids. She works so that she can buy the clothes that I can no longer buy her. She works so that she can help to pay her car insurance because I’m not sure I can take another $100/month hit. She works so that she can go out with friends, buy make-up, grab something to eat, and just have spending money in general because her father refuses to pay support, which in turn means I can’t do any of those things for her. Or her brother.

Guess what it also means?

It means between the two of us we now make too much for me or my kids to qualify for Medicaid. Yes, I got that lovely bit of news as well. The program that I was once embarrassed to need I am now crying over. No doubt due to the fact that I will now need to get a third job to pay for the medical insurance I will have to purchase through work. It’s $185 every two weeks and it’s a high deductible plan. I have to pay out $2600/person before it kicks in a dime. Isn’t that wonderful? Or I take the tax penalty come next April. Awesome! And with my luck if I don’t carry insurance on them then some catastrophe will hit one of them. Then again, I’m broke anyway so who cares if I have to declare bankruptcy because of medical bills?

If I quit my second job then my kids don’t eat and there are no tiny extras, like Easter baskets or money for school sports. Or, my retired mother has to shoulder even more of the burden of the three of us. If I don’t quit my second job then I need to get a third job. I guess I’ll find something where I can work Saturday and Sunday. I’ll work 14 hour days on Saturday and Sunday will be my light day where I only work 8 1/2 hours. I’ll get two of those a week and those will be my official “days off”. Doesn’t that sound fair? I work three jobs and Cousinfucker works none. I never show up for anything for my kids. I’m never around for my kids. All so that I can support them. Because Cousinfucker won’t pay child or spousal support. And because he’s very busy playing Daddy of the Year to the whore’s four kids.

I’ve been going through old entries, mainly because I deleted a bunch of pictures and realized when I did that I lost my images on the posts. Duh! But as I was reading I realized I kept saying that maybe in six months things would look better. Maybe in a year things would look better. Maybe I was wrong and I would get an amazing job and my kids would do wonderfully here. Maybe this and maybe that. But you know what? None of it is any better. Picasso and Rock Star both are doing well but I’m not. I work two shit jobs for shit pay and that’s cost us our free health care. Their father is doing everything he can to get out of having to pay. I have no new and better life. I have, like, three friends here and I rarely go out with any of them. They all have lives of their own and very little time for me. I have no life outside of work. I’m too fucking tired to do much of anything after I’ve spent 13 hours at work. I have days where I fall asleep sitting up in a chair around 7:30 because I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I feel horrible even admitting this but I dread the days I have to go to something for either of the kids because it means that I no longer get my 2 hours of down time. And then I feel bad if I don’t go; I feel bad that I don’t want to go. Because I have always wanted to go and support them. I have a life that I am desperately hoping ends sooner rather than later. I try and I try and I try some more. I work my ass off. I desert my kids. I try to be positive and I try to look on the good side of things and it comes around and kicks my ass. Every. Goddamn. Fucking. Single. Time!

You know what’s funny? No one believes me! I mention I hope I die of a massive heart attack and people think I’m joking. Someone once said to me, “I hear you work a second job.” I told her that, yes, I do indeed work a second job. I work from 4-7 am most days before I come into Job #2. She told me she didn’t know how I did it and how I managed and I replied, “Well, I cry every day.” Her response? “You’re so funny!” No, seriously, I cry pretty much every day. No one believes me. They think I’m hysterical. The funny kind, not the crazy kind. And lest anyone gets all worried I’m not suicidal. I wouldn’t kill myself but I’m not looking forward to staying alive most days either.

I really don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m so over all of this shit. I’m so tired of getting knocked down. I’m so tired of feeling just a tiny bit of hope only to have it slapped down hard. So many days I just want to tell him, “Fine! Take it all! I’ll take all the debt. I’ll pay you support. You keep your 401k. You keep your pension. I’ll pay you back for every goddamn thing you think I owe you and you pay me back nothing because everything you took was absolutely positively yours and yours alone. Hell, I’ll pay you half for my goddamn car so that I can still drive it even though you haven’t made a single payment on it in almost 2 years and have never paid the fucking property tax on it!” It still wouldn’t be enough for him. I hate him. I hope he dies. I hope it’s painful. I hope someone videotapes it and sends it to me so that I can watch it every night as a sweet bedtime story as I fall asleep. It might be a nice change from ID TV.

P.S. I know I said earlier I was generally a kind and loving person. I am. Unless I hate you. Then I hope you die. Painfully.

Inadequate Mom

I like to think I’ve somewhat got this whole working mom thing together. Don’t get me wrong. It sucks and we’re poor but I’m getting it done. I actually made dinner Sunday through Tuesday and then we had leftovers on Wednesday. I think tonight (Thursday) I’m going to make breakfast for dinner because I didn’t have time to get anything into a crockpot this morning between Job #1 and Job #2.

Normally though I feel a great sense of inadequacy. I don’t say this so that everyone tells me I’m doing a great job or that I’m superwoman. I honestly feel like I’m failing my kids at every angle.

I was having a conversation with Picasso, asking him how he liked living here. He mostly likes it. He just misses having friends who live down the street (or right across the street). He misses being able to hang out with friends after school. I told him I would take him wherever he wanted to go.

“I know, Mom, but you’re never home.”

Ouch! And even worse is the fact that even though I’m never home, even though I work two jobs, even though I have to go to bed around 9 pm, like a damn toddler, I still don’t make enough money to really be able to provide much aside from food.

If he misses the bus I’m not around to take him to school. If the school calls and tells me the bus is running late I’m not there to pick him up. I did manage to return a few calls to the school and at one point one of the ladies in the office joked with me, “We know there’s no use in calling you about something because you’re at work and can’t talk on your phone while you’re there. So we know Picasso will just have to sit here and wait an hour until the bus gets here.” Double ouch!

I get cranky when I have to pick Rock Star up from her job at 10:00 at night because it means I get less than five hours of sleep that night before I need to go in and begin my thirteen hour workday. I missed more of the games that she cheered at than I attended. I did make it to the parent meeting for track this week but it’s anyone’s guess how many of her meets I’ll actually be able to attend. We are trying like hell to get her driving test scheduled and that is going to take coordination not seen since the Seal Team 6 strike on Osama bin Laden. It’s exhausting.

I can’t financially provide for them, despite working constantly, and I’m no longer available to do the regular “mom” things I used to do. It is so frustrating. This was never how I intended to raise my kids. If I had known this was going to be my life at age 48 I never would have had them because what’s happening is definitely not fair to them.