I was the only kid I knew, who liked Thanksgiving more than Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed gifts. What kid doesn’t?
Coming from a divorced family though, Christmas was always a nightmare. They fought every year. You had Christmas Eve. No you did. No I didn’t. Blah, blah, blah. They tried to out do each other. It was filled with visiting nine zillion relatives, who no one ever really liked. It was a big giant mess. Each year, I was grateful when school was back in session. Nothing about Christmas was pleasant, except it being over.
But oh how I loved Thanksgiving. See, Thanksgiving was my mom’s holiday. Ever, single year. Dad got Easter. Mom got Thanksgiving. Simple. Easy. Possibly the only thing in their divorce decree that was actually helpful for us.
We’d go to my mom’s parents house each year. It was a big meal, one that my grandmother always made. All of the regular food. Nothing fancy. No gifts. No fighting….or well mostly. Ha. I do have one aunt who used to throw tantrums. Luckily she didn’t do them every year. It was a huge family gathering.
I loved it. I used to wish we could move there. Something that cracks me up now. North Texas is not where I’d choose to live now. My mother would have rather shot her own foot off than move back there. Five days was long enough for her.
For me, it was a holiday wonderland. I loved the smells. By the time we got in on Wednesday, the house already smelled amazing. Pies would have been already made. There were things she made day of and things she made the day prior. The whole time we’d be there though, it’d smell of holiday food.
Even though the previous few years hadn’t gone well at Thanksgiving, this year managed to be great. The kids and I went away. We spent time with family. We did fun things. It was easy, nice and really sort of pleasant.
I’m already dreading Christmas though. I’m allowed to say that now right? Since it’s almost December? That I’d like to skip this next holiday?
Until last year, Christmas was always pleasant, if not completely exhausting. My mother and my MIL are best friends. It made it simple.
Nothing about this year will be simple. Or easy. We are going to attempt to share. Nicely. I get Christmas Eve. He gets Christmas Day. That is all well and good, except that my mother and his parents want us all to have Christmas dinner together. One happy family.
See my problem?
I have conceded. I will do it this year. For my kids, I conceded. For my mother and my MIL. One more year. But I’m not looking forward to it. It’s a meal, you could say. It’s a few hours in one day, my mother claims. Which is all fine and good and true even. Yet, I dread it. It makes me want to skip the whole dam holiday. It’s just too confusing. It’s hard. How can I start my own traditions with my kids, if I still have to do it the old way?
It’s not like it won’t be fine. I know it will be. My kids will be thrilled. I will be fine. Emotionally? It’s a bit of a challenge. I’m trying really hard not to over think it. Possibly failing at that. I mean really, he didn’t want to be a family anymore, so why should I pretend?
This year, I will do it. Because it’s the right thing to do for my kids. Next year? I will find another way. Maybe I’ll make Thanksgiving and Easter my holidays and give him Christmas. I don’t honestly know. I have no answers. I have no idea what next year holds for me. In this moment though? I’d like a month long nap.
I am. I am the holiday Grinch this year. I could pretend it is different. But I’d just be lying.
I don’t want to do Christmas. I don’t really want to think about it. I’ve decided I’m not doing cards this year. It’s too expensive and way too much work.
My brother isn’t doing Christmas this year. He’s going to move after New Years, so all of his money is going to that. Which means he won’t be here, he won’t be sending cards of gifts and he begged my mom and I to not send him anything. I don’t care about the gift part, but I’m sad he won’t be here.
I honestly don’t have the money to do much. Not for Christmas. Not for Morgan’s ninth birthday in a few weeks. I spent money to take us away for Thanksgiving. Four plane tickets for Thanksgiving is pricey.
Divorce is pricey. That’s the truth of the matter. I spent a lot of money this year on that. Shrug. It just is what it is. But I’m just not willing to pretend to spend money, that I really don’t have to spend.
I don’t know what the holidays will look like this year. Last year was pure torture. Logan and I were not in a good place. It was downright miserable. Somehow the thought of it just being me, doesn’t make it sound any better. It should, but it doesn’t yet. It sounds depressing. I decided that I will have the kids Christmas Eve, he will have them Christmas day. In theory, this makes us both happy. This is my chance to make new memories, new traditions with my kids. I can make this my way, however I want that to be.
In reality? I’m just not happy with any of it.
I know at some point, I will need to decorate. For my kids sake. Although, how I put lights on my house, alone, I have no idea. How I carry a tree inside my house and set it up alone, I don’t know that either. I will, but the thought of it makes me very tired.
But dam it, if it were up to me? I’d cancel all of it. Just skip it this year.
Just call me Grinch. Issa Grinch.
She asked me last week if given the chance, would I take him back. For the first time in ten months, the answer was no. I’m not sure when the last time was that we’d had that conversation, but at the time the answer had been yes. Yes I’d of taken him back. Yes, I’d of tried again. Yes, I’d of forgiven him for everything. Yes, yes, YES!
I answered no last week. I meant it with ever fiber of my being. I can’t go backwards I said. I can only move forwards. I wouldn’t do that to myself, or to my children, not even if he begged. He wouldn’t mind you, but still, my answer to the question is now no. That door has been closed.
How things change. In January when he left, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to today. I thought that the pain of of it would just break my heart and I’d cease to exist. In that moment, I was even in denial. I’ve been through it all. All the stages of grief, some even a second round. The me back then, wouldn’t recognize the me today. The past year has been the darkest and hardest of my life. I’d like to lie to you and tell you otherwise, but it’s not true. There were days that I wouldn’t have made it without my best friends. They were like a life boat. My life boat. Holding on to me to keep me from sinking. I could spend the rest of my life thanking them and it wouldn’t be enough. I know it’s a silly line from a television show, but they are my people. They let me be me. They let me grieve. They let me process. They are my people.
There is a photo I have of my best friend Liz and I. It was taken in April at my friend Kirsten’s house, a few nights before my 30th birthday. I love that photo, because it is of us. However, I also don’t like it. Because when I look at it, I see how sad I was. How depressed I was. How completely emotionally exhausted I was at that time. I remember how I completely and fully fell apart a few days later. I see all of that in that photo. It’s my reminder of that time period in my life. There was nothing but sadness in my eyes, even though I’m smiling in the photo. Even though I know I had fun that night.
I had hoped that today, I’d feel better. That today, the day my divorce is final, I’d feel a sense of relief. I don’t. I’m sad. I have regrets. I wish things had been different. I can’t undo that.
We almost made it eleven years. It seemed long at the time. Maybe it was for a marriage that starts at nineteen years old. If you add in the five years we dated prior to marriage, it’s downright amazing. Or it was until it ended. He had half of my life. Half of my life was spent with him. I am 30 years old. I was with him at 14 years old. That’s just shocking to me.
I will be honest, I still don’t know who I am without him. I spent so long with him, that I guess this makes sense. I do know I will figure it out one day. Who I really am. I don’t have to know yet, I don’t have to know in a year. Because I am at least secure in the knowledge that I can survive without him. I wasn’t sure at first. Now I’m sure. I even am okay with being alone now. Not always mind you, but I can deal with it. I have time to figure out who I am.
I feel stronger though. Stronger than I have in a long time. Because I made it. I made it to here. I walked this walk, sometimes one tiny bitsy baby step at a time, and I made it. Today I am just me. The we is gone. Now I am just me. Every day, I feel a tiny bit stronger. I feel like I’m finally figuring out who I am again. The new me. The me that just relies on myself. The me that makes my own decisions. Some days it’s scary. A lot of days it is scary. But I get up each day and do it anyway.
It’s just a piece of paper with today’s date on it, this I know. But it’s the end. The final chapter in a life, my old life. Tomorrow starts a new life. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I do know I’m looking forward to it.
–I heard this song yesterday and it seemed kind of perfect for me.
Sara Evans, A little bit Stronger.
Woke up late today,
and I could still feel the sting of pain,
but I brushed my teeth anyway.
Got dressed through the mess, and
put a smile on my face.
I got a little bit stronger.
Riding in the car to work,
and I try to soothe all the hurt.
There’s a song on the radio,
stupid song made me think of you.
I listened to it for a minute,
but then I changed it.
I’m getting a little bit stronger.
Just a little bit stronger.
And I’m not hoping we can work it out.
I’m done with how I feel.
Spinning my wheels,
letting you drag my heart around.
And I’m not thinking you could ever change.
I know my heart will never be the same.
But I’m telling myself I’ll be OK,
even on my weakest day.
I get a little bit stronger.
It doesn’t happen overnight.
But you turn around and a months gone by,
and you realize you haven’t cried.
I’m not giving you an hour, or a second,
or another minute longer.
I’m busy getting stronger.
And I’m not hoping we could work it out.
I’m done with how I feel.
Spinning my wheels,
letting you drag my heart around.
And I’m not thinking you could ever change.
I know my heart will never be the same.
But I’m telling myself I’ll be OK,
even on my weakest day.
I get a little bit stronger.
Just a little bit stronger.
Getting along without you baby.
Better off without you baby.
How does it feel without me baby?
I’m getting stronger without you baby.
And I’m not hoping we could work it out.
I’m done with how I feel.
Spinning my wheels,
letting you drag my heart around.
And I’m not thinking you could ever change.
I know my heart will never be the same.
But I’m telling myself I’ll be OK,
even on my weakest day.
I get a little bit stronger.
Get a little bit stronger.
Just a little bit stronger.
Little bit, little bit, little bit stronger.
Get a little bit stronger.
Nine months later and I still wake up at 5am every dam day. You’d think eventually I’d get used to it. That eventually I’d of stopped waking up each day at that time. But no. No such luck, not yet.
Logan always woke up at 5am. He’d get up, shower, go to the gym and then go to work from there. It was his thing. On days where he did that, I’d barely wake up and roll over and go back to sleep. After years of it, I even woke up at 5am on days he didn’t get up that early. Sometimes it would annoy me, because I’d not be able to fall back asleep for an hour. Sometimes I barely even noticed it. Yet, each day I’d wake up at that time. Without fail.
Nine months. It’s been nine months since he left.
Some things I’ve gotten used too. Nights used to be really hard for me. Falling asleep alone, used to be so hard. For months and months I cried every night. Few months ago, I stopped. I got used to it. Sleeping alone. Or well as alone as one is with a half time cuddly six year old in ones bed.
I got used to the quiet when the kids are with him. Took a long time. But I’m used to it now. On occasion, I even enjoy it. Mostly though, I’m just used to it.
I got used to taking out the trash on the correct day, changing light bulbs, dealing with the dog all the time, buying and making less food, doing all kid duty on my days, alone. I got used to all that. I adapted. Maybe not always well, but I’ve adapted.
Hell, I even say I now, most of the time, instead of we. Progress.
Yet, every morning I wake up at 5am. It’s a sad reminder each day of what’s missing. Every morning, it’s a reminder of what I lost. My 5am reminder. Some days, I roll over and go back to sleep. Sometimes I lay there for a bit. On occasion, on a day like today, I cry. Because I’m still not used to this new life.
It’s my Achilles heel. 5am.
I am going to try something new this month. I’m only going to use cash. The only exception is gas. I’ll use my debit card for gas. That is just too much trouble. Everything else though is going to be payed for in cash. I’ve seen this idea many times. I know for a fact, I didn’t think of it. In fact, someone else posted about it this week as well. One of my best friends does this too. I’ve just never been brave enough to try it. What I know though? Is I’m getting behind. I’m using my credit cards for stupid things at the end of each month, just because I flat out run out of money.
I’ve thought about this before. I’ve just never been willing to try it. Truth is, in previous years, it wasn’t an issue. You know, pre-getting divorced. Ahem.
To save time and energy, while on vacations, I only use cash. I’ve always done that. Most likely because it gets tiring writing down receipts while on vacation. While in NYC last month, I didn’t use my debit card for anything, except on cab fare on the way back to the airport. I came home with money. If I’d used my card all weekend, I’d of come home to an empty bank account. I know this about myself. If I have cash, I consciously think, is this a need. I actually did that while on vacation in NYC. I saw a purse that I loved. Such a pretty blue purse. Ahem. Yet, I didn’t buy it. Kari probably thought I was nuts. I kept picking it up and putting it down. Ha.
If I can do this on a vacation, I can do this in regular life.
My girls don’t need anymore Silly Bandz, just because they are conveniently located right next to the check out. I don’t need to eat out for lunch each day, when I have perfectly good food right here. I don’t need to go to Target when I’m bored. I can walk the dog instead. My son doesn’t need any more Cars paraphernalia. He has too much of it, as is.
I still live like there are two incomes coming into this house. And there just isn’t.
So yesterday I took the plunge. When my paycheck was deposited, I paid all my bills. I wrote out my checks for my share of daycare/after school care. I then went to the bank and took out cash. Cash for groceries. For Costco. For Target. For the eating out, although I’m attempting to curb that as well. Cash for my therapy. For mine and Bailey’s prescriptions. I will still do certain things. I will still do some fun things with the kids. I got a pedicure last night. This evening, I will go and pay for September dance classes for Morgan. But I’m doing it all with cash.
It’s a bit scary. A bit daunting. I think I can do it though. Any money left over at the end of the month, will go towards paying off credit. My goal? To stop using the dam things.
My great-grandpa only used cash. I remember hearing that my uncle made him get a checking account for all the cash he had hidden in his house, when he was 80 freaking years old. The man paid cash for his home. For his car. If he didn’t have the cash, he just flat out didn’t need it.
I think I’d like that to be my goal. If I don’t have cash for it, I don’t need it. Might take me awhile to get there, but it’s a goal.
I have all these things in my head. Things I can’t talk about here. Not yet at least. It is hard to know what to say, what not to say. I keep hearing my mother’s voice telling me, don’t write anything on your blog that could come back to haunt you in a court of law. Which sounds silly I’m sure. However, in the midst of a divorce, it makes complete sense.
My problem is, I blog what is in my head. It’s my process. It’s how I grieve, deal, learn, heal. I’ve always said what I wanted. I’ve always posted what I needed too. This has always been my place, for just me. I’ve been able to say things I wouldn’t because most of my family doesn’t know about this blog. Yet, he does. He knows it’s here.
It’s not even that the things I want to say are bad. It’s just, there comes a point where a line was drawn. The line between him and me. What can be said, what can’t be said. The line seems fuzzy to me in the moment. I’m unsure what to do.
So what does one talk about, when everything you want to say, seems off limits?
At first it just made me mad. He forgot. What kind of person forgets their six year olds first night of gymnastics? She’s only been talking about it all summer. I realize that is harsh. I’ve forgotten things. He’s forgotten things. We have three children. He’s not the first parent to forget something important to their child. He surely won’t be the last. It just as easily could have been me. I recognize that.
Then I just got sad. Sad for my little girl who was upset and angry. I was upset at him. I was upset at me. I could have texted him again to remember to take her. I could have made this easier for him. I could have just gone and taken her, even though it was his night.
At some point though? As hard as it is for me? I have to let him sink or swim on his own.
It kills me to say that, yet I know it to be true. He left me. Our divorce will be final in October. It is no longer my job to make sure he does what he should. It’s not my job to nag him. It’s not my job to save his ass. It’s just not my job anymore.
He has the same calendar I do. The dates and times for Morgan’s dance classes. The dates and times for Bailey’s gymnastics. Doctor’s appointments. The school schedule. He has it all too.
It’s not my job. It’s my mantra this week. Not my job man. I may need that tattooed on my arm. But it sucks. It physically pains me to have my child that upset for something he forgot to do. I can’t save her pain, I can’t make it better, I can’t tell her it won’t happen again. I just don’t have that control anymore. I can only control what I do when with them. I can’t control what he does.
I am just a spectator in half of my own childrens lives now. There’s not a dam thing I can do about it. Just watch and hope for the best.
Why does it feel so horrible though?
***He knows he screwed up. Trust me, Bailey let him hear about it allllll night. He admitted it. He’s apologized for it, to Bailey and to me. This isn’t a bash my ex post. Really. I just don’t know what to think today.
Right now, I am angry. I am so angry, I can barely put it into words. I’m not angry at one particular thing, I’m just plain angry.
I’m angry at my situation. At my life. At my ex. I’m so angry with him. I had this idea of what my life was like, what my life was going to continue to be like. He changed that forever. I didn’t know forever was only until he got bored. He broke my heart. Some days I do okay with it. Some days I don’t.
Right now I am angry and it’s threatening to eat me up
I can’t talk about it in this space. I wish I could. But I just can’t. It’s not fair to him. It’s not fair to you all.
I’m going to be quiet for a few days. Here, in this space. Online. I’ll be back when I’m not wanting to physically beat someone up. I thought yesterday I could be online, but I just can’t. I am wanting to rant about things that I’m seeing, things that I’m reading, that maybe wouldn’t bother me in a week. Just can’t seem to distinguish if it’s things that are bothering me really, or if I’m just angry and stupid Internet drama is easier to be angry at then just deal with why I’m really angry.
To make sure I don’t step into shit I can’t handle dealing with right now, I’m just going to be quiet.
I’ve bought a lot of things in my life. A condo, two homes, probably eight cars. The difference between now and then, is that I’d never bought a single thing myself. Everything I bought, I bought with Logan.
Last night? I changed that. Last night I bought my first car myself. Not my first car, but the first ever car that I’ve purchased alone. As a single person. Alone.
It may not seem like a huge deal to any of you. But to me? It’s HUGE. It is insanely huge. I’ve never really done anything alone. Now? I have. Now, I have a car that is just in my name.
I wasn’t able to buy the exact one I wanted. I wasn’t able to buy a brand new one. I had to get a slightly used one. Who cares though? I mean really? I bought it myself. I’m kind of proud.
Anyway….wanna see my pretty new (ish) car?
I did it. It was hard and slightly painful, but I did it. I am now a proud owner of a 2009 Hyundai Santa Fe. Now I just need to figure out how to get my iPod thingy to work and name her and I’ll be all set.
Any name thoughts? I am pretty sure she’s a girl. I know it’s hard to tell, but she’s a light green color.
I have trouble on therapy days. She pushes me. With good reason. I pay her to push me. To pull all of the crazy thoughts out of my head. So we can discuss them. If I keep talking about them, they tend to get a bit easier to deal with. That’s the theory at least.
The thoughts go round and round in my head. It’s nice to pull them out. Try and makes sense of some of them. Then after 55 minutes, she shoves them all back in my head until the next week. I see how helpful this is. I really do. Tomorrow or the next day, I will feel better about some things. Each week I do see improvement. If I didn’t, I’d find someone else.
But therapy days suck. I’ve gotten past just sitting there bawling through 90% of it. Which is nice. Although when I did that, I needed that. Talking and talking and re-looking at things from a different perspective is hard. Talking about things that I’m not really wanting to talk about is hard. It wipes me out. It makes me emotional. It makes me very long windy. (Which is why I’ve changed my tagline for this blog. Did you see it?)
This divorce thing? Hasn’t gotten easier. Somehow I though by six months in, that I’d feel better about it. I don’t. The day to day living has gotten easier. I guess it’s true, you can get used to just about anything. I’ve gotten used to being alone more. I don’t freak out every time my kids aren’t with me. I also don’t know how to be without them quite yet, but I’m working on it. I’ve made improvements. It’s not easy though.
Therapy days make me all crazy in the head. Or something. I am more likely to have a panic attack on therapy days. I am more likely to drive my best friends absolutely insane with my complete spazzy behavior on therapy days. I am more likely to cry at nothing, to get my feelings hurt at nothing and to say things I don’t mean and wish I could take back on therapy days.
I’m trying not to be like that. It’s hard. Holy shit people, it’s so hard. It’s hard to turn it off, once you dig that deep. Which is why you all get the most depressing, non-sensical posts from me on Tuesdays. Shrug.
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