My mom has this line she says periodically: If your dad hadn’t of moved us back to LA; if we’d just bought that house in San Diego, we’d probably still be married. Sometimes when she says it, she’s had a few too many glasses of wine. When she’s talking about the good old days. When she has something positive to say about him, which is very rare. That’s when she gets all sentimental. The wine does that. Sometimes she says it sober though, so I do think that she believes it to be true. Or at least a part of her does.
I have my doubts. I, no matter how many glasses of wine, can’t really picture it. I have asked her before and she really has no clue why she believes that. I think it’s because that is the last place she remembers them being really happy.
They were in their mid-twenties. They worked, partied, hung out on the boat. They lived in a rental that they could have bought. They had no kids when they lived there. They moved when she was six months pregnant with me. His theory being, we need to be surrounded by family when we have a baby. His theory is part of what killed their marriage. Or so she believes. This was a long time ago. I’m thirty years old. They were separated when I was four, divorced when I was five. She was never again happy with him, once they moved.
My theory has more to do with them having kids. She wanted kids, I don’t believe she ever asked his opinion on that. Not truly at least. I don’t know that he didn’t, but I am not sure that he did either. She sort of said, this is what we’re doing. He said okay. However, who knows. What I do know, is the responsibility of kids and a mortgage and the life they led when they moved back to Los Angeles, was the end of their happiness together. Which led to the end of their marriage.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. I used to get tired of my mom saying this. I mean, she’s said this every now and then since I was say fifteen years old. And she was the one who left him. I think about it though.
I am not sure I remember when the last time Logan and I were truly happy together. Isn’t that sad? That I can’t even remember? Maybe I’ve blocked it out. Maybe it’s been so long that I just can’t remember it. Possibly we were each happy at separate times and we both believed the other was too? Maybe I don’t want to know, because then I have to accept the fact that neither of us had truly been happy in years. I like to pretend that this is all his fault, but in reality? There are two sides. He deserves to be happy and I deserve to be happy. Maybe we had it once, maybe we just thought we did. I’m really not sure anymore.
What I do know is that when asked (By my therapist this week. Thank god for mommies, because mine is helping me with the cost for a bit.): when was the last time you two were truly happy together? I don’t know the answer. On the outside we were once. But it’s been a few years. But on the inside? In truth? I just don’t know.
I used to roll my eyes at my mother, every time she said that about my dad. The, we were so happy there, line. Now? I love hearing her say it. Because it reminds me that once, they were happy. That once, long, long ago? My parents loved each other. That they, even if just for a short few years, were happy together.
I wish I could remember when Logan and I were, so one day, I can tell my kids. So one day they will roll their eyes at me. So one day they will be able to say, hey my mom and dad were happy together for a bit.
It’s a small thing. One that doesn’t take away their or my sadness. One that can’t change the outcome of what is happening right now. But maybe it would give them that small bit of knowledge, that small bit of love to hold onto.
We had to of been happy once.
So often, I open and close this page. Sometimes multiple times a day. I don’t know what to say. I have words, but I’m not sure I can or should share them. I doubt my own voice, that anyone cares to hear the crazy that is currently in my head. I know that’s not true. I know all of you come back here, because you do care. It’s just me, being me.
I worry that I’m too depressing. Nothing new, I know. I could probably look back over the past six months of posts and see that same sentence over and over again. For that, I’m sorry.
Last week something happened that knocked me flat. A phone call, from a douche bag who shall remain nameless. It stopped me in my tracks. Made me question every thing. Made me scared to the core of my being. Not for any real reason, just because of who it was. It knocked me on my ass in a way, that I have yet to recover from. Yet again, I’ve let that douche take away my power. I hate myself for that.
I hate myself for ending my vacation that way. For letting it slide me into depression the way that it has. I wish I could say that differently, to not say that I hate myself for things, but I can’t. Not today. Not this week. Maybe not for awhile.
Divorce sucks. Can I just say that? Divorce sucks. My life, my world, down to pieces of paper. My life, in so many ways, decided for me, for the next sixteen years. I don’t know what to do with that either. Not by a long shot.
It’s the small things you notice. The small things that remind me. Things like I am scared of heights and have been one handed, so I used a living room light in my kitchen for two weeks, because I couldn’t reach the kitchen lights to change them. I finally had to call him to come change them, because I knew my mom was about to show up.
Things like, I got in my rental car last week and had to adjust the seat. I cried, because I realized it had been four months since I’d had to adjust the seat in my car. It’s something that used to drive me nuts. But it was sad.
Things like, I went and saw a chick flick on Sunday night. Alone. Which isn’t a big deal, except all the movies I see now are chick flicks and kid movies. I haven’t had to take turns on my movie choice in months. Funny, but I miss that silly argument over whose turn it is this time.
I worry about everything. I don’t know how to stop. I feel like I have no control over my own life right now, so I just fret about all the small things. Which is dumb, since I can’t control those things either. I worry about my kids and how much I’m screwing them up. I worry about the fact that I have no idea what I want in life. I worry about being too much work for my best friends. Basically? I worry a lot.
It’s not all bad you know? My life? It’s not. I have great kids, a decent house, amazing friends and I do know one day, I’ll figure some of this out. It’s just that when I open this page lately, it tends to be when I’m struggling. I am right now. I’m struggling.
i didn’t forget my contest, i’ve just had trouble keeping up. really? only having one hand just blows. anyway, those who participated made me laugh. thank you for that.
the winner is psychmamma with: “One minute you were playing slots in Vegas & the next thing you knew, you woke up topless, with a chicken in your room, a Chinese man in your trunk, and a sprained thumb, but you can’t remember anything.” really, i never could have come up with this.
runner ups were: You were adjusting your bra strap in the car, when you hit a bump. The forward/downward momentum of the girls sprained your thumb before you could get it free of the strap. also by psychmama.
and: Or you drank so much Starbucks that you sprained your wrist? from mo. snort. you is very funneh lady.
i’ve been telling people that a pirate attacked me in a text message. lol. the truth is i broke my thumb badly about 20 months ago, while seven months pregnant with harrison. fun times. when i hit it, on god only knows what, a week or so ago, i thought oh it’s not as bad as before, so it’s fine. well after about five days of that, i went to the doctor. because yeah. it hurts. it’s swollen. it doesn’t bend so well. which is to say, much at all. luckily it’s not broken this time, just f’ed up.
i really want to thank all of you for your comments in my last post. there is a lot of childhood stuff in my face right now. i’m trying to deal with it. but it’s hard. with the divorce and child sharing and all of that, this some days seems like too much. problem is, when i opened the closet door in september, (which was when i wrote the VU post) i haven’t yet been able to close the dam door.
anyway, thank you. all of you.
i have almost no contact with my dad and step-mom. they don’t know my kids, which is more their choice than mine. but it doesn’t make this stuff easier to deal with.
my mom is awesome. she was (is) a great mom. but busy, very busy. she had kids to raise. she went back to school when i was eight years old. got her bachelors, then her masters and finally a PhD. she did a good job with us kids, but we weren’t with her all the time. she did the best she could. she is the reason i’m a functioning adult. she’s amazing. but she and my dad/step-mom never got along. i kept my mouth shut on a lot of things, partially because it’s my personality, but mostly because i didn’t want to cause more drama than their already was. not the best idea i suppose, but it is what it is.
shrug. i was six years old when my dad moved in with my step-mom. things that happened, i didn’t have the words to explain then. and as time goes on, you start to believe what is said about you as a child. anyway….i’m sure i will be in therapy for a long while. but again thank you, each of you for supporting me right now. i know their are many more entertaining people to read, but i’m grateful to each of you who read my words.
okay, i’m done now. psychmamma, congrats darlin. send me your email and let me know if you’d like starbucks/itunes/jamba juice. choice is yours love. thanks for making me laugh.
It comes and goes. The sadness. The grief. There are days, even sometimes days in a row, where I am okay with my life. Days where I wake up in a good mood. Days where the world seems sunny. Days where I get tons done. Where my kids seem happy and I feel happy.
Then I wake up in a panic at 2am one morning and I realize it’s all gone. Everything I’ve spend 11 years creating is gone. It hits me like a ton of bricks. This is my life now. This isn’t a phase. This isn’t going to change. This is real. It literally hurts me to breath. I can feel my heart breaking all over again. I over think and over think and then? I over think some more. I can’t seem to stop it. Today is one of those days. Yesterday was one of those days.
I just want to give up. I want to run away. I am having a hard time seeing any good. In anything. It sucks. There is no way around that, it just plain sucks.
I think about the fact that in a month and a day, I’m going to be 30 years old. Every single thing that I thought my life would be now, when I was 20 years old, isn’t here. I feel like a failure. I feel like I wasted 10 years of my life. I don’t even know what I want to do with myself now. I feel like at the very least, I should by now have some semblance of a clue. But I’ve got nothing.
It just plain sucks. Today just sucks.
I sit around a lot. I play a ton of Bejeweled. I watch a ton of TV. I turned back on my Netflix account, just to have new movies to watch. Basically, I don’t know what to do without them. I don’t know what to do with myself when my kids are with their dad. I don’t know who I am without them.
I’ve spent my entire life with someone. First my parents and siblings. With two little brothers, I was never alone as a child. My mom’s best friend was a single mom, with kids the same age as us. James and Meredith practically lived with us half the time. Everything we did as kids, they and their mother were invited. Vacations, BBQs, dinners out, trips to the park. Everything was done by committee. Everything was fairly split between five children. I was never alone. Even though I’m the only girl in my family, I had two beds in my room. One for me and one for Meredith. That’s how much time we spent together.
I went to the college that Logan and my friends went too. Part of me wanted to go away, to go to Santa Cruz. I had applied and I did get in. But the reality was, it seemed too scary. I didn’t know what I wanted to study and I knew I’d possibly not make it a semester alone before coming home. So I didn’t even bother.
I married young. I have spent the last 11 years in a give and take relationship. Decisions were made together. Mostly at least. We had kids young. It was just the thing that came naturally for us. Everything since has been as a family.
Movie nights, game nights, vacations, shopping for birthday gifts, sharing cleaning and child wrangling, fighting over who has to freaking pick already which restaurant we are going to. You know, life. Life as a family.
Now, it’s just me. I do not know how to be alone. I am nearly thirty years old and I’ve never been alone. Now I am. Half of the time. It sucks. I hate it. I’m past the point of it making me completely panicked, which is a good thing. I take myself to movies on the weekends when I don’t have the kids. I clean the house. I do the laundry. I run as many errands as I can handle. I don’t sit at home and cry all weekend. I am improving. On the weekends and nights I have them, I give in too easily. I try to make it as fun as possible. I’m working on it, but it’s hard not too, because I don’t have them all the time. I know that Logan is fighting with the same thing. We luckily keep them on the exact same schedule, so that’s something at least.
But it’s hard. Hard to know who I am without them. I am not sure I want to know who I am without them. In fact, I know at this moment, that I don’t. I know that sounds bad. I’m sure it’s not very progressive or whatever.
I don’t care though. Not yet. Right now, I just wait. I wait for my heart, my three little loves to come home to me.
Truly. I thought that I’d finally fully lost my marbles, as I sat having Sunday brunch with my kids and their dad. On his weekend. Yeah. Insane is the thing that made sense to me.
He’d texted me early in the morning. The kids and I are going to (insert name of our favorite brunch restaurant here) and wondered if you’d like to join us. I considered ignoring the text. I considered replying no thank you, see you at 4pm when you bring the kids home. Instead, I said yes. In that moment, my reasoning on saying yes, was mostly my wanting to see my kids….and wanting french toast. They do make some amazing french toast.
After brunch I took myself to a movie, then went to the grocery store and went home to do laundry. (I lead a very exciting life, yo.)
It wasn’t until I got home and said on Facebook that I’d gone to brunch with my ex and saw some of the responses, that I started thinking about what I’d really done. Not that I was insane, although I still fully support this theory. No, it was the, I just did something for my kids, that I’ve wanted for 25 years and will never get. I acted like an adult. Logan acted like an adult. We put aside our issues and hurt feeling, for our kids. For an hour and a half, we sat in a restaurant. Together. With our kids.
I have two pictures of my parents together. One from their wedding (people, always hire a wedding photographer, serious) and the other is a real shitty picture of me with them, when I was about two years old. That’s it. They were married eleven years (yes, I see the similarities, trust me) and those are the only two pictures. To be fair, there are tons of pictures of my first few years of life. Tons with my mom, some with my dad, boxes of me doing exciting things like spitting up. No others of them together. If I close my eyes and think really hard, I remember them together. Only in a few memories though. Honestly? I’m not sure those are real, they may be memories I made up. Most of my memories of childhood, even from the time they were together, is with one of them. I’ve separated them in my mind. Life with mom, life with dad. No crossovers.
At my wedding they sat at separate tables. At my graduation they sat rows apart. Nothing they’ve ever said about each other, in my life time, has been nice. Nothing.
I think that if it weren’t for my step-mom this would be different. She’s an evil-hose-beast. However, I have no way of knowing for sure.
I’ll be 30 years old in April and I’ve long since given up hope of my parents every acting like they once loved each other. My only proof is a picture of them cutting their wedding cake. Her in a violet colored dress, him with long hippie hair. It’s the way they are touching each others hands; the way he is smiling at her; the way her eyes are sparkling. My proof, that once, thirty-seven years ago, they did love each other.
I don’t want that for my kids. As much as it pains me to be around Logan right now, especially after last week being what it was, I will continue to on occasion, still do things with him. Small doses, yes. Because I’m hurt and I’ve not figured out how not to love him. But I’ll do things anyway. Because my kids are worth it.
I don’t want Bailey to have to close her eyes and think hard to find a memory with us both in it. She, at five years old, is the exact age I was when my parents divorced. I don’t want Morgan to wonder which of us to invite to dinner with her first love or in her first home one day. Or to wonder where to have to seat us at her wedding, because she knows we won’t speak at all, if placed at the same table. I don’t want Harrison to ever have to wonder if we loved each other when he was born, to wonder if we ever were happy together.
Maybe I’m insane, maybe I’m deluding myself. However, I have this hope that I can save my kids a tiny bit of the drama I’ve lived through. We’ll see.
Yesterday though? I choose to put aside my feelings for an hour and a half. For them.
The first time that I saw you, Lookin like you did We were young, we were restless, Just two clueless kids, If I knew then, what I know now, I’d fall in love.
Those are lyrics from a Lady Antebellum song. It’s a better verse than I could ever come up with.
In some ways it says everything I’ve been trying to write for hours. Days maybe.
Here’s the thing, if I knew then, what I know now? I’d still fall in love.
Today is my 11th anniversary. No matter what else is happening. Even though, I won’t make it to the 12th. We made it 11 years. We made it longer than most people who get married at 19 years old. We made a great little family, that doesn’t cease to exist, just because we aren’t together any more. Does that make me feel better today? Not really. But it doesn’t negate the fact that for the past 16 years, we’ve been mostly happy together. How many people can say that?
Today should be a celebration, but it’s not. I don’t want spend all day feeling the way I’ve felt for the past few days, but I find myself pretty much unable to stop it. I keep thinking about the last ten years of this day. I want to try and remember the good, try to remember the life that was great, instead of the end. Instead of what this day should be.
I’m going to at least try to not curl up in a ball and hide all day. I’ve already gotten up and showered, I’ve gotten coffee and a donut. I plan on buying some cake later, because cake makes everything better. Tonight? I’ll take my kids out for dinner and then come home and watch American Idol with my girls. It might not seem like much, but it’s enough. Today, it’s enough. Fake it, till you make it. Or something like that.
I’d still fall in love. If I was somehow able to go back in time, to see fourteen old me? I’d still ask him out. If I could go back and see eighteen year old me? I’d still ask him to marry me. I don’t regret my life, I don’t regret our life, but I can’t change what it is now either.
Happy 11th anniversary to me.
Cause love only comes once in awhile, Knocks on your door and throws you a smile, And takes every breath, Leaves every scar, Speaks to your soul, And sings through your heart, And if I knew then, what I know now, Whoaa if i knew then, what I know now, I’d fall in love.
Say you meet a great guy in high school. He quickly becomes one of your best friends and your boyfriend, all at once. You have fun together, you can tell him anything. A few years go by. Mostly fun times, some crappy ones. But your constant is each other. Always, you have each other. You get engaged and get married all in your first year of college. You lose a friend to suicide, gain a spouse and a condo, all in one very crazy year.
A few years after that, you have your first baby; a ridiculously adorable little girl. You work your ass off. Nine, ten, sometimes twelve or fourteen hour days. To make a better life for your family. You finish college, go on vacations. You celebrate holidays, watch your baby girl grow. You do this together.
Everything is better because you have that person. The person you joke with in tense times. The person who makes you happy. The person who lets you cry and stress out. You have inside jokes, you play air hockey, you stay up after your daughter goes to bed, just laughing and watching TV. You start to plan farther ahead in life. You dream out your life together.
One day, a couple years later, you have another, ridiculously adorable little girl. You’re happy; happy with your life, happy with your spouse, happy with your crazy baby girls. You upgrade your life a bit: sell your condo and buy a house, buy new cars. Nothing you can’t handle. None of that really matters though. What matters are that man and little girls you come home too every night. Everything you do, is to make a better life for them.
You start to get burned out on the hours of work. You see your husband and girls very little and you literally can watch them age before your eyes. You miss out on the small things. Things like your baby’s first steps. The first time your oldest rides a tricycle without training wheels. The first time your four year old uses crap correctly in a sentence. The time your baby “warshes” your camera in the toilet. (What? It’s not all good stuff.) You start to live for your vacation time.
One day, your husband comes to you and says that he has a dream of something better. A better life. A great career for him, less of one for you. A move halfway across the country. You look at this man, this man you adore, your best friend and you say hell no. You see the hurt in his eyes. You look around and you think about the life you are living. The crazy schedules, the hours spent in an office of a high rise, the outrageous amount of money you are about to plop down for private kindergarten, what you are missing out on and you say yes. Let’s do it. You move.
Then life gets a little tricky. Bad things happen. Loss, depression, crappy times. You tell yourself it will get better. You will get better. Things will be okay, because you have him, your love, your best friend, your constant. You get a unexpected surprise in the form an amazing baby boy. Unexpected, but none the less, adored. You start to think, hey maybe somehow this will work; this move, this dream, this new life.
One day you wake up to find that you lost everything while you weren’t looking. That you are loosing your husband and it’s too late to change it. That you maybe lost him years ago, even though he’s been next to you that whole time. Somehow you blinked and missed it. The sad part is, you are not just loosing a spouse. You are loosing your very best friend in this world. You have lost that life you thought you had. The happy home, the happy family, the dream. In one fell swoop, your life, the one you helped build? Is gone. Pieces of it are still there, but it’s different. Broken. Shattered even. You then start to pick up the pieces, because in reality, life moves on. It’s the only thing that can be done.
But inside? You are still shattered. You’ve lost. The promise of forever is gone. The dreams of one more baby, watching your kids grow together, vacations around the world, renewing vows at twenty years, buying an RV and traveling the US after the kids go to college? Dreams that no longer exist.
That life is gone. What’s left now is heartache. Pain. Shattered dreams. Unknowing. And three little kids who still have to be raised.
On March 3rd, 11 years ago, we said forever. We stood together in front of our friends and family and together, we promised forever. 11 years. That was our forever.
Forever? I suppose it’s just something that people say. Just a word we throw out there. Something we think we mean, until we don’t.
Forever.
I want to write a book. I’ll call it, Divorce for Dummies. I’ve tried to find something like it, but it doesn’t seem to exist, which means, I can write it. I think there is a need. There is a need for those of us who never thought we’d be in this situation, to know what to do next.
Maybe since the, For Dummies thing has been done by others, I’ll need to call it something else. Divorce 101? Divorce, the baby steps? Title needs work, but I’m not kidding on the book.
It’s the big things that people think about. The big huge emotional crap. The, how the hell did I get here and what did I do wrong? The, oh shit this is really my life now? Those are the big things that I think….okay obsessively think about. Because this isn’t easy. None of this is easy. I have no idea what I’m doing. The big stuff, I won’t write about. Because heck if I have any advice. I’ll leave that for shrinks and Dr. Phil. I’m just happy if I make it to the end of the day.
No, I won’t be writing about that. I’m talking about the small things. The things you wish someone would tell you. The things you have to figure out the hard way. The things you wouldn’t even think about. This is going to be a work in progress, because well I’m only five weeks into this shit. I’m not exactly the poster child for a successful divorce story yet. What I can do is share with you what I’ve learned so far.
1. ALWAYS and I do mean ALWAYS, check to make sure you have toilet paper before you go to the bathroom at night. In the day time, you may be able to scream for a kid. A kid who will make fun of you, but whatever, they’ll still bring you toilet paper. But it’s hard to scream at your children at 9pm for toilet paper, when they’ve been asleep for an hour. (Or when they are sleeping at their dad’s house.) Don’t think I didn’t consider it, because I did. Just trust me, check the toilet paper.
2. Sleep in the middle of the bed. Take up all the pillows. Enjoy all the blankies. Flop around. Kick your legs. Stretch your arms out. If you want, buy pretty girly sheets. Know why? Because you can. If you were used to the sound of light snoring and can’t seem to sleep, buy a noise machine, fall asleep to quiet music, something. Know that it takes a while to feel okay in the middle of the bed, but you’ll get there. It’s cozy there.
3. The remote is now yours. You can now DVR or watch whatever you want, whenever you want. Well unless you have an eight year old like mine…in which case, I KNOW YOUR PAIN. Ahem. It was really funny to me when I was talking to my bff one night and realized I hadn’t been watching CSI NY for years because Logan has issues with Gary Sinese. I’ve now been watching it for the past few weeks.
4. It’s okay. It’s all okay. It’s okay to cry for weeks. It’s okay to not cry. It’s okay to feed your kids cereal and grilled cheese for weeks. It’s okay to eat out, often. It’s okay to suddenly let your five year old into bed with you every single night if you want. It’s okay to not know what to do. It’s okay. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.
5. You will find yourself correcting your words all the time. You will think you need to say, I, me or my, instead of we all of the time. Yes, eventually you do. But not at first. I’ve been with Logan 16 years. Nearly 11 years of marriage. If it takes me a year to learn to say me, instead of we….well it’s just the way it is.
The small things. You don’t realized the small silly things you don’t do, don’t say, don’t watch because of the other person. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with it, when you are in a relationship. It’s the way it should be. Both parties tend to give up certain things, because it makes the other crazy. However, now I am single. Now, I can do those things. I’ll keep sharing as I come up with more.
Grab My Button!
I’m a joiner
