Ah gentle reader, I think I must be getting old. Either that or single life has an unexpected consequence. I have just completely lost track of time. I go to bed later, I wake up later (regardless of whether I have to go to work or not! eek!), I keep grocery shopping at 10:00 pm, and I am forever losing track of the day of the week. This is not good. Little Kids will be here next week and Big Little Kid has homework. This could be problematic ....
In other news (and in part because I stayed up late last night), the last toy cubby shelf has been completed. Yes, I got a bit too excited with the hammer and the oh-so-sophisticated prefab material was a bit ... ahhh .... busted in spots but oh well. Toys can go on there. Yay me!
Tonight does feel a bit random. Many apologies. But I think I'm out of it a bit. Probably time to sit in my comfy reading chair and pick up a book. No need for suspense, I'm sure I'll share a review! Until then, good night. Or is it good morning. Oh, screw it, good day!
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
I think I married Sybil ...
Presumably testosterone alone doesn't cause the mood swings that estrogen seems to inspire, so maybe we're looking at some type of multiple personality issue. In no way do I mean to make light of mental illness. On the contrary, my depression and I became quite close over the years. But I am at a loss to explain things otherwise.
Yesterday, Hubby was, well, a poop. I know that he's stressed at work, and hey, being a single parent is no fun, but still, he was a poop. In fact, he's often a poop. Having some distance (well, about a three minute drive's worth of distance), I'm beginning to see that he can be a poop a lot. This is a problem. He's been reciting the litany of my faults for some time - and many of those are legitimate gripes - but it's becoming more and more clear to me that he's a poop. He takes his stress out on others, primarily me, by being short and terse and downright unpleasant. This was last night. We had minimal interaction but what there was was indeed downright unpleasant. Tonight, I was in a foul mood upon arriving at the house (the cause is another story altogether) but he seemed sincerely concerned that something was bothering me and he wanted to help. This is why I think I may have married Sybil. He's either sweet and concerned, or he's a poop. One or the other. And I never know which one to expect. It's exhausting.
When we were still seeing the couples therapist (before realizing that those sessions were a waste of time and often a step backwards), she had asked us to think about what we each wanted from the other. My thoughts on this topic were all fairly vague and tended to be more about me and how he made me feel. Now, I think I can start making that concrete list. Item number 1: stop being a poop. Item number 2: lose the poop personality and stick with the sweet one. Item number 3: stop making me use the word poop. I know I started using it in place of other preferable words because of the Little Kids, but still, stop making me use the word poop. It makes me feel ridiculous. So, item number 4: stop making me feel ridiculous.
Now, off to pick up some trashy romance novels. The guys there may act like poops but then they realize it and make up for it. Maybe those books should be required reading for men. Or boys. No need for the poopness to develop fully before teaching them to get their acts together.
Yesterday, Hubby was, well, a poop. I know that he's stressed at work, and hey, being a single parent is no fun, but still, he was a poop. In fact, he's often a poop. Having some distance (well, about a three minute drive's worth of distance), I'm beginning to see that he can be a poop a lot. This is a problem. He's been reciting the litany of my faults for some time - and many of those are legitimate gripes - but it's becoming more and more clear to me that he's a poop. He takes his stress out on others, primarily me, by being short and terse and downright unpleasant. This was last night. We had minimal interaction but what there was was indeed downright unpleasant. Tonight, I was in a foul mood upon arriving at the house (the cause is another story altogether) but he seemed sincerely concerned that something was bothering me and he wanted to help. This is why I think I may have married Sybil. He's either sweet and concerned, or he's a poop. One or the other. And I never know which one to expect. It's exhausting.
When we were still seeing the couples therapist (before realizing that those sessions were a waste of time and often a step backwards), she had asked us to think about what we each wanted from the other. My thoughts on this topic were all fairly vague and tended to be more about me and how he made me feel. Now, I think I can start making that concrete list. Item number 1: stop being a poop. Item number 2: lose the poop personality and stick with the sweet one. Item number 3: stop making me use the word poop. I know I started using it in place of other preferable words because of the Little Kids, but still, stop making me use the word poop. It makes me feel ridiculous. So, item number 4: stop making me feel ridiculous.
Now, off to pick up some trashy romance novels. The guys there may act like poops but then they realize it and make up for it. Maybe those books should be required reading for men. Or boys. No need for the poopness to develop fully before teaching them to get their acts together.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Cooking in Limboland
I'm not sure which is worse - knowing that your marriage is over or wondering if it is. There is no doubt that knowing things are over and watching the clock to see when a divorce can be finalized would be horrible (well, it would be horrible for someone who doesn't want his or her marriage to end). However, wondering can be torture. You wonder while you're "working on things" and then you have the pain of physical separation but you still have the wondering. Hubby has accused me many times of (a) only doing as much as required to get what I want and (b) only making an effort when I feel that I can get what I want. In other words, if I don't things thing will work out, then I stop trying. I'm fatalistic. Or so he says.
Well, here's my argument that he's full of crap. Our house (as in, the marital home, to use lawyer speak) has a combination wall oven/microwave. A really dumb idea. Of course it came with the house and we didn't choose this stupid appliance but we're stuck with it nonetheless. My hostility stems from the fact that if one component part breaks, you're likely stuck having to replace the whole damn thing. And, as you've probably guessed, that's exactly what happened. The weak link in this unit is the microwave and yep, the microwave just made a popping sound and promptly died. No opportunity for CPR or a doctor's visit. Just death. Fortunately for Hubby, I was there when it happened so there can be no charge of sabotage but it's annoying nonetheless.
You may be asking, "He's in the house. Isn't this Hubby's problem?" and you would be right. However, I know that it would create big financial hardship off the bat ("Too bad. Hubby made his bed and now he can lie in it no matter how cheap the sheets will have to be") and I'm trying not to be that much of a shrew. Plus, it's still my house too (at least on paper) and - here's where I'm not being fatalistic - it may be my residence again as well. (And he was saying this before the microwave's untimely demise - and he has no extrasensory abilities - so he can't just be saying that as a means of lessening the hit to his checkbook.)
This has prompted some joint shopping this weekend. And, I can't believe I'm going to say this, there were moments when it was fun, pleasant and, dare I say, downright couple-like. He even commented on the same thing so I wasn't imagining it. Of course he was snappish and jackasslike this evening but I guess it's still something.
Well, here's my argument that he's full of crap. Our house (as in, the marital home, to use lawyer speak) has a combination wall oven/microwave. A really dumb idea. Of course it came with the house and we didn't choose this stupid appliance but we're stuck with it nonetheless. My hostility stems from the fact that if one component part breaks, you're likely stuck having to replace the whole damn thing. And, as you've probably guessed, that's exactly what happened. The weak link in this unit is the microwave and yep, the microwave just made a popping sound and promptly died. No opportunity for CPR or a doctor's visit. Just death. Fortunately for Hubby, I was there when it happened so there can be no charge of sabotage but it's annoying nonetheless.
You may be asking, "He's in the house. Isn't this Hubby's problem?" and you would be right. However, I know that it would create big financial hardship off the bat ("Too bad. Hubby made his bed and now he can lie in it no matter how cheap the sheets will have to be") and I'm trying not to be that much of a shrew. Plus, it's still my house too (at least on paper) and - here's where I'm not being fatalistic - it may be my residence again as well. (And he was saying this before the microwave's untimely demise - and he has no extrasensory abilities - so he can't just be saying that as a means of lessening the hit to his checkbook.)
This has prompted some joint shopping this weekend. And, I can't believe I'm going to say this, there were moments when it was fun, pleasant and, dare I say, downright couple-like. He even commented on the same thing so I wasn't imagining it. Of course he was snappish and jackasslike this evening but I guess it's still something.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Other People
No, I don't mean other people as in dating them. My problem is other people finding out. It's not like it's a secret but it certainly can be awkward -- both in face-to-face interactions and in simply filling out papers. Tonight I took Big Little Kid to her first Girl Scout meeting. I was (and am) so excited. She didn't follow me in love of dance class but I'm hoping she enjoys this. Her best friend's mom is one of the troop leaders and, for a number of reasons (not the least of which being I'm sure the Little Kids would spill the beans anyway), we had to tell her what was going on. Well, not we per se, more like the Hubby. She was sweet as always so that was really only a problem in terms of my nerves, but when it came time to fill out paperwork, that was upsetting. To be separated, you have to live under different roofs. And obviously we are. But damn if having to put that new address in writing doesn't stab me in the heart nearly every time. Ugh.
Gradually, we are going to (and have to) tell people. While tonight's face-to-face interaction turned out okay, I met with a friend the other day and I wanted to just sink into the ground. Or sink her into the ground. Yes, I need help and support but it's such a delicate balance between that and pitying and smothering. Again, I say, ugh. I have to make such an effort to assure those folks that I'm fine, everything's okay, silver lining, yadda, yadda, yadda. I suppose if I do it enough, I might convince myself of it, but it is exhausting and usually more than I feel like dealing with. Yep, one more time ... ugh.
Gradually, we are going to (and have to) tell people. While tonight's face-to-face interaction turned out okay, I met with a friend the other day and I wanted to just sink into the ground. Or sink her into the ground. Yes, I need help and support but it's such a delicate balance between that and pitying and smothering. Again, I say, ugh. I have to make such an effort to assure those folks that I'm fine, everything's okay, silver lining, yadda, yadda, yadda. I suppose if I do it enough, I might convince myself of it, but it is exhausting and usually more than I feel like dealing with. Yep, one more time ... ugh.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Baby Books
Whenever a mom-to-be sets up her baby registry or is thrown a baby shower, there is always a baby book - the cute book in pink or blue with lots and lots of pages for footprints, pictures and the recordation of every milestone imaginable. First smile, first tooth, first time the bundle of joy let Mommy sleep through the night ... You know what I'm talking about. The book that has a few completed pages for child #1 and maybe a couple of blanks filled in for later siblings. (After all, you don't want the younger kids to feel like their accomplishments didn't matter ... so you fill out vital statistics of birth and one or two things about the first month. Those books really are such a waste of money. But I digress ...)
Regardless of the inevitable declining dedication to keeping up with the baby book, I feel like there should be a book for the newly separated so that all the firsts and all the accomplishments can be recorded and fondly recalled later - either with nostalgia or pride or mortification. Right now, just over a week "A.S.," I would say that I have a few reached a few firsts. First piece of prefab furniture assembled, first glass of wine with dinner for one, first bottle of wine shared with friends who are worried about you ... and to that list I would add the first bug. Yes, the first bug. No one likes killing bugs (well, maybe psychopaths but we don't have those here) but many of us (yep, me) have managed to avoid having to kill our own bugs. Some Suddenly Separateds may avoid this first if they have sons big enough to do the nasty deed for them, but for the rest of us, the bug has to be killed, so we have to do it. Between torrential rain and lots of discarded cardboard, a bug sighting was inevitable and, following my initial scream, I did it. ... And since then, I have kept a sturdy shoe on top of a table near the door so that I'm ready if it happens again. I admit that one night I actually carried the shoe around the house with me - just in case - but usually having it out within arm's reach does the trick.
So, where's the Hallmark card celebrating this milestone? Maybe I should contact them with some ideas. ;)
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
And here I am ...
As I type this, I'm not sure if anyone will ever read this but if you've found me, then welcome to Detour to Happily Ever After: Musings and Adventures of a Newly Single Mom. Simply put, after a nearly 20-year relationship, I've found myself separated from my husband and, for all practical purposes, a newly single mother. Needless to say, this is a challenge and a roller coaster and the source of a whirlwind of emotion and reaction, so here I am. The therapist (doesn't that just make me sound like a nut job?!) recommended that I start a journal. I'm sure she's right since this is her job and she's been doing it for some time, but journaling isn't exactly my thing. I'm hoping this is.
Call me Sadie and my two girls are Big Little Kid and Little Little Kid. I also work full-time outside the home. That's another story. Yes, my hands are full and now I'm doing it on my own. The Hubby isn't out of the picture - he's an involved dad and we are hoping to work things out (maybe you should just call me Pollyanna) so I certainly have help. At the end of the day, though, it's me and I feel like I'm starting from scratch. So if you're still reading this, buckle your seat belt and come along for this bumpy ride.
Call me Sadie and my two girls are Big Little Kid and Little Little Kid. I also work full-time outside the home. That's another story. Yes, my hands are full and now I'm doing it on my own. The Hubby isn't out of the picture - he's an involved dad and we are hoping to work things out (maybe you should just call me Pollyanna) so I certainly have help. At the end of the day, though, it's me and I feel like I'm starting from scratch. So if you're still reading this, buckle your seat belt and come along for this bumpy ride.
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