A mind is a terrible thing

It’s crazy how our minds can grab hold of a detail and start to run away with it.  Really, as a general species, we are quite an ego centric bunch, no?    Most times I’m able to catch myself when my brain runs away with my logic, but I can get just as caught up in it as the next person sometimes.  Let me assure my readership, what’s left of it after my hiatus and incredibly sporadic thoughts, that if you ever see a vent on here and wonder if it’s directed towards you, it’s most definitely not.  If I have something specific so say to any one person, I promise I’ll just talk to you.  Unless you’re not someone I talk to or want to talk to, in which case you probably don’t know my blog even exists, and also  in which case, if it’s even relevant or worth my efforts, I’ll just hang the laundry out there to flap in the breeze.  

Anyway,  the  group I mentioned in my pity party post who left me out of an event was not anyone who reads this blog  and it wasn’t worth going into.  But since  four people have emailed me, convinced and thinking it was directed at them, allow me.   It was just a group that went hand in hand with my shiny, happy, perfect family frustrations: a neighborhood group of moms and kids the same age as the N-Man with whom I had started getting together so he could have friends near by. 

And while it’s really not worth my energy spending a lot of time on and I’m just moving on, I do have this to say to the wannabe Stepford wives that decided the single mom should not bring her gonna-grow-up-to-be-a-terroist-because-Ann-Coulter-said-so son  to the playgroup Halloween party.  Statistically speaking, half you are going to end up single parents as well some day.   And what are you going to do with yourselves  then?  Sadly, when it happens, I’ll probably be willing to lend a hand because that’s the kind of person I am and  I whole heartedly believe parents, single or otherwise, really need to be there to respect and support each other, not judge, for the sake of all of our children.  So you  just let me know how things work out for you when the time comes and we’ll chat again when I don’t have to yell so you can hear me way up there on that high horse.

When life gets you down… DECORATE!

I’m over it.  Pity party done.  Shit happens.  It’s happened before and it will happen again and the world will keep spinning.  I actually got over it about an hour after my last post but have been too busy to come back and assure everyone that I am not, indeed, hiding under a black  shroud sobbing hysterically.

I got up early the next day and headed out to the barn to pack up and move the hoofed one.  No. He’s not sold.  But my trainer, who has been a dear friend for the past two years, took a job out of state (contributing to my Friday sadness and anxiety) so we also packed up to start our own new adventure.  We are now official residents of the Colorado Horse Park and after just 48 hours I’m loving it.  As in loving it enough that I’m toying the the idea of NOT selling him after all.  It’s been a long time since I boarded at a full service barn, complete with a grooming staff that pampers the horses in the owner’s absence.  My guilt over not having as much time for the hoofed one, in lieu of my two legged baby needing me, may be alleviated.   All I know is that the possibility has re-lit a little flicker of fire in me.  I need my horse time.  It is my therapy.  I wanted to sell him for very valid reasons, but perhaps it’s not the best idea in the grand scheme of things.  We shall see. 

The N-Man went as an elephant for Halloween this year.  Ridiculously adorable.  Alas, my camera is broken (ahem, Santa?) so there are no pictures to memorialize the holiday this year.  But there was plenty of sugar high and giggles to be had.  Perhaps I’ll dress him up again at Thanksgiving and make him pose for a late photo op. Who’s going to know the difference?

And what to do on a Sunday afternoon with lingering blues and a child away with his father?  Go to Home Depot and go hog wild.   I know I’m not looking right now, but some how Home Depot always builds my confidence.  I always ALWAYS have encounters with the nicest men, non employee men,  when I’m there.  And more importantly, there’s nothing better for your ego  than launching a plan, putting into action, and seeing it through to the end yourself.  I love decorating and home improvement.   Sunday’s mission… take down the crappy, broken vertical blinds, repaint the dining room, and hang a new light fixture.   Amazing what a coat of fresh color can do for a room and your soul.  Again… no camera.  CRAP!  But that’s ok, because it’s not  finished yet  anyway.  I need to call my handy man to come put in the chair rail and crown moulding and wait for the new window treatments and art work that I ordered to arrive. But still, I love it.  LOVE  IT!   I would rather sit here in my pajamas all day admiring my masterpiece in progress than go to work, but life is calling.

That said, time to head up so I can head out.

A plan is brewing!

What happens when 4 hot mamas (MidLifeMommy, MindyMom, Amira, and yours truly)  meet up for a night on the town?     Naughty things.  Blush worthy things.  Things that make you want to clink your mojito glasses together and praise the Lord for girlfriends.   But, bottom line, a whole lot of things that can’t be openly discussed here.   Don’t worry.  We have a plan.   Four strong, intelligent, determined, independent women, as you will soon come to find out, are quite a force to be reckoned with.

 

If I had a hammer…

I know I promised to write everyday for the rest of the month, but that vow failed to take into consideration the possibility of an evening like yesterday. 

I stayed home all day, waiting and watching like a child on Christmas Eve, for the FedEx truck to arrive.   Last week I ordered a good sized piece of furniture for the living room and it was delivery day.  Finally, at 5:15 p.m.  they arrived and I sprung for the door kicking random objects out of the way so the big strong delivery men would have a clear path to bring in my new treasure.  I signed on the dotted line and they handed me a box, two boxes actually and left.

WTF? When I called to ask about this particular piece, I explicitly inquired if it required assembly and was told no.  Excuse me, but I’m a single mom of a two year old.  When exactly do I have time to organize and wrangle 300 pieces and create a stable piece of furniture out of them, all while preventing the N-Man from  eating  a cam bolt or sticking a screwdriver through his eye?   I sat staring  at the two large boxes and the mess in my living room where I had emptied the previous cabinet plotting my next move.   I decided to suck it up and just put the monstrosity together myself.  I’m handy.  I’m a long time do it yourself-er.  I’ve tackled far worse projects with success.  I could engage the N-Man and turn it into a fun, family project. 

Yeah right.  Numerous pieces were damaged or broken, but of course to discover that I had to take it out of the box. I called customer service and they told me they would gladly accept the return…. IF I put it all back in the original packaging.  Again, WTF?   Have you seen these boxes?  You need a PhD in architectural engineering to stuff everything in there in the first place.  Besides, by now, the N-Man had destroyed 90% of the packing Styrofoam and my living room looked like base camp at a ski area. Repacking was not an option.  The other choice, wait a week for the replacement part to come.  Again, not favorable.   Neither was the 15% discount they offered me on my next order as a consolation prize, since I will never order from them again.   I slammed down hung up the phone and took a closer look.  OK.  The main part that was damaged was actually on the back of the furniture where it would never be seen.  I regrouped and recommitted to going forward.

Things just went down hill from there.  There were pieces missing.  The glue bottle exploded while I was filling a dowel hole.  The screw holes weren’t drilled properly so things didn’t line up.  I broke at least two more pieces (fortunately minor,  internal peices) having to re-drill holes that should have been there in the first place.  The veins on my forehead were throbbing and I’m pretty sure I was as close to a stress induced heart attack as I’ve ever been.  At one point while pounding with all my might with the hammer, trying to get the top to actually sit down on the screws  the N-Man stared at me with wide-eyed caution from the safety of the other side of the room and pointed out, Mommy needs a time out.  Four hours later it was assembled, minus the cabinet doors and drawers, and as I finally took my smashed & blistered fingers & hands upstairs to put the N-Man to bed, I decided it was in everyone’s interest for me to stop and join him.  I stared, fuming & angry at the ceiling for a good hour before I finally calmed down and was able to begin to fall asleep.

After a good night’s rest  I was able to regroup and get the doors put on before work this morning and hopefully, tomorrow, I’ll have time to tackle the drawers.  In the mean time, I’m reluctanly satisfied with the way it looks.  But was it really worth the drama, trauma, and tears to get to this point?   Next time something like this happens, I’m just putting the damn thing back on the truck, sending it away, and asking for demanding a refund.

Friday friday friday

I can’t be coherent this evening.  It’s just not possible.  My disjointed thoughts include:

1.  I arrived at X’s house  for our usual Friday morning N-Man exchange just before 10:00 am and had to pound on the door for almost 15 minutes before he answered.  Apparently he was still asleep.   I know he went out with the guys last night ( that was his given reason why he couldn’t take the N-Man home for an extra evening after we were finished with Chuck E Cheese) and I know how much he drinks when he’s out with the guys.  Aside from that I’m not going to jump to conclusions that I can’t back up.  I just know that I was not happy to see him looking green and acting as if I’d shown up unannounced at 3:00 am.  And would it really kill the guy to put on something other than his boxer shorts before he answers the door for me?

2.  I’ve gotten into the habit of taking myself to the movies.  For the most part I hate going to the movies with someone else and I’ve given in to that indulgence regularly lately and love it. I was in a non-descriptly, weepy, blah, entirely female kind of mood this afternoon, the kind of mood that every woman out there knows can only be cured by a good, no real reason for it cry.  So I went to see My Sister’s Keeper. Yep!  That did the trick.  And then I came home and have no N-Man here to hug fiercely.

3.  I approached my trainer today about my thoughts on potentially selling the hoofed one, couldn’t actually say the S word and burst into tears.  I think it’s fair to say I’m definitely not there yet. 

4.  I got an envelope in the mail from The Man today.  Definitely made me raise an eyebrow. Apparently he was cleaning out his car and found a rusted, broken, cheap, tacky, and obviously completely worthless bracelet in the back somewhere and assumed it was mine and mailed it to me.  Sorry not mine.  An email could have told him that if he’d asked first.  But whatever.  I threw it in the trash.  What is it with the random, bizarre interactions/communications I’m having with men this week?

5.  I have some pretty heavy duty stuff on my mind this past week.  Thoughts that are suprising to me.  Thoughts that appear to be, at this juncture, slightly more than just passing moments.   I just want to make sure they are thoughts that are seriously here to stay before I open my mouth here and freak anyone out.  Don’t worry.  They aren’t bad thoughts.  But they’re pretty life changing and serious.

6.  I’m getting my hair chopped off tomorrow.  OFF.  Boy short.  Think Halle Berry.  I’m a little anxious about it but know I”ll walk out feeling much freer and am not chickening out.   Tomorrow’s post = the before and after.

And with that, I’m kicking off my weekend by ordering Chinese and eating it in bed as I watch TV and then fall asleep early.  Ten years ago I would have found that oddly pathetic.  Now, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.

Hallmark Moment

Bad Mummy hit the nail on the head with her comment to yesterday’s post.  Stop and think for a moment.  When you first hear that a friend is getting a divorce, what is you gut reaction for things to say?  I’m so sorry?  WHY?  I can’t tell you, when I was going through mine, just how sick and tired I was of hearing I’m sorry, from people.  I know they meant well, but seriously?  They were sorry?   Sorry for what?  Sorry that I was leaving an emotionally and verbally abusive narcissist behind me?  Sorry that the N-Man was now going to grow up in a home that was happy and peaceful?   Sorry that I realized I deserved better in my life and had the cajones to stand up for myself?

Before I went through it myself, it probably would have been my flip, unconscious reaction as well. But no more.  Now I stop and think first.  And next time you hear the news that a friend is going through the big D, you should do the same.  Is I’m sorry  really the right response for his or her specific circumstances?  Maybe you’re sorry they have to go through the headache of moving,  or sorry their spouse was a cheating dog.  But are you really sorry their marriage is over?  

Now don’t get me wrong.   Clearly marriage is not an institution to be taken lightly or tossed aside like a dirty diaper and I mean no disrespect to those that have been fortunate enough to find themselves in one that is stable and healthy.  I most certainly am not encouraging people to rush to the court house with Petitions in hand.  But let’s be honest.   In a good number of  divorces,  Congratulations is the  overall, more appropriate accolade, and your sobbing distraught friend knows it.  It definietly was in mine.  But if you just don’t feel right about that, a simple Let me know what I can do to help will probably go a lot further than a generic, albeit heartfelt, I’m sorry.

The cake industry has caught on.  I have heard tales of custom pinatas shaped like an ex’s head.  Yet for some reason the general public still treats divorces with an air of tiptoeing and hush hush shame.   Come on Hallmark.   Time to get on board.  Divorce does not necessarily mean time to mourn.   Take it from someone who’s been there, divorce can be as worthy a cause for celebration as anything.

731 days

As I lay in my bed last night, staring at the ceiling and trying to turn off my brain, I had a realization.   I was pondering my housing options and mentally debating whether I wanted to build a new house or simply purchase the house that the N-Man and I currently rent, when it hit me.  I want to paint this bedroom.  Maybe put in crown molding too.  Or maybe I shouldn’t spend the money on the crown molding yet.   Do I really want to buy this house?  Is this our forever home?   I’m not sure.  But do I really need a bigger place for just two of us?  It doesn’t make sense to move when we like it here so much.  We’ve lived here so long already and still have another year on the lease.  It makes more sense to make an offer on this one than start over.  I know the owners will give me price concession for the amount of time I’ve been here already.  Seriously, how much money have I spent since moving in here?  How long has it been now?  OMG….

Today marks two years since I made my official decision vow to leave X.  

It actually started on August 8.   We were getting ready to go to the gym, X, the N-Man and I.   I called down the hall to him, as I was packing my bag, to please grab a couple of towels and triggered one of his rages.  I don’t really remember the details anymore.  Can no longer connect the dots between asking for a towel and X’s anger.   I just remember that after trying to walk away from his fury with no success, I ultimately told him I was going   by myself so that we could let the situation deescalate.   As I grabbed my bag to walk out the door, before he could object to being left behind, he came up behind me and grabbed me by the arm and jerked me back into the house.  I twisted away from him and opened the front door and squeezed out as he tried to close it on me.  As I ran down the steps of the building to my car he screamed after me,  That’s right.  Go on and leave like the fucking whore that you are.  He was holding a six month old N-Man.  And the switch finally flipped with resounding, echoing CLICK!

That was it.  He’d said it, done it, one too many times.   I got in my car and pulled around the corner of our condo complex where he couldn’t see me and cried, sobbed,  for half an hour. Instead of going to the gym, I drove around and around for two hours, breathing deeply and planning what I knew I needed to do.   I went back home with just enough time for X to get ready for work, knowing there wouldn’t be time for more conflict.  And as soon as he left, I set things in motion, scouring Craigslist for available rentals, calculating and recalculating my budget, debating the pros and cons of different neighborhoods.  By the end of the evening I had set up four viewings for the next day. 

The very second I walked into my current place, when the property manager singled me out at the open house and pulled me aside to talk business away from the other prospects, I knew I had found the right space and the courage to do it.  I knew I had to do it.   On August 10, 2007 I went to his office with the N-Man, paid my deposit and, with a single signature,  committed myself to following through.  When X came home that night I simply showed him a copy of the new lease and finally uttered the words.   I want a divorce.  Surprisingly enough he didn’t fight me, probably still convinced he would have time to manipulate me back into his web.  It didn’t happen.

My new found freedom didn’t materialize overnight.  In fact, it was another two months after I signed the lease, before I was fully moved out and  completely away from his smothering influence. But finally taking that step, locking myself into a path that was a long time coming was the significant event to get me to here.   We’ve been separated now longer than we lived together.  And while I can so clearly recall those times, I no longer know the woman I was on that day, the one who is just a shell of the real me.  I remember the pain that I was in but can no longer feel it.  The fear of the unknown that I know gripped me then  seems silly in light of my current circumstances.   731 days.  On paper it reads like an eternity.  In my mind, it’s as if I just blinked myself to now.

Well so much for that

We scratched from our horse show.  It poured rain.  The  Rapids failed to rise to even a level of basic mediocrity.  The fireworks show was a bust and didn’t go off due to technical difficulties.  And it took an hour and a half just to get out of the stadium parking lot and to the main road.  Not quite the holiday we had planned but since in 48 hours I’ll be eating hamburgers with the whole famn damily at Disney World, I won’t complain.  In the mean time, while I have time to pause in the pre vacation chaos, here’s a few shots from our fourth of July.

The N-Man schools Gramma on the rules.

Studying the beautiful game intently, as any proper hooligan would.

The highlight of the night: the mascot all star match. Great hilarity always ensues.

Franz the Fox dribbles it in.  He shoots. He scores to give the home team the go ahead goal.

Or mascot goalie, Jorge el Mapache.  Saying  Jorge el Mapache makes me giggle.

Miles of the Denver Broncos made his annual appearance.

Always up for a photo op with a fellow redhead.

Yours truly and the N-Man hoping everyone had a great holiday!