Recently I got to do something really kind of neat. I was given the chance to be a guest DJ at Music Savvy Mom’s brilliant blog. I was instructed to shuffle my beloved I-would-marry-it-if-it-were-a-man iPod and list the first ten songs that came up. I thought cool, I can do this. I’m not a rocket scientist or particularly tech savvy but I can find the shuffle button. This will be fun! Then I thought oh lord just don’t let something really embarrassing come up. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any pre-pubescent boy band hits in my iPod (don’t worry, I won’t judge you if you do) but I’m pretty sure I have a show tune or two. Ok fine, and some slightly embarrassing old school country music that was probably downloaded on a particularly trying night. Every now and then I have a thing for songs about dead dogs and drunken cheating husbands. I was raised in Texas after all. Don’t judge me, I know you have something embarrassing in yours too. Three words bitches, Ice Ice Baby.
What happened next though was so much more than I expected. I sat down to do my shuffle on an otherwise uneventful Saturday night and it was at such a late hour that I’m sure the donut dude was up making the donuts already. The house was silent, dark and empty. My daughter was at her father’s for the weekend yet I had not dedicated any of that alone time to just me. For the first time in a really long time I sat down and took time for myself. What started out as a fun blog guest spot turned into something that I really needed and didn’t even realize I needed. Musical soul food.
Music Savvy Mom is on a mission to bring mama’s back to the music they love, the music that gets them into their happy place and moves their soul. She does boast that breeding is not required to enjoy her site and dare I say that is very true. It’s so easy to get lost in the shuffle of life instead and forget the little things that bring us joy. A joy that is independent of mothering, working, being a partner, fulfilling the needs of everyone else.
Ri, the genius behind Music Savvy Mom, hit the nail on the head. As mothers we often become lost in kid music, kid TV, kid movies and kid books. We’re up to our eyeballs in sugary candy coated kid shit. I confess, I sometimes wish the fucking wheels would in fact just fall off the damn bus already. I mean that in the most loving of ways. All of these kid things are great and spending time with our kids listening to, watching and reading kid stuff is wonderful. I wouldn’t trade that time with my daughter for anything in this world. But listening to my shuffle reminded me that I’m still me. I know this sounds rather simple and you’re probably thinking wow, I must eat frosted lead paint chips for breakfast. It’s true though, well not the frosted lead paint chips thing. I usually skip breakfast. It’s true that I’ve forgotten about me somewhere along the path of single motherhood. It’s completely my fault. So much of my time is focused on doing everything else and if you’re a single mom you know the meaning of doing everything else. I’m sure that I have friends that are married who feel the same way so a shout out to you hard working married moms too. Holla! What I learned was that I’m still a cool chick on the inside even if I’m lucky to find two matching shoes in the morning before work. This opportunity was a gift.
Taking just that one hour to shuffle and listen and block everything else out was cathartic. It was better than a trip to a spa (I’m not really a spa-chick, the white robes freak me out) and it was better than splurging on a new outfit (mom if you’re reading this I could use a clothes gift card, just saying). It made me turn inward and spend time with someone who has become, due to my own fault, a little neglected. Me.
So now I’m going to make a point to turn off news radio on my daily work commute and get my shuffle on. I’m sure that world and local news can get by without me. After all isn’t that what CNN breaking news emails are for? I mean if it’s really that important, like a pop icon dying, I’ll get a text right? I’m going to start setting aside time when my daughter is at her dad’s and take a shuffle hour for the soul. Somewhere inside, deep inside, there is a Dancing Queen trying to claw her way out. Music Savvy Mom helped me get one step closer. Thanks for the reminder Ri. Keep rocking this world, one Stray Cat at a time.
And to you, yes I'm talking to you, If you’d like to be a guest DJ I highly recommend it. I’m pretty sure it’s good for your skin and clears up blemishes as well. Happiness makes a girl pretty. This site is my spa.
Warning: If you don’t like four letter words then cover your eyes because someone put a quarter in me and I’m about to ride this dime store pony down the street.
I never expected my last post to incite such a flurry of emotional commentary though frankly I’m glad it did, for better or worse. Honestly, I’ve never received so many comments on a post in the short time my blog has had a life of its own. For my blog, that was a lot of comments. Thank you to everyone who left supportive comments, your encouragement means the world to me.
I knew at some point a negative comment would come. In all honesty, I’m shocked it took this long. I mean let’s face it. I haven’t established a short lived reputation for biting my tart tongue or reigning in my snark. And you know what? I’m pretty damn happy about that. This is the one place I can let it fly. This wordy rambling cursing booze cruise is mine. I own these emotions, as fucked up as they may sound to some, and I own my experiences. What I do not own however is “bitter”.
Bitter is the one word used to describe me by someone who left a comment and it’s the one word when used against me in a serious fashion that makes me most crazy. It infuriates me.
Bitterness, to me, implies an all encompassing 24 hours a day 7 days a week state. It is pervasive and takes up residence in every aspect of someone’s being. That is not me. And I think most people who know me in real life know that. I give a lot of space for freedom of opinion from those who have commented because none of those who have actually know me in real life. They only know what they have read here. Those who do know me in real life know that under the sarcasm and snark I am a softie. They know that I am my happiest when I can help others with the important things that matter. That I cry at sappy romantic movies every single time and it’s not because my life lacks romance, it’s because I still believe in true love. Even with its imperfections. I believe that there are good and honest men in the world who are still available. And no, I do not believe that not every man cheats. I still believe in amazing possibilities, that dreams and ambitions can come true and damn it I still believe in happy endings.
With that happy feely stuff out of the way I can now say this…. I am not bitter damn it I am pissed off! And I have every right to get pissed off when I see someone who I feel should be doing better for our daughter not doing it. She is the most precious human being in this world and I love her with every ounce of my being. And yes, when it comes to defending and protecting my daughter I will say it exactly how I see it and I will stand up for her. She is four years old and she is emotionally defenseless at this point in her life. I have every right to be pissed off that her father has visitation he chooses not to exercise when I can’t imagine having that opportunity and not using it if I were in his position. You bet your ass I am pissed off – that does not make me as a person bitter.
I’ve had not one but two psychologists explain to me that he is a text book narcissist and will be the way he is. When I am nice, he steam rolls me. When I stand up to him he backs down. There’s rarely a time I’m able to have an in between with him and it is usually always about him. I’ve learned more than I have ever wanted to know about narcissism and how to deal with a narcissist. However, for whoever thinks my being pissed off at these situations as they come up does make me bitter then give me a damn scout badge and I’ll sew it on my bitch sash because this will not change. My anger at these situations does not define who I am, it is how I feel while having to deal with them. That to me is a non-bitter perspective. But hey, I’m no family therapist. Since when does being pissed off and standing up for our child or standing up for yourself make one bitter?
Which brings me to my next point…
Why the hell are divorced women who get pissed off labeled “bitter divorcees”? I mean what the hell is that shit about? I don’t know, I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense to me why it’s always a divorcee. Why have I never heard of a man described as a “bitter divorced dude”? Why the fuck is that? That pisses me off as well. I’m pretty sure there are some pissed off single dads out there and they aren’t called bitter. They are allowed to get pissed off but women are not without being called bitter or bitter divorcees? If I were a single father and I were this mad about the mother not exercising visitation when they have it the first thought people would have is probably not about how bitter I am . Is there a double standard between pissed off custodial fathers and pissed off custodial mothers and if so why is that? Why can I not just be pissed off without being called bitter? And single dads, I love ya. Let me know if you want my number. I’m just kidding. No I’m not.
To me bitter implies victim and if there is one thing I am not it is a victim. I am a survivor of an usual divorce and unusual set of circumstances. I’ll take bitchtastic, brave, bold, beautiful (on the inside), buoyant (fat does float right?), boobielicious and even ballsy.
I may be a lot of “B” words but bitter is not one of them.
So here's to you my "bitter" post comment maker. I proudly give you the one finger salute. And in case you think that's me being "bitter" think again. That's me being a "Bitch".
So far September has kind of sucked. I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to say it. I’m frustrated beyond words. I know right? Me at a loss for words! I’ve been playing a game of selfish douche bag chicken with my ex. I don’t know I’m always shocked at his self centeredness but I am. I’m angry so I’m going to ramble. Pardon my insanity. So here’s the deal….
My ex gets two weeks of summer visitation every summer. The first summer after our divorce he did not exercise this two weeks. He never brought it up, I didn’t remind him. The following summer he did but it was only because I pointed out what an ass he was for not exercising all of his visitation. This summer he did not exercise his summer visitation. He never scheduled it though he was around all summer because he did his regular weekends.
Well, there was the one weekend this summer I was woken up by the crazy repetitive ringing of my doorbell at 8AM when he brought our 4 year old daughter home early because she was misbehaving. Evidently she was a little sassy and told them she didn’t have to listen to them because she loved mommy best. Now, this is not acceptable behavior but I did snicker a little on the inside. Evidently her step-mother thought she might kill their new baby or something. Then evidently my daughter puked she was so stressed out. My daughter is not perfect, she spills her milk every now and then and sometimes I see her genetic snark rear it’s ugly little head but I’m pretty sure she’s not a pig tailed baby killer. But yes, he brought her home at 8AM one Sunday because she was acting up. Yes, that’s right people. Evidently kids are returnable. Who the fuck knew? With that attitude I’m surprised he didn’t try to shove the new baby back up his new wife’s old worn out vagina the first night it he was a little fussy.
I digress… So my daughter began Pre-K on August 31st. Now we pay a lot of money to send her to the pre-school we do. It’s not cheap and I’m not made of money. Her class is taught by an elementary school teacher with a Masters in Education. I mean this is some real shit even though it’s not Kindergarten yet. So douche bag sends me an email half way into September with two notes. The first is that he’s canceling his Wed video chat (again). If you saw my previous post about this you’ll know how much this pissed me off….. again. The second item was that, oh yeah, he’d like to schedule his two week summer vacation time now. And he’s like to do a week in October and a week in November.
Huh? When the fuck did October or November, or even September for that matter become Summer? My first thought – what the fuck is this shit? So I sent a reply. A not very snarky or mean reply as I wanted to start this off on the right foot. I explained that our daughter actually started Pre-K already and that I did not think it was in her best interest to pull her out for two weeks while she’s still getting in the swing of things. Now I realize two weeks will not prevent her from getting into MIT but shit, school started man. The response I received to my polite no I do not agree with you pulling her out of Pre-K for two weeks email was a threatening attempted bitch slapping back. I have sole custody. Last time I checked sole custody meant I made the educational decisions in our daughters life and I had the ability to protect her from selfish moves like this. The response I received informed that summer does not officially end until September 22nd and that *I* needed to figure out where he was going to fit in his two weeks before then. Mind you, it was less than two weeks before the 22nd I received this. He has three degrees but he’s not so bright. His alternative solution… get your calculator out for this crazy math… five 4 day weekends where he’d pick her up on (get ready for the math) Wed evening and bring her back to school on Tue mornings. Hmmmm…. Ok now seriously I won’t lie, I took Algebra twice in high school. I didn’t pay attention, it wasn’t my thing. But how the fuck is Wed to Tue a fucking four day weekend? What the fuck? And he wanted to do that five times in a row. Are you fucking kidding me?? How is that not disruptive to her routine?
Did I mention my daughter hates going over there. She cries every other Thursday night when I pack her bag. She asks me to call her at school before her dad picks her up. This past Friday she asked me to call her daddy and tell him not to pick her up. Gut wrenching!! She just doesn’t like it over there and I hate that. I honestly wish that she did. I wish that she looked forward to going over there and felt comfortable but she never has. It breaks my heart. I wish nothing more than her to be happy and comfortable over at her dad’s even with all the shit that went down between her dad, the homewrecker and I. I’m a child of divorce and I remember when I was little and I’d get excited to see my daddy on his weekend. I hoped that even in the midst of all the bullshit she’d have that special bond with her daddy. I don’t think she does, it breaks my heart.
So here’s where I stand – in the middle of a pissing match. I want my daughter to spend time with her dad. I want him to exercise all of his visitation but he doesn’t. The last thing in the world I want to do is to keep them apart. He’s a fucking asshole but that asshole is my daughters daddy. Her relationship with him will affect the way she views men the rest of her life. But at what point do I let his lack of making our daughter a priority interfere with her schedule and life?
I don’t agree with pulling her out of school for two weeks because he failed to schedule his visitation during the summer when she was in summer camp and not school. I am angry as hell that I feel like I have to be the bad guy and say no because I’m putting her first. If you’re a parent you know how important routine and a schedule is and god damn it she just started school and is excited about it. Why should she be yanked out at this point because he’s a selfish fucker? I mean the last time I checked sure the little box marked 22 says first day of autumn but my fucking calendar has a little box with a 31 that says first day of Pre-K. I think my 31 trumps his fucking 22. Where is the line of being accommodating and being accommodating at the expense of my daughter’s life? And why the fuck wasn’t it a priority to schedule his summer visitation during the damn summer?? Was he too busy with his new wife and their two kids? I just don’t get it. I’m furious at the lack of consideration. I know two weeks is not a big deal but it’s the principle and for a four year old I think two weeks is a lot longer than two weeks to you and me. And I’m furious I feel guilty. I feel guilty and I’m not the one that fucked this up.
I emailed him back and wasn’t so nice the second time around. I told him our visitation schedule is not based around the fucking farmers almanac and when seasons start and end it’s based around the summer months between school. I’m pretty sure our court here doesn’t operate off of an Aztec or Pagan calendar. I mean what the fuck. So now I’m waiting. Waiting to see if he’s going to drag me to mediation. I’ve always accommodated every schedule change he’s requested – every single one. I had one schedule change request and he denied it. He’s a fucking asshole. So since then to avoid conflict I NEVER schedule anything that is not during my time. He on the other hand does his visitation wild west style and if he doesn’t exercise something he never tells me in advance he’s not going to exercise it. Legally speaking I don’t have to allow him to exercise the visitation he missed now. He missed it. Morally I feel like a fucked up asshole saying no but I don’t want to pull her from school. Fuck him for making me feel like this.
The gem in his email was that it was *MY* responsibility to contact him and schedule HIS visitation. I told him I’m not his fucking personal assistant. I think he’s so crazy he makes me wonder if I’m crazy? He threatened me with mediation. Then his lawyer. I told him to bring it. So far no response. I’m sure the next bitchgram back will be a doozie. I’m guessing I'll be spending a day at mediation. And paying for half. Fuck my life.
I think one of the biggest honors a blogger can receive is a blog award from a fellow blogger, especially when it’s a fellow blogger who I admire so much. Martini Mom (@martinimom) has bestowed upon me the Honest Scrap Award. Now I know she may have been drinking when she did this, I mean given “martini” is in her name and all but it is still an honor. This award is passed forward from one blogger to another blogger whose blog they admire and respect for its honest and from the heart approach. I have a feeling she’s going to get much more honest scrap than she bargained for so I hope she has a martini ready for the both of us. One requirement for this award is that I must write 10 honest things about myself, my own personal honest scrap. I’m brutally honest, so this is brutally long. Get yourself a martini, or a cup of coffee, however you roll.
1.When I was in my early 20’s and stuck in a string of bad dates I remember wondering if a magic genie came to me and said I could only have one thing in life but not both – a true love or to be a mother – which would I choose. In my head I always chose to be a mother. If I couldn’t have both then that was the one I’d choose. I know it sounds crazy but I often wonder if that random thought prophesized my future or if it doomed it.
2.Before I met my husband I always had this deep feeling that “he” was out there. That my destined other half was out there somewhere and when the time was right we’d meet. Even when I met my ex I knew in the first two weeks he was the one I was going to marry. Being single the second time around I don’t have that feeling this time. I don’t sense that “he’s” out there. I just don’t. I’m convinced the lack of this feeling means romantically speaking, I’m done.
3.I’ve always been the fat girl, even before I was fat. My paternal grandmother used to put my food on tiny plates and would tell me it was so I’d feel like I was eating more and wouldn’t eat as much. I’m surprised I didn’t just eat the plate. My dad pointed out to me when his friends would make comments about how much chicken I had. My dad has shitty friends for doing that. My mother would have a coronary if I wanted non-diet soda. She was also drop dead gorgeous in High School and I’m pretty sure all the boys wanted her. Everything seemed to be about food growing up. I look back at pictures of me in school growing up and I wasn’t that fat at all, a little chubby but nothing like the image in my head. I always felt like I was 3 times the size of the young girl I now look back at pictures of. My parents obsessed over me being fat. Now as an adult though – ironically - I really am the fat girl. Now it’s not in my head – then it was. That sucks. To add insult to injury my ex husband, who dated and married me fat, later asked if I would consider having gastric bypass. I was on the border of even qualifying. I didn’t do it. His mistress had just had gastric bypass and he ended up leaving me for her. Now I know why he had asked.Isn’t that a bitch.
4.There is one event in my life that haunts me still to this day. I was incredibly close with my maternal grandmother. I was a snotty little brat to her but I adored her so and I know how much she loved me – despite my bratty ways. When I was 12, almost 13, I had a reoccurring dream. I had this nightmare three times to be exact. In my dream I walked into my grandmother’s house calling for her. Everything was dark and lit in blue with sheets covering all of the furniture. In my dream I walked through the entire house calling for her with no answer and made my way to her bedroom where I opened the door and found in the middle of a blue lit room a coffin with her inside. I had this dream three times in the three weeks leading up to Mother’s Day 1985. That Mother’s Day my grandmother was supposed to show up at our house, she never showed. My mother and I went over to house. Opened the front door and walked through the house calling her name. We couldn’t find her. We went to her bedroom and that is where we found her. She had passed away that morning. Mother’s Day. My mother and I never really talk about this day. It is the single most devastating day that either of us have experienced. She has never spoken of this, but I know that it is. I can’t even write this without tears. I feel like I am more like my grandmother than I am anyone else. My heart still aches to this day over that Mother’s Day.
5.When I was in my mid 20’s I moved from Houston to Chicago for one reason…. I felt like there was something more out there for me and that it wasn’t in Texas. I mean Texas is big but it wasn’t big enough for me and my dreams. I always had a weird thing for Chicago that I never could explain and no it had nothing to do with Oprah. Chicago was magic – it was a big city type of city like NYC but smaller and cleaner and less scary to me. LA was much too much like Houston in that it was just one big suburb. I wanted a city with character, commuter trains, badass old architecture and corner markets and Chicago was it. Moving to Chicago alone with no job and no friends was the dumbest and bravest thing I’ve ever done and it changed my life forever. Power of fearless youth. Or stupidity. I don’t take it back.
6.When it comes to men my super power is invisibility. The interesting part of this is that I am ok with it.
7.My mother began a relationship with her partner when I was 8. It was early 1980’s Texas – not the most understand or accommodating of times or places for same sex relationships. My mother and her partner are the bravest women I know and I love them both. It was not always the easiest growing up and I acknowledge that but we had the same problems that most blended families have. We had all American family issues that had NOTHING to do with same sex partnerships. I think I wish for marriage equality more than they do at this point. They live it and have been for almost 30 years. A piece of paper doesn’t make what they have more valid or not. To me though it matters. I want their relationship accepted just as my marriage was. I want other children today with same sex parents to be able to see their parents married. It matters. It matters not just for same sex couples, it matters for the children these couples have as well. These are families…. Period. To choose not to marry your partner, same sex or not, is one thing. To be forbidden to is another and as the child of a same sex couple it makes my heart ache. For those who want to marry I stand behind you screaming to the heavens YES TO MARRIAGE EQUALITY! To me, this is YES TO FAMILY VALUES.
8.Most days I’m fine but some days I’m so lonely it feels like I have a Cadillac parked on my chest. However I will stay that way forever unless I meet someone who is not only good enough for me but good enough for my daughter. After my ex-husband my standards for how good someone has to be in order to be in my life with her – insanely high and possibly unreasonable. But I won’t bend. She deserves better than I even think I deserve. She is my standard, and it’s not gold, it’s a platinum standard.
9.I’m not good at sticking with things. Except my daughter. She is the one thing I have never and would never quit. She is a miracle baby that theoretically never should have been due to my medical issues. I had to have surgery before even trying to get pregnant. I had several issues and had to have things removed, opened up, moved around, you name it. I was a mess. And due to my PCOS I had to have ovarian drilling. It’s as icky as it sounds. The day the nurse called to tell me that our fertility treatment worked and that I was pregnant I cried like I have never cried before, or since. I was home alone that day and I fell on the floor in the spot I was standing when I took the call. In that moment my biggest wish in life had come true.What I didn’t know was that at the time my ex-husband had already planned to leave me. He planned to leave me before the surgery, before the fertility treatment. When he revealed this after our daughter was born, during our divorce procedure, I asked why on earth he would have encouraged surgery and fertility treatment to have a baby. It was dangerous and it put my life at risk. I had anesthesia complications after surgery even. I didn’t beg him to go through that with me – it was a mutual decision that the timing was right. I’m glad I didn’t know He was trying to buy time to get his proverbial ducks in a row as it turns out. His response was “I never thought it would work, you only had a 3% chance.” It was 6% actually. My chances of getting pregnant were 6%. I should have known something was up when he was never exciting about the ultrasounds and never really wanted to feel the baby kick. It’s because of him I became a mom but it’s because of him the joy was sucked out of my pregnancy.I feel like he stole that part from me. He was there, but I went through it all alone.
10.I have zero family members that live around me. In fact my family is all 1000 miles away back in Texas. Being young and adventurous and living in a city far away while you’re single is one thing. To live like this and be raising a child on my own with nobody around is the hardest thing mentally I’ve ever had to endure. There are no family dinners, family BBQ’s, family birthday parties, shopping dates with mom. You get the idea. I spend a lot of time alone, and it’s obvious. I’m a freak.
The second component to the Honest Scrap Award is that I must now choose another blogger whose blog I feel is open, honest and from the heart. There is one blogger I know whose blog inspires me, makes me laugh and makes me cry right along with her. Her honesty in her blog is brave and her love for her son is bold and precious. This is a blogger who I know, like me, has good days and bad but who I know is going to make it through with flying colors. I pass the Honest Scrap Award on to the beautiful , on the inside and out, Melysa Schmitt (@MelysaS) and her blog Mely Speaks.
I also want to thank Martini Mom one more time. Personal blogging is ugly business – especially single parent blogging. For it to be worthwhile you have to gut yourself like a fish for everyone to see and then put it all back together and carry on for another day… or post. I have so much respect for all of my fellow bloggers who do this. It’s ugly, it’s messy and it’s emotionally brave. My biggest wish for my blog, as bitchy and snarky as it may be, is that it touches at least one person. If at least one person can find solace in not being alone in a difficult situation it makes the gutting of the emotional fish worth it all. Thank you for your encouragement. I promise more snark, less pathetic, in the next post.
