Starting Over

I have so many posts in drafts. It’s sort of ridiculous when you think about it, because I’m paying to keep this blog around, but I’m not actually using it.

I think it’s going to take a turn, though. I started out writing about my kids & my family, but maybe it’s time to start writing about who I am now that I am a separated woman, who has done some really difficult things in the past few years, & is desperately working towards the funds to make this damn divorce final. [Sorry, Gram. I’m frustrated & there will probably be a lot of swears.]

So here I sit, glass of wine to my left, three kids playing in the living room of the house where we’re staying [those of you who don’t know that framily is a legit word are missing out; I have been blessed with the most amazing framily in the entire world], preparing to pour my heart out about . . . stuff.

The frustration lies in not knowing exactly where to start.

I’ve written about it before, but M & I split in January of 2018. I moved back to Virginia to be closer to my mom because a girl needs her mom when she’s struggling, damnit. It sucked, though, because I was away from the boys. They’re my entire world & I hate that people thought moving away was an easy choice. It absolutely was not. I hated every single second of being away from them & sometimes the only reason I was even able to get out of bed was because I knew I had to go to work to be able to afford the week long trips I made back to Delaware each month.

The living situation wasn’t ideal, but it was what worked for me. Because I knew the boys would be down to visit in the summer, I chose to live 45 minutes away from my job. I knew my mom would want to be able to help by watching the boys while I was working, so I didn’t think it was fair to make her drive an hour plus to my apartment every time I needed to work. [Side note: I am so entirely lucky that my mom even agreed to do that.] It wasn’t ideal for more reasons than that & maybe I’ll eventually get in to them [when I’ve had an opportunity to ask whether I have permission to share that part of my story since it intertwines so thickly with someone else’s].

Every time that I went to work, I had to drive through a tunnel. If you’ve ever seen or heard about Hampton Roads traffic, you know it is no joke. I’d start stalking Waze two or three hours before I even had to be at the restaurant just to make sure traffic wasn’t horrible. Spoiler alert: it usually was. There was one holiday weekend I left for work two hours early & skated into the pre-shift meeting three minutes late.

Yeah.

It was BAD.

I got a cat. Actually, I got three cats, but only one of them is technically mine. The rest just suck up to me because I’m the one who feeds them most often. Actually, the cat [my cat] was a birthday gift from the guy I eventually started dating. He knew I was sad about missing my boys & when he was being a good roommate & dragging me out of the house to make sure I actually got a shower on my days off, we usually went to pet stores. He’s got a wicked obsession with all things aquatic & would try to steer me to the fish section. I usually veered off to where the adoptable cats were because fuzzy animals are the best. [I said what I said, J.] So the day before my birthday, we went to a local shelter. We met this cat & he was aloof & wonderful & pretty much everything I needed in a cat. I adopted him the next day. So it’s kind of cool that his gotcha day is the same day as my birthday.

So, as J so fantastically pointed out, this is getting long. I’m going to update again soon [I swear I mean it this time]. I’m going to work through the rest of my drama in another post.

If you’re reading, thank you. If you’re not; whatever. I don’t actually care at this point. I went from wanting to be a big name Mommy-blogger to just wanting to get my thoughts down somewhere. They’d probably be more suited to a private journal, but I type way faster than I write.

Hope you’re all doing well. I’ve missed this little corner of the internet.

 

It’s Been 84 Years . . .

Okay, it hasn’t been 84 years since I’ve written a post, but if you got that reference? You are my new favorite person. Yes, you.

In reality, it’s been just about six months.

A lot has happened in six months.

A LOT.

But that’s not what I’m here to write about. I actually started writing this post in my head when I took the boys to breakfast last week. THAT is how I knew I was ready to start blogging again. [Yes, yes, I will get to why I nearly shut the entire thing down one of these days.]

Anyway. There was this one morning last week. You parents know the kind of mornings I’m talking about. For once, the kids didn’t need me to herd them to get them ready for school. They were ready in time to leave for Butter’s bus. BUT! Butter had a project due that I was not in any way, shape, or form letting him destroy on the bus, so I was taking him all the way to school. That would have made Bear late, so I was going to take him to school first.

I searched the kitchen for breakfast, & that was about the time I realized I haven’t gone grocery shopping in like, two months. No really, it’s been a while. We grab staples when we need them, but our freezer is pretty well stocked & we kind of a have a plethora of veggies sometimes from the restaurant [OH LOOK AT THAT OTHER BLOG POST THAT NEEDS WRITTEN!], so. Basically, I didn’t even have two pieces of extra bread to rub together for toast.

Okay, boys, go get in the car. We’re going out for a Mommy/Boy breakfast date. Who cares if it was to McDonald’s? They loved spending the extra time with me, I’m sure.

This post started writing itself in my head about the time I told the boys to go find us a seat while I waited to collect our food. There was an older gentleman there who looked HORRIFIED that I was letting my children search for a seat without hovering over them. AND THEN! I let them climb up on stools! I am clearly The Worst Mother in the Entire Universe ™.

Seriously, this guy judged me the entire time we were there. AND HE DIDN’T EVEN DO IT SUBTLY.  He blatantly stared at me, glared at me, & gave me these terribly judging looks.

Had the children not been with me, I probably would have laid in to him.

What I would have liked to say to him is that no, I am not a perfect mother. I’m teaching my kids independence by telling them to go find a seat. It’s not like the McDonald’s was so huge I was going to lose sight of them. So what if they climbed on the stools? I’m not a litigious  person. I wouldn’t have sued McDonald’s if one of my children had fallen because of some stupid thing he was doing. Did I freak out that they were climbing? A little, yeah. But that’s because they weren’t climbing over carpet. I’ve seen my five year old scale a stool that – incidentally – is not attached to a table & meditate on it. He’s part monkey; he’s got this.

I know this is probably going to catch me a lot of flack, but there’s a generation of people who hate the way mine is raising our children. They call our kids entitled brats, screen zombies, & worse. They call us helicopter parents who refuse to let our kids get a bad grade because of the kid’s screw ups. News flash: I am not one of those parents. If my kid gets a bad grade, I’m the parent in the first strip of this comic. That’s not to say that I don’t go to bat for my kids when I think that something is wrong with what’s going on in their school [oh look, another blog post!].

I’ve always said that not only was I born in the wrong generation, but I’m parenting in the wrong generation. If my kids get hurt while they’re playing outside, that’s okay. If they’re not bleeding, I generally tell them to go back outside. I tell them all the time to GO OUT & PLAY. GO PLAY OUTSIDE. GOOOOO PLAYYYYYY.

I bet that guy was really offended when I let the seven year old go into the men’s [single person] bathroom alone.