Gratitude

Since I am new to this blogging thing I have been googling other blogs and reading them.  It seems the popular ones aren't just telling a story, they are offering inspirations, or humor, or things that will help other moms get through the day and not feel alone.

What I haven't seen out there are other single mommy blogs that say that they are the ones that fucked up.  They all have creepy ex's that left them or were never even in the picture.  Lots of blogs of women whose husbands had affairs and even other children on the side.  But I know I am not the only mommy that fucked up.  I know I am not the only one that has to turn that pointing finger to herself.  It has to be worth something to be able to stand up and say that I am the reason I am here.  I am not letting Sam off the hook completely.  There are enough mistakes to go around, but I am also not the victim in this picture.

I am now trying to stop beating myself up.  Trying to hold my head high and move on.  Trying to find the reason for what happened, and what I learned, and how I can make the best from now forward.  Trying to figure out who I am, and what I want from life.  What my priorities are and should be.  What makes me happy?  

I am on my way to visit my friend's babies in the NICU.  They were born at 23 weeks, 6 days at 1 pound, 5 ounces each.  I was with her when the babies were put inside of her...her husband couldn't get off work.  So I feel connected in a special way.  But I am also scared.  I should have gone before this.  I don't know what I didn't.  As much as I am jealous of her ridiculously happy marriage, I know that the health of my kids is something she will be jealous of.  These babies will be her pride and joy always, but there is no way they will dodge the bullet that their extremely early birth has given them.  I just hope they make it through with the best possible consequences.  I am going to go today with gratitude and love in my heart.  Support, and friendship.  Hopefully my friendship will keep her from walking my path.

Under the radar

I wish that I had lived by this mantra...so that when I leave my house I don't have to wonder who is whispering behind my back. Wonder who knows what, and what exactly they heard.

I wish that I could start again.  Move and just start again.  Take the kids and be somewhere that no one knows the past and we can start again without it dragging behind us.  As hard as it is on me, it has to be harder on them.  But since Sam and I are divorced, we are stuck.  Sam would never move.  Yes, I've asked...it made him angry.

Every time we invite a kid over, I wonder if the parents know.  If they know and will say their kid can't come over because of it.  I wonder how much it is talked about now...almost 4 years later.

But I live every day now so that no one would believe the past.   I have tried to change so much.  Mainly I try to fly under the radar.  I show up at all of the events, I am pleasant, I smile, I focus on the kids, and I leave.  I try to not show who I really am anymore.

But maybe there was some good in the old me.  Maybe some of my spunk and my humor and my sarcasm weren't all bad.  Maybe I can find a way to be both people.  A person people can like and trust, and also a person that is funny and witty and sarcastic.  But I am just not sure who that person looks like.  I think you have to be confident to be funny or poke fun, and I am the opposite of confident.  But maybe I shouldn't want to be the old me.  Maybe flying under the radar is really what is best for me, and most importantly the kids.  The kids don't need me to have friends, or to have a social life, or to feel welcomed and a part of, they just need me to be dependable and there for them.  I need to worry about their social lives, not my own.  I only have a few years left before they fly the coop, and I can wait to worry about me.

Weekends

When the thought of divorce first started to enter my mind Emma and Ethan were about 6 and 8 years old, and we had been married about 13 years.  My career was raging and I was constantly fighting with Sam about my time.  He was always mad at me.  Always complaining that I wasn't doing the right things.  Complaining if we didn't have food in the house, if dinner wasn't ready, if the kids didn't have clean clothes, if I was on the phone with a client and couldn't get the kids ready for bed.  I was constantly being pulled to do more than I could possibly do in one day.  I wasn't letting go of my career, my clients, my sales, even a little bit.  At this point that is how I defined myself...as a rock star real estate agent.  I resented that he wanted me to do all of the things a housewife does when I was making more money than him.  I believe he wanted to keep me "in my place," and I fought that with every ounce of my being.

On the weekends sometimes he would take the kids up north to our cabin, or camping.  He always wanted me to come too, and I always had a reason to stay.  This infuriated him, but it was worth it to me to have a couple of days where I could work and relax.  My time was my own.  I actually watched tv sometimes...a luxury I gave up for years.  I enjoyed my time alone so much...without anyone asking me for anything...for my time and attention...other than my clients, and I was always happy to help them.  It didn't happen very often, but when it did it was my favorite time.

I wanted time away from my kids, my family.  I wanted to breath.  I wanted to be myself and be selfish.  When I think about that now, and try to picture my kids at those ages, I literally become nauseous.  How could I have wanted time away from them so much?  How could I have not appreciated who they were at the time?  How come I didn't take pleasure in parenting?  How come I didn't have a sense of accomplishment and pride by being a good mother, like I did by being a great real estate agent?

I want so much to do those years over.  I want so much to take a step back and realize how little my career was worth, and to really appreciate my kids.  I want that so much it makes me ache and hurt in my heart to think about it.

I know that I can't change the past.  I know that all I can do is move forward.  I have focused on this for the last almost four years.  But it is hard to not have regrets, and to not think of what could of and should have been.  To not wonder if Emma's issues come from having such a crappy mom for those years.  If Ethan will have insecurities because of his mom not loving him enough.

Now I have weekends, every other weekend, alone.  Luckily Sam often takes Ethan somewhere and I get to hang with Emma...but not always.  Work is slow...probably because I just don't care anymore...and I have isolated myself from people because I don't want to be judged, and I just can't find it in me to trust anyone.  My weekends stretch out in front of me...days of nothingness.  If I don't work I don't get dressed.  I don't leave the house.  I eat peanut butter and whatever is in the pantry.  I don't date...seriously not even an option.  When I am with my kids, I am with my kids.  I would never leave them to see a guy, and I wouldn't want to invite him into my life to take any attention away from them.  I have friends, but I really don't like any of them.  I trust a couple of them...but it has gotten to the point that I really don't relate to them anymore.  I can't relate to their problems or priorities.  I don't respect their choices.  I judge them I guess.

So I sit on the couch in my pj's and watch hour upon hour of Netflix.  I laugh because a lot of the tv series I watch were on tv those years that I didn't watch anything.  Thank goodness I had those years, or what would I do now?  I text Emma way too much...I definitely think I am co-dependant on her, and I don't want to make our relationship unhealthy.  I just miss her, and I worry about her all the time.  I hate that they are in that house with Sam and his behaviors and his drinking and sleeping.  The filth, the lack of food, the lack of attention they must suffer through.  Emma stays in her room all day on her laptop, and Ethan plays on his xbox and the computer all day.  It makes me sick.  Angry and sad at the same time.

If I had been a better mom those years...how would things be different now?  Would I want them that way?  Would it be better if I were still with Sam?  I believe it would be better for the kids, but maybe not for me.  I believe that my life getting healthier is good for them, but if I had kept it healthy always it would have been better.  I just know that I could never be really healthy if I were still with Sam...so would a medium healthy mom with their dad be better than a really healthy mom without him?  And if Sam had stayed healthier with me in his life, that would have been better for them too.  So really, I think as a parent I should have stayed with Sam...no matter what.  But I didn't...and he didn't...so I need to focus on the now and moving forward.  I need to have hope back in my life.  That life will be good again.  That the kids will find their own happiness and healthiness.  That we can get through this.

Sam's Ship

I wonder sometimes if I knew what my  future was going to hold if I would have lived my life differently.  Are the way things happen really the way they are supposed to happen?

I love that show on TV, Intervention.  The show starts with scenes of the addict in full use...shooting up, snorting, standing in front of the mirror a mere skeleton.  Then you see interviews with them, and their family, stating that they are an addict/alcoholic/anorexic.  Then the show goes over their lives.  I would say 90% of the time there is some sort of childhood trauma.  Usually there is the divorce of parents.  Sometimes the childhood is happy though.  Sometimes you don't know why this happened to the addict, what led them down this path.

Sam is a middle child.  But he is the smartest child by far.  The hardest working, and the most successful child.  He was also the best athlete.  He was closest to his dad, and his brother and sister closest to his mom.  As we grew up in our adulthood together, we passed his brother and sister by leaps and bounds in every way in our minds.  We  made more money, had bigger retirement accounts, better cars.  We didn't depend on his parents for everything like they did.   Our kids were cuter, and they were much, much smarter.  We traveled.  We showed them pictures and brought souveniers.  That was actually a huge pet peeve of mine...spending a day of our precious vacation shopping for crap to bring to his family.  I was thinner than his sister, and his brother's wife.  I also made more money than they did.  I also had a better education.  My clothes were cuter, and my friends were classier.

We were going places, Sam and I.  We were the golden couple.

Sam hasn't gotten over the divorce.  I don't think he has gotten over me.  He doesn't want me back.  He will never forgive me.  He could never accept me and respect me again.  But he hasn't gotten over who he wanted me to be.  What he wanted his life to be.  Who is thought he was going to be, who he thought he was, and we were.

When I was making my mistakes, when my world was unraveling, when everything went to hell for me, he held it together.  He didn't do a great job, but he held it together.  His anger consumed him, but he made quite the show of being the good dad.  The good provider, the victim.  He relished in his role as the victim.  He defined himself by it.  He hoarded our "friends."  He took immense pleasure in seeing me alone at school functions while he was surrounded by those we had partied with for years.  That gave him validation.  Gave him reason to move forward.  He felt OK about himself because everyone rallied around him.  Supported him.   His friends, his family.  Everyone.

But as time moves forward and it is closing in on four years his life is starting to unravel.  His dad died.  That was who he was closest with.  His biggest support.  But things weren't going well before that, before he even knew his dad was sick.  As I moved back into my role as mom, he went back to work.  He started working the long hours that he was used to.  He started to let me take care of the kids things once again.  From haircuts, to back to school shopping, to homework...it became my responsibility again.  I set up the play dates.  I invited friends to my house.  I hosted the sleepovers and took the kids to the movies.  I started working from home, and the kids came home to me every day after school, and spent the summer days with me while their dad worked.  He picks them up at 6:30..sometimes later...and they go to bed at 9:00.

He has to do his own grocery shopping, pet care, house cleaning, and bill paying.  He has to do those things while the kids are home with him for those few short hours.  He is stressed.  His relationships with the kids are strained.  Ethan and him have sports things to talk about, but Emma and him have nothing to share.  His house is disgusting.  It is messy, and filthy.  Rotten food makes it stink.  The floor is a sea of dog hair.  Dishes in the sink, and mountains of dirty, and clean laundry.  Trash and recycling piled up on the floor.

He doesn't make Ethan go to bed...so Ethan goes vampire mode while he is there and stays up all night playing video games and on the computer.  He falls asleep in a chair, and wakes at 7am after 3 hours of sleep.  Then Ethan spends the day whining, and crying, and fighting.  He gets mad.  They fight.

Lately every night she is there Emma texts me that daddy is drinking again.  I see the empty vodka bottles stacked and hidden.  He has the kids less and less frequently due to his work schedule...so why on the nights he does have them does he have to drink?  Does he drink like this every night?  He never drank like this when we were married.  He drinks at night, fights with the kids, wakes them up in the middle of the night to snuggle, or to play with him..both inappropriate and scary, and then he sleeps the next day away on the couch.  Nursing a hangover.  I manage their schedules through text.  I make Emma do his job by asking her to put sunscreen on her brother...to wake daddy...Ethan's party starts in 15 minutes, etc.

Sam is spiraling.  His ship is going down.  His ship is sinking.  I am watching it.  Not from afar.  From right in front of him.  Yet it is not something I can do anything about.  I can't change what is happening.  Any word from me will only create fingers pointing back at me.  No one will take me seriously.  I'm the bad one, remember?  I'm the one that didn't keep it together.  The one with the problems.  Sam's the hero...the victim.  He is not the one that needs the help.  I am just trying to get money from him or something.  No, this has nothing to do with money.  This has to do with Emma and Ethan.  They can't go through this again.

Emma's appointment

When Emma came home from school Ethan wasn't home, he was at his friend's house.  It gave us a little bit of time to be alone, and talk.  I was giddy because I had just found out how the audit went, so I was able to take my good mood and tell her in a good way that I had made her an appointment.  I told her that she had been through a lot in 7th grade, and she just needed someone to talk to.

The kids went to therapy  several times when Sam and I were getting divorced.  I wish they could have stuck with it and gone more often, but honestly, I couldn't afford it.  When I think about it now I can't believe Sam didn't split that cost with me, or offer to cover it.  I believe he said that he couldn't afford it either.  How sad that we didn't make their mental health a priority at the time.  Funny thing is this new therapist takes insurance.  Who knew that even was an option!

She was pleased to hear about the appointment.  She asked a few questions, and was glad to hear that I had made it.  I don't think she expected it, but she was happy that I cared and I think she would like the help.  She asked if I had told daddy.  I told her I had.  She seemed OK with that too.  But when Sam came over the last day of school to help Ethan get ready for Wacky day he made her uncomfortable by telling her how pretty she was and how much he loved her.  Though Sam was trying to be sweet and warm to his daughter, she just wanted to be treated normally.

The appointment was for an hour.  The first half of an hour the therapist wanted to talk to me, then meet Emma and go from there.  I knew I had to give this therapist a run down in less than 30 minutes.  I made the appointment Tuesday afternoon, and her appointment was for Friday morning, the first day of summer.  It kept running through my head...what should I tell this therapist?  In 30 minutes how do you give a run down of what has screwed up your 13 year old's life?  Where do I start?  Do I focus on her fucked up family life, or do I go through the school issues?  Her grandpa?  How do I portray a picture of what this therapist needs to know and focus on in order to help Emma?  I know it is not an exact science, and no one knows Emma like I do, so it is my job to steer this woman in the right direction so she can help Emma the best.

The office wasn't fancy...and neither was she...or her nerdy, kinda creepy husband that works with her.  But she was OK.  I gave a run down.  She wrote it down.  She made a few comments.  A couple of them stung.  She met with Emma.  She took just a co-pay.  Hope insurance covers the rest.  She says Emma needs another activity.  Something to focus on.  She suggested swimming to Emma.  Emma seems to like that idea.  We'll see where it goes.  Of course I think...how can I commit to driving her to and from all practices?  Who is going to pay?  I am sure she will quit quickly.  I don't want her out in the sun.  Maybe all problems do come from the mom, like Freud said.

It's OK. Wow.

I was near a frenzy last time I wrote.  I was waiting for the tax representative to call me and let me know how the audit went.  To put your life and your finances in someone's hands so completely...it is almost impossible to trust the situation.  I have a knack for hiring the worst.  For going with the first person I come across, for whoever someone recommends, and only asking one person for a recommendation.

I found Brandon on my own.  I researched online.  I read reviews.  I made Sam come to the free consultation.  I don't trust my own instincts.  But I got it right this time.

The audit was recommending no change to our taxes.  To those of you that are not self employed, or don't know anyone that has been audited, you may not realize how big of a deal that is.  How impossible of a conclusion that really is.  It was so much better than I ever let myself imagine.  It made the countless hours I poured over my bank and credit card statements, the ink cartridges I burned though, the forest I felled in paper, in  order to prepare for the audit, worth it.  Sam was on the hook just as much as I was, but all of the work was mine to prove our deductions.  It was questioning things to do with real estate, so that was my territory.  If things had gone differently then not only would it be horrible financially...but the wrath of Sam would have been unbearable.

I still have to wait for the supervisor to sign off on the auditor's recommendation...so I may be celebrating too early.  But I feel ready to celebrate.  I feel ready to move on.  I feel ready to put another of my nightmares behind me.  And hopefully this one will stay behind me.

How do you define bad?

The consequences to my life keep coming.  They keep coming and coming and coming.  I just want to stick my head in the sand and wait for them to pass, but they aren't.  It a few months it will be 4 years since I started trying to change my life.  But today, May 22nd is the day I have been dreading.  The day that I have been losing sleep over.  The day of nightmares and countless panic attacks.

And then it got worse last night.  Last night when I was snuggling Emma in our traditional couple of minutes before I kiss her goodnight, I felt her wrist.  It felt like there was glue on there.  I asked her what it was and she sat up straight in bed.  That is when I knew it was bad.  That is when I got up and turned on the light.  And looked on her wrist.  And saw the scratches.  She has been cutting herself.  She said she did it because Shawn, a boy in school, had said mean things that day.  Had called her ugly.  She cried and said she would never do it again and she knew it was stupid. I told her it was unacceptable.  And I left.  Maybe I should have held her and told her it would be OK.  But I was mad.  I was furious.  I felt like it was something she had done for attention.  I emailed Sam.  I told him she needed counseling.  He said he would pay for it.  He was concerned.  I was relieved he didn't get angry or blame me.

Today, right now, I should be calling to get her an appointment.  But I can't get on the phone.  I cant miss the call I am waiting for.  I can't not answer it as soon as it comes.  I am putting this phone call before my daughter. I know I shouldn't, but I can't seem to pick up the phone and try to clear it with her insurance, or call for a referral to a therapist.  Wait on hold for an appointment with a therapist.  Check my calendar and think even a day into the future.  I can't do it.  I can't do anything until I get this phone call.

Our tax representative is meeting with our auditor.  2009 is being audited.  That is the last year Sam and I filed together.  It is the year after we split, but before the divorce was final.  The year I could hardly make it day to day.  The year I had to find out who I am and who I want to be in the future.  The year I walked on my own for the first time...ever really...since Sam and I got together in college.  I only made $25,000 that year.  Hardly enough to even pay the rent in my new house.  Hardly enough to even say I was working.  But we got a refund.  I didn't think much of it, because we always got refunds...but the IRS did.  I have always known my records sucked.  Knew I was giving averages for numbers.  Knew I wasn't being completely honest.  But the accountant assured us that he did our taxes so carefully that the computer would never pull us for an audit.  He assured us to not worry about it.  And I needed that refund.  When you only make $25,000 and have a huge car payment, tons of credit card bills, too high of rent, and multiple other expenses you can't afford, that $6K refund is a dream come true.  I could blame the accountant.  He didn't report was I reported to him.  But I didn't look at my taxes, I just signed them.  This is one more consequence to not being the best person I could be.  I continue to pay the price.

My daughter, my financial security, everything is in turmoil.  I have no sense of happiness.  Hope.  Stability.  Nothing.  I just want to stick my head in the sand and wait for it all to pass.  But it is not passing.  And my phone still hasn't rung.  He said it would probably take an hour.  He was feeling good about it.  He was feeling positive.  It has now been almost 3 hours.  I need to know.  I need to focus on Emma.  But I can't pick up the phone.  I can't move forward until I know how bad it is.  And it could be bad.  It could be really bad.