My sweet boy is a little sour right now

Yowza! Let's talk about sassy kids over-sassing their mothers. By over-sassing I mean disrespecting. And by kids I mean Gil. The mother? Me.

The consequence I came up with for Gil's recent behavior is a 7 o'clock bedtime. Did I mention he does not like that? At all? At first I wasn't going to let him read in bed, but it's pretty hard to declare LIGHTS OUT! when, well, it's still light out.

My son does not like the idea of going to bed at 7:00, when it's still light out, before his younger brother, and when he knows the rest of us are snuggled on the couch watching American Idol or playing Sorry or some neverending card game.

Dude's gotta be punished, though. And I figure the consequence that angers him the most should probably be the one he receives, right?

I am not dismissing the fact that Gil may very likely be reacting to the unrest between his dad and me. What's tough is trying to decipher between that, a manipulative kid, and age-appropriate boundary testing. At this point my guess is it's a little bit of everything.

Sigh

When I hear the next I HATE YOU!, I will continue to reply as I always do: "That's fine. You can hate me all you want. I will always love you, Gil. I'm not going anywhere."

Bottomless cup of coffee for one

There is nothing quite like the relaxing, quiet, coffee and alone time I get on Sunday mornings. Before the kids' dad picks them up for church, my responsibility is to timely wake and feed them, make sure they get dressed, and that they're clean. The latter is optional and really more about my tolerance of a dirty kid, but typically necessary. I can usually accomplish this by observing the sheen and status of their hair as they emerge from a night's sleep: Greasy? Bed head? Wait. Were they born with those cowlicks?

On keeping it real. Very very real.

If you feel like reading a cheerful humorous tale of this and that, this post is not for you.

So far I've been pretty candid about my experience with divorce. Continuing to honor that, I will say that I have been a fool. Me being naive and underestimating this whole thing is nothing new. But I actually thought this new fangled divorce process was going to work for us. What I've realized is it takes two people to make forging a new, revolutionary, path successful.

My cheeks burn right now with frustration, anger, and hurt. If this bothers you to hear this? Think of how I feel.

Day 6

Please don't be confused by my inherent ability to live in the present yet post from the past. It's something that runs in my family and we really don't like to talk about it. Someone, some distant cousin, once told me it had something to do with the CIA or a lamp or some mountain or a wardrobe, but I'm just here to tell you to go with it.

Jon really doesn't want me to talk about this, so I'm going to do my best to respect that. While still blogging about it.

First of all, each couple deciding to split needs to explore mediation. Why we didn't do that the first go-round is beyond me. The fact both of us wasted so much time and money on attorneys and the judicial system really aggravates me.

Second of all, and this is the good part, not all married couples deciding to divorce hate each other. It's amazing how many people doubted Jon's and my ability to maintain a relationship of friendship and support while putting our kids' needs miles ahead of our own. It was traveling to the over-explored, dysfunctional, expensive, developing country (I know, right?) of Traditional Divorce that really made me open my eyes to the possibilities of what Jon and I could actually accomplish if we put our minds to it and told my stupid attorney to fuck off. That and the native language these people speak makes no sense at all: legalese

Not to mention the invaluable lesson of payinging attention to my own needs alongside my kids'. Because in my book? A mom who isn't in tune with who she is, - or at least beginning to listen to herself - is going to travel through Traditional Divorce's neighboring province of Losing Your Identity. I hear they have a good underground system of public transportation, but that's the problem: Nothing ever surfaces there. You pretend to be something you're not without exploring what really exists. What really makes you feel secure and confident. Because this system keeps you going in circles without getting anywhere. Scary place, you guys. I've been there. My visa apparently expired and I was stuck there for TEN YEARS.

I am here to encourage you to explore mediation before ever talking to an attorney. Sure, attorneys may be required at some point. But not right away. The beautiful part about it is you can decide that for yourself. You dictate the speed at which this process travels. No one else. If you're amicable with your ex-whatever, go for it. Try to iron out what you guys need to address with someone qualified to facilitate conflict resolution. You won't be disappointed.

Editor's Note: How validating is THIS!

Notice anything...different?

Come on, you guys. Tell me how much you love my new look! I really blame that stale old masthead, representing the life I struggled to live, for my inability to write. No more false advertising for this lady.

On shifting

It's been bugging me lately that I have this yearning to create a blog entry, but when I go to write one, I CAN'T. I get this great idea for a topic and then POOF! just like that it's gone.

Today it dawned on me: The masthead. It's all wrong. Just like me struggling to go about my daily routine with Jon still in it, this blog still has him in the masthead. See? Up there?

Not only that, you guys, but we no longer have the Sprinter, bless it's heart. Probably went to some electrician, or general contractor, or painter, or courier, or moving company. SOMEWHERE IT BELONGS.

Just like the decision to ditch the Sprinter and finally get a normal family vehicle, I opted to ditch Jon as my husband. Wait. I'm still keeping him on as The Father of My Kids. He's really good at that part. Amazing, even. Not so much in the Emily's Husband role, though.

I'm shedding things over here, you guys. People warned me this happens with divorce. And I'm really thinking I'm starting to believe it. The contract is the first to go. You know, the one that declares this person as your HUSBAND or WIFE? Just a formality? Really? Enjoy it when you get sick of that person you spent however-many years with and want out. And that whole 50% thing? Might be worth paying attention to.

Friends shed like your dog's winter coat. Or that snake skin you find on the vine whilst vintnering (shout out to Molly!). It's amazing how people choose to align with one person or the other, rarely maintaining a balance with both exes. Everyone plays a hearty role in creating this shift in friendships. I've found trusting people I once thought I could to be difficult. If you're friends with Jon, supporting Jon, how can you also, equally, support and help me? And vice versa. You may think you can, say you can even. But I don't buy it. I successfully shoved a pretty good friend away by, well, I'll keep all those dainty details to myself. But see, I clearly needed to shift myself in a different direction than the one I was going. I have found a minute select few who are capable of being friends with both Jon and me. And that group can be shaved down into two more groups: Real and Not So Real. Surface bullshit is no longer a part of any friendship I desire. Being blunt and honest? That's a very strong part of my character. Those who can't handle it, POOF! gone.

There's this thing we call Self Medicating. Are you familiar? Thought so. Being able to shed the need to escape into a bottle of High Life or even Torpedo or Two Hearted and replace it with going to bed when my kids do is a fantastic change. Plus I like to enjoy my beers and not just not just regret having them when I get up in the morning. Ouch.

Part of being married to someone I didn't want to be married to created a lot of conflict within myself. Following the divorce, I continued to maintain a positive relationship "for the kids." Just like that guy Doug from the 80s would say, It's an illusion! I'm all, Wait. Didn't I divorce you? For those reasons? Why are you still here? What am I doing? It's like Sleeping Beauty who was awoken after 100 years of slumber by a simple kiss from her prince. Only I'm waking after 10 years of constantly comparing myself to other wives and mothers, knowing the whole time it didn't feel right. And nobody's kissing me. It's Egan shouting, MOOOOOOOOOOOOOM, CAN YOU WIPE ME?!

It's extremely liberating to focus my energies on my kids, my career, my interests, and me; instead of trying to be someone I'm not with all that pretend stuff in the way.

Now about that masthead...

Zoloft

For about half a year I've been numbed by the fantastic combination of unscrewing a prescription bottle and sertraline hydrochloride. I denied the idea that I couldn't feel. Tears still flooded my eyes when prompted, my patience was certainly tested, and I continued to analyze the world around me no problem. I appreciated the lack of reaction elicited by my children, and the divorce process, that would otherwise send me into a tailspin of a tizzy. But now I'm feeling like my old self packaged in a newly divorced, single, mom sorta way. That's what's in me. It's me. And I like it, you guys. I really like it.

To feel like a woman

It's a good thing Jon forced me to I opted out of the Valentine's Day traditions of obligatory gift giving. Jon believes Valentine's Day to be a holiday completely manufactured by Hallmark. Suckers who buy into the supposed responsibility of Showing Her You Care while perpetuating the cycle of bullshit consumption from China. And Blood Diamonds. Kind of like Wal Mart.

Isn't that romantic?

Instead of traveling through year after year of complete and utter disappointment, I successfully denied my inner hopeless romantic. Now that I'm "single," you guys, the thought of exchanging gifts goes from obligatory to fun. And exciting. And spontaneous. And loving. And caring. And...and...and...

While I can force myself to understand Jon's opposition to said holiday, I also appreciate sharing tokens of one's love. Sure I talked myself into bashing STUPID VALENTINE'S DAY! for ten years. That's called SURVIVAL. Having a relationship with someone who thinks surprising a loved one with flowers is a waste of money jaded my perception of romance.

Jon's idea of romance: Wining and dining? Let's just skip to the sixty-nining.

My idea of romance: GO ASK ANY WOMAN!

Learning to fly

Amdist my wracked mothering nerves chased by Zoloft, I find myself slowly but surely grasping the importance of financial stability. I know, right?

As Jon and I were wading through the gunk of divorce, I was all, I'M GONNA GO HERE & I'M GONNA GO THERE...AND THERE...AND, AIRLINE TICKETS? $300? I'M THERE!! NEW SHIRT? SHOES? OUTTA MY WAY, JON!

The financial freedom from Jon's stinginess frugality I was experiencing was overwhelming. In my life I've had only ten years of financial education and that was from Jon. No offense, Mom & Dad, but I wasn't exactly prepared for living a financially responsible existence after leaping from your nest. The one piece of advice I still cling to, with one itty bitty pinky tip - but still, was my dad saying after graduating from high school, "DON'T. GET. A. CREDIT. CARD." 5 simple words I carried with me through my life before meeting Jon.

I find it a miracle I actually listened to my dad's advice. Looking back on my late teens and early twenties I cringe at the thought of carrying as much credit card debt as I did cases of beer, packs of cigarettes, and bags of weed. At least I didn't have a credit card.

Redefining

2010 has inspired me to redefine a very prominent relationship in my life. Due to divorce, Jon and I have been referring to our new relationship as Partners in Parenting. Considering the other our "partner." Funny how that one word really keeps the people guessing.

Before the wound began to scab I would call Jon my husband or when introducing myself to someone Jon knows: "Jon's wife, Emily." I would justify using these words for simplicity sake. I am learning in my adult life how to provide just enough information when describing something to convey the message while remaining authentic to myself. Does it really matter if the local dairy farmer knows my marital status? He couldn't care less, I'm sure. It's me who cares.

I love waking before the kids to get my work done and enjoy my coffee doing whatever I want.

I am grateful for the clothing I have to keep me warm.

New Plan: Day 2

The best part about creating my own writing goal? I made it up and can amend it as needed. That's the worst: committing to something and then letting yourself down by not following through. That's when you practice unconditional love for yourself and move on.

Our divorce is final. Jon and I completed our Children in the Middle class on Saturday, leaving us feeling validated and closer in our new roles as Partners in Parenting. The whole damn thing still seems surreal. Not only admitting defeat and filing for divorce, but then going through with the whole process.

Hey wait a second...I followed through!

p.s. This post is dedicated to my new dear friend Tara and her subtle nudges to conitnue writing.

Business as usual?

I was checking in with Allie this morning to see how she's doing. Emotionally. While spreading her Nutella on one piece of bread and peanut butter on the other, without hesitation she describes a moment in the lunch line yesterday.

Our neighbor boy announced, "Wow. I can't believe your parents are getting divorced."

Asshole, I thought. I had just informed his mother the day before of the change occurring in our house.

Tears are filling Allie's eyes as I encourage her to continue the story.

We talked about the importance of Talking About Your Feelings and Not Keeping Them Inside. We discussed the members of Allie's support system; formal and informal. It was interesting to me how she labeled mostly formal - doctors, lawyers - as I was really pushing for recognition of informal - friends, family, teachers.

This also brought about the opportunity to talk about standing up for oneself.

"I know you believe in that, Mom. I know how important it is. Can you get the pretzels down, please?"

Liberation

I told you I'd be back, right? Well here I am. Now I vow not to announce myself like this anymore as I find it far more irritating than you do.

Today I sit with a somewhat-sick 4 year old laid out on the couch with the tones of Big Bird, Elmo, and Maria and Bob filling the air. I still have a hard time accepting that everyone, EVERYONE, can see Snuffy. Poor Egan may have contracted his cousin's illness of last week. The first Stay Home Sick Day, replete with the obligatory call in to the teacher who also, obligatorily, sighs and hopes for the best. After describing Egan's whiney begging to go to bed, glassy eyed, last night, "Well, that's not like him AT ALL!" No shit. Thanks.

After getting the kids off to school, my routine is to fill the biggest coffee cup possible with my freshly brewed joe, and set up shop at my desk to tend to computer and administrative responsibilities. Even if it is just facebooking, I'm still entitled to that time, right? But today I'm going through my bank account and student loan websites. My own. Cutting a check from my checkbook, from my checking account, for Egan's September tuition was quite liberating this morning. Adding various events into my upcoming calendar months, deciding whether I want to do this or that. It's up to me, you guys. And I really like that feeling right now.