angela32’s blog

It's been a long time since I've written here.  I got away from it for a while because life has been so busy.  Good news, the kids and I are officially on our own two feet again, we have a house, the oldest is in Kindergarten, and financially things are on the up swing.  With all the good things happening the idea of karma keeps entering my mind.  In the past few months I've made a huge effort not to gossip, not to have negative thoughts, and to try and let things not bug me in general.  Well, since this decision, good things have been happening.  I'm not saying it's b/c of Karma, but just having that thought in the back of my mind has made me realize all the really great stuff that surrounds me each day.  I have a great job, teaching 8th graders is not only funny,but most days I walk out of there hopeful of our future, my two children are happy,caring and for the most part well behaved.  Okay, so maybe they're a bit on the wild side, but they are full of love and joy.  Life is Good and I have faith it's just going to keep getting better!

I hate that this blog sounds like the angry, bitter, ex-wife blog, but sometimes that's how I feel.  There is no one that can get me more angry than him.  It's not what he does, but what he doesn't do.  I can't stand a man that will not take financial responsibility for their kids, but plays the daddy hero role and bitches to everyone about the evil ex wife who is only after money.  It really makes me mad.  He has perfected that role too.  He NEVER offers any help to pay for the kids' s tuition, clothing, sports, nothing.  The only reason why he pays child support is because the state garnished his wages.  He lied about how much he makes (he gets paid under the table along with his paycheck) so he doesn't have to pay much for his kids.  And the kicker, my kids who are 5 and 2 think he's a hero.  He's the best, so much fun, the good guy, the guy that will pick them up 4 days a month and bring them to McDonalds and buy them toys.  What they don't know is that he refuses to pick them up on the "off " week for dinner, that he owes me 17,000 dollars, that he NEVER calls and asks about school, health, any of that.  He's the hero 4 days a month and I have to be the parent.  Anger, fury, rage, there not strong enough adjectives to describe my emotions towards him.  Put his "father of the year" act with all the things he's done to me and others and it makes me crazy.  It kills me that this man will have an influence in MY children's lives.  I hate that they are going to have to face what kind of man he really is, what he did, why he got into legal trouble, etc...  It's going to crush them.  I do not say one bad thing about their father in front of them, it's not their battle. I just don't know how I'm going to answer the questions the first time my son or daughter googles their last name and see what he's done.  They're to young to talk about it with, I'm not sure when a good age is.  Ugh, I really hate him

Hope is the one thing that has driven me since I was small.  I remember hoping my dad would stop at the ice cream shop on the way home, hoping for my cabbage patch kid, hoping my mom would say yes to having my best friend spend the night.

After I was married and had children and became settled into everyday life, hope wasn't such a big part of things anymore.  I knew that this was it, I was a teacher, married, two children.  Normal.  The beginning of my life as mom and wife were very happy and fullfilling.  All I had ever wanted was a normal family, nice home, and happiness for my children.  I guess as a child of a difficult divorce, it's  common hope... normalcy.  When life started falling apart 3 years into my marriage and serene life, hope entered the picture again.  I hoped that my husband would somehow change, that he would reform himself from a life of sociopathic behavior. That lying to me would change, that he would become a person who could follow the conduct of morality everyone else around me did.  I wasn't asking for huge things.  Just a person that didn't steal the 20000 we saved for a house, a person that didn't tell me he was going to work everyday when he really didn't have a job, just a person that didn't intercept the mail everyday so I wouldn't find out he was opening and running up debt in my name, a person that didn't make fake bank statements so I wouldn't figure things out, a person that didn't hide my bank cards or my cell phone so it was hard for me to figure it out.  Even after all this, when things were discovered, I had hope that he could change, that after therapy and some explanation we could get back to normal.  Reading this, if i were on the outside of this situation I wold have told me to RUN!! RUN as fast as you can.  But, hope for my family, for my children drove me to stay.  I convinced myself his actions were because he was depressed and ashamed about losing his job, that I put too much pressure on him to move forward with out lives. His parents agreed, they said I needed to back off, that he was depressed and didn't want to dissapoint me.  So, the hope drove me to go forward in a trustless marriage.  For a while it worked, he got a job, he told the truth, and I was very good at rationalizing anything odd that came my way.  Then it started again.  I won't go into the details, it hurts too much.  Let's just say, there was no turning back.  We left, I packed up my babies and left.  At this point, crying on the bathroom floor so the kids couldn't hear, hope was so distant.  The darkest time of my life were the first few months after our family destructed.  The worst part was it wasn't just a family affair, it was in the media, on the news, in the newspapers, talk at all the local shops and cafe's.  I developed two personas. The one that put on the strong face, that forced myself to walk into the coffee shop as the stares and whispers followed me.  The one that would go to the playground with the other mom's despite everything.  It was the "fake me", the one that smiled and played with my children.  The one that silently cried as I held my sobbing four year old to comfort him.  THe one that went on with life working, teaching, being a mom.  But, in the moments alone I would fall apart.  It would usually be in the shower, because that was the only time I was truly alone.  I would sit there, letting the water almost burn me and cry.  I would wonder how I was going to get through this, more importantly how I was going to get my two children through this.  It's weird because I was surrounded by family but completely isolated and alone. I couldn't talk about it with them because they were too emotionally connected to the circumstances.  So, I would cry in the shower.  At that point I was hopeless.

Now, coming out on the other side, the sun is shining again.  A small seed of hope has been planted in my soul again.  Most days I am happy, not faking it anymore.  In my heart I know that my kids are going to be okay, I'm not just saying it anymore because I know that's what people want to hear.  There's hope about me moving on, finding a home, being an excellent mom.  Trauma and destruction changed me for the better,  I'm healing, I'm stronger, I'm on my way, being hopeful.  A co-worker said to me last week that looking at me he would have never guessed the living nightmare I was going through was happening. He said it doesn't show in my passion for work, my dedication, my good mood.  I smiled and said thank you.  What he doesn't know is that I save my tears for those times alone.  But now, I'm happy again.  I can' only describe it like you are in a dark room and someone cracks the door with just a little light shining through.  That's where I am, opening the door and letting the light in again.  I'm excited for our future, of where we'll end up.  Hope can be allusive, but it can give you the power to come through even the toughest things.

Do you have that one person in your life that makes you feel, well, small?  I do, and for me it's my mother.  I know that's very psychoanalytical or whatever, but it truly is.  Growing up I can remember always being at odds with her.  I was the one that was in trouble, the one that was in time out, the emotional one.  As I grew up, especially my teenage years, whenever she was around me I felt tense, like I had to walk on eggshells.  No matter what I did, how I acted, I couldn't make her happy.  I remember this feeling so well as a teenager.  I was always worried that I was going to be in trouble. I didn't drink, went to school, got good grades and took care of myself.  Yet, despite this she always thought the worst in me.  I remember one time I came home from a friend's house after watching movies and she started yelling at me telling me I was high.  I was grounded for that.  No matter what I said or did, she didn't believe me.  Despite this, all i wanted was for her to respect me, to realize that I was a smart person capable of making normal decisions.  Our relationship was beyond strained in my high school years.  Finally,. my senior year I couldn't take it anymore and I moved out with a friend until high school was over.  When I left, she told me I was not welcome in her house.  It wasn't a huge fight or anything, I just knew that no matter what I was a disappointment to her.  When I graduated high school, she refused to come because she was mad at me.  When I applied for colleges, she did not help at all because she was mad at me.  Finally, when I decided to go to Florida for college and live with my dad, she didn't say goodbye because she was mad at me.  I went to college for four years and she never called, never visited, never had any interest.  I remember one time she came to Florida to visit my grandfather and didn't even call to see if we could meet up for lunch.  Finally, college graduation came, and you guessed it ... she was mad at me. Who knows why, she ended up leaving early.  At least she saw me graduate but didn't stay for the big celebration dinner. 

So, why am I venting about this 10 years later?  Because, she still has the ability to make me feel totally disrespected, guilty, and doubtful of myself.  Sometimes I want to just scream at her and tell her to shut up, of course I won't.  I don't know why, as a 32 year old that I worry if she's mad at me.  It's ridiculous.  She does not respect me as a woman or more importantly as a mother. 

After I got divorced ( a year ago), my ex totally ruined me financially, including putting me in 20,000 of debt.  I was a stay at home mom at the time and had to wait until I could start up a teaching job again...  long story short, I was broke and homeless with 2 kids.  So, I had to move it with my mother.  From the moment I stepped in the doors it's been tense.  SHe is constantly critiziing my parenting, making small sidehanded remarks, stepping over me to disipline my kids, and overall.  She can still make me feel horrible at the age of 32, and I have to keep my mouth shut because I'm in her house.  It kills me emotionally. 

It's taken me a year to pay off the 20,000 my ex put in my name without me knowing and to get back on my feet.  Being a teacher I only bring home 600 a week, which isn't a lot when you have to pay for a car, daycare, etc... Finally, I am able to think about getting out on my own again and i can't wait.  I just wish she would stop judging and be respectful. 

So, there's my vent.  Tonight's a night when I want to just tell her to stop, but once again I can't.  I just hope I don't make my own kids feel this way too.  I'm so worried about that "cycle" you always hear about.  It will be broken this time.

I am wondering how a five year old  can go from perfect angel to complete evil in under 1 second? Seriously, isn't this something a pms'ing mom should do instead?  Bug number 1 was playing great with his cousins, sharing, blah blah,,,  In under a second he changed and started being angry, throwing rocks, and talking back in only the infuriating way a five year old can.  Of course, we did the usual time out routine, which doesn't work with bug1 or bug2 for that matter.  After about 35 minutes or so, of course all in front of his cousins and uncle leave because the behavior is scaring the 3 year old cousin, he turns into my angel again.  So this was our conversation about it "bug, why did you get so angry all of a sudden?  If you are angry you can't yell and hit people. Instead go in your room and punch your pillow or scream into your couch. What got you so mad?"  Okay I thought this was very "mommy of me" what I really wanted to say, okay scream was " what the f*** is wrong with you, you ar acting like a spoiled brat and you are driving me nuts not to mention embarassing me in front of the 'perfect children' .  So, bug1's response to my mommy moment... "hey mom, did you smell the fart bug2 just did?"  Okay, now I'm wondering if he understands English at all, or do I need to learn this secret language of 5 year old boys.  I give up.  Hope for the best right?  Then I was thinking... does this ever really end with boys/men?  The not listening at all to words coming out of my mouth?  I teach 13 year old boys all day long.  In fact my classes are 95 percent boy.  I will spend 30 minutes or so discussing, explaining, diagraming, doing hand stands, and of course the one boy will raise his hand and say "so, what are we doing?"  The teacher in me says, " okay student x, you need to listen, I'll be there in a moment to help you out."  Again what I really want to say is " what the f*** is wrong with you, you are acting like a spoiled brat and are driving me nuts... Hmm, same thoughts towards bug1 today.  But, the upside of my boys at age 5 or 13 is they make me laugh and a good fart joke gets them all at any time.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever fall in love again.  Of course this isn't the thing that's on my mind all the time, but I do wonder if it will ever happen.  I wonder where I would meet a single quality man too.  I live in a tiny town, hang around with married moms who have children my age, and work as a teacher with pretty much all females.  The thought is daunting.  Being on the outside, as a divorced person, can get me down sometimes.  Tonight is one of those nights.  We had a "big" family dinner and everyone there is married, except for me.  It's not a "ooh poor me" thing, it's a "I wish I had someone to go home with too."  I miss being a "we", I miss the talking, the connection only shared between me and another person.  I can honestly say that I didn't have that with my husband, although I tried.  Being in a lonely marriage full of lies is worse than being alone.  I just hope I'm destined not to be single for the next 50 years.  I do have a plan in case of that though.  WHen my kids are grown, I'll retire from teaching and work for a cruise line or something traveling the world.  After all, what's an old spinster to do? I guess I'm just bummed tonight.  It's weird being the only unmarried person in my family and circle of friends.

Well, the kids are at their dad's this weekend and I just got home from work(the second job).  It's weird how the energy in the house feels depleted when they're not here.  It's not the noise, the constant questions, or the business, something just feels less.  I don't know about other mom's, but I can totally "feel" my kid's energy when they are home.  I think my son can pick on it too.  Just last week before daddy dearest came to get him he said to me, " dad's almost here I can feel him."  A weird comment from a four year old.  But, two seconds later daddy dearest pulled up.  Although, I miss them when there not here, it's nice knowing I can wake up tomorrow whenever I want, have a hot cup of coffee, and not have to watch the Little Einsteins.  I love the two bugs more than life itself, but sometimes sleeping in past 7 is such a luxury.

I went out to dinner with some girlfriends last night and they were complaining about their husbands.  How it's so hard to do it all, while their husbands seem to not do enough.  I feel like such an outsider during these types of conversations because I remember that, the husband.  But I look at them and want to say,  you should feel lucky you have someone to share it with, you have someone to talk to after the kids are in bed, you have someone to watch the kids while you run to Shaw's in the pouring rain(instead of dragging 2 kids with you).  Being a single mom is the hardest thing I have ever done.  Thank God though, I get to snuggle those two bugs every night before they fall asleep, I get to hold them when they cry, I get to belly laugh at their actions, I get to revel in their innocence.  I love them, but they are tiring.  So goes motherhood, I guess.

Okay, I know my blogspot is a tad boring, okay there's nothing.  I really have no clue how to download photos or anything.  I'm sure someday soon I'll figure it out.  I just like the idea of being able to write freely and kind of have an outlet for anything I want to say.  Pretty great, actually.

So, a little about me.  I'm a recent single mom of a 5 year old boy and a two year old girl.  I know it's such a cliche, but they really are my heart and soul.  WIthout my two little bugs who knows where I would be after the year and a half we have had.  Actually, I'd probably be sitting on a tropical island somewhere.

So often when I meet new people they want to know how I could possibly be divorced at  only 32 and with two young children..."how selfish" is the rumbling behind my back.  However, anyone that knows the story behind it, thinks differenty.  Of course, I won't get into the horrid details right now. Let's just say my ex husband led a double life.  On the surface he was an amazing dad and good husband. However, he has a whole other side to him too that I didn't know about.  When I did find out (through an arrest and a little digging) our family was shattered.  I'll never forget the night when it happened.  Do you have ever have those moments in your life that you know as it's happening that you will never come out the other side the same?  I remember hugging my babies as they slept, tears fell because I knew that this was the instant that they were changed, that their future would not be what it was supposed to be.  Today, a year and a half later it still breaks me.  I just don't know how to fix the broken heart of a 5 year old boy.  Thankfully, my daughter was only 9 months when everything happened, she didn't have to go through the grief and heartbreak that my son experienced and still does sometimes.  When I think back to the past year, I wonder how we made it.  I know understand the meaning of "dark days."  I was left with two babies, no money (i was a stay at home mom) and having to pull it all together for my children.

As I look back at that experience I realize that I've come out the other side different, but better.  I am strong, independent, and have a sense of who I am as a woman and a mother.  I think so often those things get lost in the craziness of life. 

My kids are happy and healthy.  Smiles and laughter have now replaced anger and tears and we are enjoying our new family structure.  Of course there are days, okay pretty much everyday, that I'm tired and would LOVE someone to help out with dinner, baths, laundry, playing trucks,  deterring toddlers climbing up the walls... but as they say "these are the days"  and I believe it.  I get to laugh everyday and see two little bugs grow into amazing people.