You ever want to rub someone's face off on the sidewalk for no reason other than they did something in the past? Brandon is best friends with a woman he used to date. They dated two years ago, it ended badly, and save for one occasion over a year ago, they haven't had physical contact like that since.
I'm totally okay with them being friends. I even like her and am friends with her, because she's my kind of people. I just keep the knowledge they used to do the naked tango together in a separate part of my brain and I can deal with that.
But when it's brought up in conversation they used to get naked and how often they'd get naked, either by someone else or when Brandon is retelling a story, I want to bash her face in until brain matter is painting the room.
Brandon does not understand how I am perfectly okay with them being friends and I still have moments where I want to shove a railroad spike through her eye. I've tried explaining it has nothing to do with her, or him, or anything other than he's mine and by God, I don't share.
Then Man I Used to Fuck came up. I don't have another name for him, so we'll go with MIUtF for short. He's in the military and is going to be back in our hometown over Christmas. MIUtF and I will probably hang out, as that is what friends do. And while he is firmly in the "used to fuck" category and not going to ever again be in the "plan to fuck" schedule, Brandon has an issue with it. Which I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND. But come on, do you really think I'm going to wreck a good thing for someone who had a chance with me and GAVE IT UP, only to realize later THAT I'M GODDAMN FUCKING AMAZING? He actually called to tell me that he'd made a mistake in picking women, and that comments and posts on FB that he knows are aimed at Brandon make him jealous. Not my goddamn problem fucker, you cocked up and now you can live with it.
But the fight ensued after that, and it ended when I basically said everything his ex's (who have cheated on him) said... which made me feel bad.
How is it that I feel bad after a fight that wasn't an actual fight? There was no yelling, no screaming, no throwing of anything, no slamming doors...

I'm in the unusual position of being the one in the family to hold the shit together.  Normally, I can let my crazy shine, but DH is dealing with some heavy stuff right now and I know the last thing he needs it any extra to deal with from me.

DH is usually the calm person around here.  And what he's having to work through right now is seriously fucking with his personality.  I know what he's dealing with but there is not a thing I can do to help and I hate that.

Last night was pretty horrible here and today I'm wondering if he's really as okay as he says he is now or what.  I know and he knows that it's just going to take time for him to feel like his old self again but this is really fucking hard.

My youngest daughter came down with a really nasty bug this week while we had family staying with us from out of town. I basically kept her in my bedroom to avoid spreading the germs and spent my time washing my hands, running up and down the stairs, cleaning up after Pukefest 2012, while cooking and entertaining guests who were wonderfully understanding of the predicament.

Someone not so understanding? The husband. Who at one point tried to make me feel guilty for sitting up with our daughter while she hurled and ran a high fever and coughed herself silly instead of hanging out on the patio with our guests. Seriously. Did he offer to help? Take over sick duty since the family was my cousin that I haven't seen in 20 years? Nope.

Thursday and Friday were abnormally long days at work for him. I'd love to say he made overtime or something but given he is on salary it just meant he made a whole lot less those two days. Typically, I cut him a wide berth for being extra tired, especially since we were up late with our guests, but given that I was running on about 3 hours of sleep from Monday all the way through Friday night - I was a tad less sympathetic to his fatigue after 2 long days. He came home Friday loaded for bear, ready to have some sort of argument over something stupid, I was exhausted and basically just ejected him from the room rather than drag it out into full blown hall way sex. Hall way sex? That's where you pass each other in the hall way and yell, "Fuck you!" and get responded to with, "No. Fuck YOU."

Now it's Saturday morning and mom (that would be me) is officially spent. I've managed to keep the house relatively clean, fresh coffee in the pot every morning, made dinner almost every night and nursed a sick kid. In his world, he is the most exhausted, most put out, and has expended the most amount of energy. Did I mention he slept somewhere else while I sat up with sick kid?

It would be nice to hear, "wow, you probably need a break. Why don't you take a nap while I keep tabs on everything." Except, I know I'd wake up and find him asleep in front of the television while the kid sat there glassy eyed, nose running, dry heaving and scorching like a human furnace.

While I have loads of sympathy for the sick kid, I've got to say I'm reaching the end of  my rope. When an eight year old whines and refuses to actually speak and tell you what is hurting or how she is feeling when you ask - I'm not exactly going to continue with the "oh, poor baby" routine. I love my kid, but she's 8 not 8 months old. I'm well past the point of checking her diaper, feeding her, burping her and running through the whole routine until she goes to sleep or stops crying. Which, is basically what I told her last night when she insisted on whimpering instead of telling me what was wrong. This morning she made her grand entrance downstairs to plop her ass on the couch and proceeded to throw a full blown crying jag where her dad and sister could see her because I wanted her to actually try to EAT something before she took her medicine. Tears, hysterical sobbing and "you are so MEEEEAAAAAANNNNN to MEEEEEEEEEEE" with full blown dramatic flourish for her captive viewing audience. I marched her back upstairs and plopped her back into bed. There is just no way I am going to cater to an 8 year old acting like a 2 year old - especially after the entire week of practically no sleep that I've had.

So, combine that with the husband's "oh poor me" routine and I've had it. I'm sorry, honey, I don't want to hear how tired and achy you are or how hard those two days have been for you. Fresh out of sympathy - I ran out of it roughly the same time I ran out of "supportive husband." And, if I hear you peacefully snoring while I clean the kitchen and clean up after a sick kid and company one more time - there is a really good chance that I'm going to jam a banana up both of your nostrils.

I was able to spend a girls weekend with my family in Georgia. 10 women, 4 generations, ages 6 to 94.
We talked.
We laughed.
We shopped.
We played tourist.
We ate (a lot!)
We played games.
We cheated outrageously at games.
We laughed some more.
It was wonderful.
It was much needed.

Is it to much to ask that if I left the house clean, I would come home to a clean house?



Apparently!

It's been a while, hasn't it? The following post seems a bit more freaky (maybe it's just me) if you were to read this post about my previous limbo state.  Wow, a lot has changed since I last posted here. I've just finished reading some of my older posts and realized that things are dramatically different around here now. You see, shortly after that post my son decided he wanted nothing more to do with us, thanks to the girlfriend from hell, he moved in with my father and stepmother who proceeded to cut him off from us in every way possible. We haven't spoken to him since May 20, 2011. Over a year and we've missed his birthday and holidays that we'll never get back. Shortly after his departure my MIL died, my former best friend married and I've never spoken to either again.

That is the short story. The long story has been roughly a year of trying to get over having my child break my heart and trying to somehow pull my marriage back together. Life has revolved around the husband and the girls, now ages 17 and 8. Since my son's departure my husband and I focus mainly on the girls and improving their existence since both had taken a back seat to the melodrama of my son and his girlfriend. We attended concerts, had holidays, went to ball games and reconnected with my husband's family and some of my family who had been M.I.A. for quite a while. My mother is still vicious, manipulative, and thankfully absent from our  lives and now my sister, father, and stepmother have followed her exit as well.

My life was smoothing out.

A few months ago I hooked up with my cousin that I haven't spoken to in roughly 20 years. No falling out, no ill will, he just got the hell out of dodge with his wife and child and made a life for them far away from here. He lives in Portland, OR. I've lived in California most of my life, well, except for those 2 years I spent in Colorado. I don't dig California nearly as much as I used to and God knows with my family as crazy as they are I've wanted to create my own Witness Relocation Program more times than I can count.

Guess what happens when you put those kinds of thoughts out there? Life has a funny way of bringing you things... Now I have to decide how good those things may or may not be. My cousin retired doing the same work my husband does now, which is strange because it's not a common kind of job. On the phone last week he tells me he can get my husband a job in Portland "easy." All I have to do is get him a resume and he'll "float it around" up there and see what comes up.

 Me:

Followed by:

Originally, I started this as a brief update to the other Bitches. Turns out, I'm not so good at being brief this morning.

I hate to sound punitive and immature, but I finally snapped. I'm always the recipient of the "freezer treatment" when I've pissed my husband off. It gets annoying and it's hurtful. It is also somewhat satisfying when you finally get to turn the tables.

You see, on Saturday after a round of "nothing spectacular but fairly satisfying sex" I made my husband a margarita (complete with salt rimmed glass, freshly squeezed lime juice, fresh orange juice, etc. you get the point) and I brought it to him out on the patio. I sat down and we were chatting with our oldest daughter and a friend who was over. The plan was for us to play a game on the lawn in the backyard and so I asked my husband if he would pick up the dog bombs. Dog bomb disposal is his chore around the house. I clean toilets and bathrooms - he can pick up the dog bombs.

He told me he had and I pointed out, nicely, that he missed a pile. Considering we were about to have balls rolling around the backyard (for a game, keep your mind out of the gutter!) it was necessary for all of the bombs to be picked up. He bristled and proceeded to tell me in a nasty and degrading tone that I knew where the shovel was and could go clean up the dog bombs myself. The conversation degraded from there with me plastering my "I'm going to kill you in private" smile on my face in front of company. He began stubbornly, stumbling full steam ahead into what he is just now beginning to realize was saying all the wrong things he possibly could, disrespecting and embarrassing me in front of both one of our kids and company.

I got up and disappeared into the house and that was the last I have spoken to my husband, willingly. Unless he addresses me specifically by name and I deem it important to the basic function of the household, I refuse to acknowledge his presence at all.

Except for my not being able to resist shooting him with the kitchen sprayer through the kitchen window and soaking his ass while he bent over fixing something. Unfortunately, I couldn't get out of the kitchen quickly enough and what followed was something out of a Doris Day movie with me crouched down behind the kitchen island pretending to clean something up and him blatantly catching me, essentially hiding from him.

But, other than that, I've managed to steadily apply the ice treatment with astonishing consistency. At first he seemed to enjoy it, he watched obnoxious movies while monopolizing the family room, he stayed out drinking on the patio until late while blaring music loudly and most likely pissing off our neighbors. When he finally stumbled into bed he began moaning, flopping, and thrashing in his sleep. I pulled out my trusty straight pin and jabbed him soundly any time he rolled over or intruded on my space. I finally just pointed it in the direction of his ass so every time he rolled over he rolled right on top of it - usually with the amusing result of him jumping and lurching back to the other side of the bed. I had to remind myself that Celeste always told me to be careful laughing so I wouldn't shake the bed and wake him up, but the truth is, it's easy to torment someone who is sleeping off a good drunk.

That was Saturday night. Sunday was quiet and boring. I took our oldest daughter out for some light grocery shopping and left him with our youngest playing video games. I spent the evening having a lovely salmon dinner and chatting with our kids and a guest we had over while carefully never including him in the conversation.

Then sometime around 6am this morning he rolled over in bed and attempted to cuddle. I moved over and shoved him off me. He tried again and I scooted over, carefully shoving the comforter and sheet into a wadded barrier between the two of us to fill the gap before he had the opportunity to. He finally took the hint and got up.

There was a time when I would have accepted his affection and let him off the hook. But the fact that he has elected to be so stubborn when a proper, contrite apology would have cleared it up and certainly improved the weekend - is making it very easy for me to just ignore him completely. It used to bother me, us not getting along. He's just about to realize that it bothers me less and less.

Mother's Day here was nice. Husband had to go to work early for a bit that morning but brought home breakfast (hummus!) and a nice card. My stepsons texted me that morning without their Dad prompting them to do so. Yay for technology! It was a lazy day.

Now, as lazy as I can be, I like to know what the hell is going on. Like today.

Husband tells me that OldestStepson(16) is staying late after school so I don't need to pick him up early. OS texts me and asks me to get him because instead of staying late to exercise, he wants to come home and do homework. Okay. Good decision, kid. I go to pick up YoungestStepson(14) and am waiting and waiting and waiting for him to come out of school when OS calls and tells me that he's pretty sure YS has basketball practice today. A call to Husband confirms this and I go home.

This annoys me. I know I do a million things that annoy him but if I ask him to do something or know he's going somewhere for me then I'm sure to let him know exactly what's going on. I'd never hear the end of it if I let him sit somewhere for something and had told him the wrong time.

This morning he said, "You're going to the dinner tonight, right?". WHAT dinner?! The dinner at the school for OS's baseball team. I ask him if he's sure there's a dinner and he says yes because he had to buy tickets for it. Then why in the world didn't he tell me about it when he got the tickets? I need a couple of days advance warning to put my Soccer Mom face on good and tight before doing something like this. But, yes, I will go and smile and make small talk with everyone because Husband knows everyone and is on the Athletic Committee.

And the house is just such an overwhelming mess that I don't even know where to start. We're getting ready to do some remodeling and furniture is all over the damned place. I just want to go to bed and pull the blanket over my head.

OMG - raising children is so hard! It seriously has to be the hardest job in the world. The older they get the harder it is. Sometimes I think I would rather have 3 two year olds, than 3 teen/preteen children. As parents we know what is best for them, but as pig headed children... I mean blossoming individuals, they just push so hard against the people we are trying to mold them into.



It is like trying to herd ADD cats on a mouse farm





Crisis averted. MIL not moving in with us. In fact, she's still in TREATMENT. They are going to put chemo or radiation or whatever directly into her brain and there's a pretty good chance it's going to REVERSE what's going on and take her cancer back to a "chronic illness" state.

Are you thinking, "WTF is she bitching about then?"

MIL doesn't want to be able-bodied and good to go. She wants her family that she has ignored and betrayed viciously for the last three years to gather around her in a nonstop candlelit vigil, run errands, and pretend like the last three years never happened. Today she called and told my husband he would be taking her to the store and the bank on Saturday "since he works during the week." She didn't ask if we had plans, didn't ask if there were things we needed to do, just placed her order and moved on about her business. Not like it's Easter weekend and I have eggs to dye, kids Easter baskets to prep. Nope, your business, as always, is MORE important.



I'm just... tired. It seems the more interaction I have with the people in this god-forsaken town I live in, the more I realize how narrow minded, two faced, back stabbing, and mean most of them are. Not all, no, there are some truly nice people here, but it's like trying to find the nice guy in the Third Reich.
They'd just as soon stab you in the back than tell you the truth, and most of them don't have the IQ to use a sharp knife.

Husband goes back to work Friday! He is feeling better and will be on light duty!

This means that I will have the occasional moment alone again! I love him but it sure is different around the house when he is home every second of the day.

The kids have commented that he's picking at them more than normal. When they complain, all I think is, "Better you than me!"

To prepare for going back to work he was going through some work emails and got annoyed at how some things are being done in his absence. I'm NOT looking forward to him going to work in one sense because I'm pretty sure that everyone there will take it as "Oh, good! He's back!" and use that opportunity to let him start taking care of ALL of the balls that get dropped.

I told him he needs to go to work and be an asshole. He replied that he didn't like what that would do to the atmosphere there. So I asked him exactly what was the atmosphere there and he admitted it was one of, "Don't worry about fucking up or refusing to do something because Husband will do it!". Then I told him I'd rather everyone thought he was an asshole and walked on eggshells around him than everyone get along as long as he was pulling the wagon.

Eh, we shall see what happens.

Over the last week I've been swept down a mountain with an avalanche that I neither expected nor quite knew how to deal with. Between my mother-in-law, the demon that is my mother rearing her ugly head and my daughter's 16th birthday and a veritable tsunami of unexpected orders for our business (with each order taking several hours over the course of 2 - 4 days to complete) I'm overwhelmed and reeling.

The work thing is a blessing. I don't hesitate to feel grateful for it, it's just the entire package of "when it rains.. it pours" that I'm having a tough time adjusting to. It came out of nowhere and I was completely unprepared since I was focusing on making my daughter's birthday really special on an incredibly tight budget.

But today I came downstairs, poured a cup of coffee and surveyed the damage. My children were sprawled across furniture watching television, their entourage of teenager/7 year old paraphernalia was strewn about as far as the eye could see. Through the blur of dead wii remotes, empty soda cans, ipod head phones and shoes I realized that absolutely none of their chores had even been remotely attempted. They were completely on "spring break" mode and apparently assumed (incorrectly) that I was going to come down and clean up after them and care for them before going in and going to work on the files stacked on the edge of my desk.

Before I could get to those files I was snapped at by a teenager who expected to be allowed to go to the movies with her boyfriend. She found out the hard way that snapping at your mother gets you a full day of chores and spring cleaning and no movie outing. Then I was bombarded with phone calls from my husband who just couldn't understand why I might need to vent about the children, the house, and yes, the snappy teenager who had really hurt my feelings with her PMS-laden viciousness. It would seem that I am free at any moment of the day to listen to him vent about his job, his mother, my mother, and my family - but 15 minutes of listening to me was simply taking up too much of his precious time. I hung up on him because I have that sort of disregard for my thoughts and feelings right here live in front of me - no need to go looking for them by phone as well.

Husband had surgery 3 weeks ago and has been home ever since. He's not scheduled to go back to work for 2 more weeks. On one hand, I'm glad he's listening to his doctor and not going to work too early but on the other? I'm losing my mind with not having any alone time.

I can't blog too much because he wants to know what I'm doing. If I'm reading, he wants to know what I'm reading. If I go to the bathroom, he taps on the door to tell me he has something interesting for me to see when I get out. I think he's bored out of his mind.
And the house is a mess. I get it if he feels too crappy to move around but he can still tell the teenagers that live here to clean. I'm going to have to make another "bitch list" this weekend for the boys to read every day so they are reminded to clean up.




The hubs and I are going through a "dry spell" he's been working long hours out of town. He leaves well before dawn and is home really late. Lots of overtime, except he's on salary for a tiny, shit-ass company which means they can squeeze all the overtime they want out of him and not really compensate him in any way. And, because it's a smaller company they fit through a loophole that allows it.
That on top of a huge pay cut last year, reduced health benefits and having to work around jackasses constantly - is why he's now looking for another job.

The Husband had surgery a couple of weeks ago and has been home ever since. While I like that he's actually listening to his doctor and taking time off of work, it is really different to have him home every second of the day. Something that slides because of that is blogging here. He doesn't know about this blog. Everything I bitch about here, he hears in first person but I don't think he needs to read it too.

So I'm tapping this out quickly while he is gone to pick up one of the kids from a baseball game.

I'm working a different shift at work for a couple of weeks too. Normally I have off on Wednesday and work Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. With the new shift (Ha! I accidentally typed "shit". Coincidence? I think not.) I'm in from noon to 9 p.m. Monday through Friday. I hate it. I do not like what I'm doing and I'm fairly certain that one of the chicks I'm working with doesn't like me. I've said "hello" or "good morning" to her and she looks at me blankly and walks around me. Um, okay...I've decided to see if I can finish out the next week and a half without saying another word to her.

And I have a fucking cold. I'm snotting all over the people I'm supposed to be training. Lovely. I'll be glad when this deviation from my regular routine at work is over and I can go back to what I know.

Happy Birthday, Winnie!!!! I have to tell anyone who is reading this that Winnie is one of the most genuine, sweet, funny, and catty women you will ever meet. Unlike a lot of friendships that originate online I've actually been able to meet Winnie in person and she is every bit as wonderful and funny as she is online. She is also perpetually positive. If there is a silver lining to be found, Winnie can pluck it out better than anyone I have ever known. I've seen her take twice as long to convey positive things as it does for her to relay something negative. She has a natural knack for popping off the negative and leaping right back to the positive. Certainly it's not an attribute that I have but I admire her greatly for it and I respect her all the more for it as well. So again, Happy Birthday, Winnie. I'm proud to call you my friend and I think the world would be a far dimmer place if you weren't in it.

This week Winnie is interviewing the bitches and right out of the gate she's both stumped and surprised me.

1. What song do you want played at your funeral?
Jesus, and just imagine I was talking about how positive you are! I'm uncomfortable to the point of being downright superstitious discussing death. I don't like to think about it and I darn sure don't want to plan for it. While my first inclination is to be snarky and say, "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen, I'd also like to give maybe a moment of thought. I was raised in church, I've sang the hymns, I know there are funeral "appropriate" songs... I just don't know that any of them fit me. At all. I think maybe as odd as it sounds, "The Way You Look Tonight" by Steve Tyrell or Frank Sinatra, although, I think Steve's version conveys a sweeter sentiment to the song. It was the song my husband and I danced to at our wedding, it was played off and on while I was in labor with our third child, and I love the lyrics through and through.

"Someday When I'm awfully low
When the world is cold
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight"

2. I'm giving you a credit card with no limit. You can purchase anything you want, no matter what the cost. What do you buy?

Honestly? I'd buy a new house and I'd let my current house go.

3. If you could record a conversation any person, living or dead, who would it be? Why?
I actually have a CD of a conversation with my grandmother, grandfather, and great-aunt, great-uncle, etc. and every voice on the CD belongs to someone who is deceased. I've never listened to it. I'm honestly petrified of how I'll feel if I do.

I wish I could record a conversation with my father-in-law. I wish I had thought to back then when he had my daughter on his lap telling her stories.

4. Show me your favorite piece of artwork. Who is it by? Why do you like it?
This is Jungle Cat. It's an original folk art piece by an artist/blogger friend. Her name is tj (she always does it with a lower case) and she used to blog at zazzafooky.com I own several of her pieces but this one she painted just for me. I think if my house caught fire I would probably run through and snag as many of her paintings as I possibly could.

5. What makes you cry?
Seriously? What happened to always positive Winnie? WTF?!? Are you trying to go all Barbara Walters and make me cry today? Auuughh!!!

Okay... almost any thought of my cat that died last November makes me cry. The movie "The Family Stone" chokes me up. Also the end of "White Christmas" and "Scrooged." Beyond that it's a mixed grab bag of the time of day, who I'm dealing with and where my hormone levels are. Although - I have never cried at a wedding. Not even mine. ;)

6. Do you like to shop?

Oh God, yes! (wow, did that sound a bit like an orgasm? Sorry.) But, honestly, I love to shop for furniture, drapes, home accessories. I know exactly what my house would look like if I had a better budget. ;)

7. Do you believe in an afterlife?
Absolutely. Although this questions reminds me of one of Patrick Swayze's line in "Next of Kin" - "Do you believe in the hereafter? Then you know what I'm hereafter." Bwahahaha.

8. Tell me about a time in your life when you were happy.

We're fresh off the holidays and honestly, the first thing that sprang to my mind was this one Christmas. My husband and I were up until 2 or 3 cooking and doing all the stockings, presents, etc. Finally we were all done and we curled up on the couch together with a glass of wine and just looked at the Christmas tree with the twinkling lights, the bulging stockings and reveled in how quiet the house was. It was so sweet and pure. Twenty minutes later we crawled into bed and got about 3 hours of sleep before our kids woke us up! ;)

This was rapidly becoming a long bitch so I've deleted and started it three times now. Let's get to the point, my husband is short on family and basically I'm not too far behind him. His aunt and three cousins attending our wedding. They live about 3 hours away and we never see them. He has started corresponding with his aunt via email and last night friended all of his cousins on FB. Look, they know me, they've been to our home, they've attended our wedding, we've all gotten drunk together, and we've done the funeral thing.

Did anyone friend me? Nope. Okay, fine. I'm not really family after 3 children and over a dozen years of marriage, cool. Not a problem. Even though his aunt and I used to email frequently (his mother fucked that up) - and I'm getting to my real issue...
I can count on one hand (two if I'm being generous) the number of times my husband has interacted with me on FB. But, there he was last night, Mr. McFriendly friending all his relatives and commenting on their posts. Sure, I could sit here and say, gee, he's probably happy to be interacting with his family but then I'd be all "Suzy HeartsandFlowers" and this wouldn't be a bitch and right now? I'm feeling pretty bitchy over it.

For me 201o can be summed up in two words. THE MOVE.

Winnie came up with the idea for this week's theme, "When are you at your most self-indulgent?" - I think that was how the question was posed originally although around here in BoB we take the topic as more of a general guideline rather than a specific direction.

I'm uncomfortable with the term self-indulgence because it sounds so self-centered. Of course, I'm also uncomfortable with the term "me time." It seems selfish, even if logically I know that to be the best me for my kids, spouse, business, etc. I need to take care of myself.

Truth be told I haven't really taken care of myself in a very long time. I'm overweight, I needed a hair appointment a few weeks ago, and the last time I had a pedicure was roughly two years ago. Truthfully, I've never even had a massage. At best I manage to slather on moisturizer after my shower. It's funny because when you go years without what a lot of women would classify as "self-indulgence" you tend to take on sort of guerrilla survival tactics as "self-indulgence." Things like brushing your teeth, eye cream, blow drying your hair, or putting on make up become self-indulgent rather than "routine maintenance" and if you accomplish any of those things without being interrupted by life (pets, kids, husband, washer and dryer, phone) then you've REALLY pampered yourself.

On a really good night I'll drop some peppermint oil or a bath bomb into the tub, pour myself a drink and crawl in until the water cools off too much to stand. I think that describes me at my most self-indulgent. I really don't count the nights I crawl into bed early (before 9pm) and drop off into a coma until 6:30 or 7am the next morning.

I keep trying to set up a routine to practice meditation - but even that makes me feel guilty, I've never really pulled the "don't bother me" card. Generally, I wait until my husband notices I'm at my wit's end and then he pulls the "leave your mother alone so she doesn't kills us all" card.

It's secret confession week, and I've got a doozy.

Now, my ex-husband was big on getting his own way. If he could get away with it, he'd do it. If he could lie about it, he would. If he had a stray thought about butt-fucking his "true love" he told me about it. (I was not said true love) If he had an urge to fuck something and it held still long enough, he would.

Finally, I'd had just enough. Just enough of being talked down to, just enough insults, just enough abuse, that I stepped out.

I'm not proud of it, but I don't regret it one bit. Just one night, I wanted to feel like I was special. I wanted to feel loved, and like the person I was with was actually seeing ME and not the shadow of someone else.

I was on birth control, and, like a moron, neither of us worried about a condom, because we were, again, morons.

Though, if I'd had a condom, it might have looked like I was planning on doing that, and I hadn't been. In this case, "it just happened" was more than just a cliche.

But I didn't stop it, and if I had it to do over again, I still wouldn't stop. I'd do it all again, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.

After it was done, we parted ways, and it was just a fond memory to me until I realized my period was late.

Clue the little voice going "I told you so", because that EPT flashed positive faster than Superman could leap a tall building.

I didn't tell the real father, I didn't even tell my now-ex-but-then-husband (here on out referred to as NEBTH because I'm lazy like that). The father was in no shape to handle the news of "you knocked up someone else's wife" and my ex-husband was out of town on business for the year, so I wasn't going to have to explain a baby bump away.

I started figuring out how to tell the NEBTH the truth, and how to get away without a huge fight that ended in my blood on walls and him arrested for a domestic.

I had seen him (NEBTH) and had sex with him a few weeks after I concieved, so I could have passed off the baby as his if I'd wanted, at least for the first year until the baby stopped being a 'baby' and turned into their own person.

(I like to think it says good things about me as a person that I did not realize that until a few years after the fact, mainly because I'd rather chew glass than tell that big of a lie. Soap opera diva I'm not.)

And, when I lost the baby, I'm not sure who I grieved for harder. Me, or the unknowing man who would have made a great dad if he'd known.