So, I sang about it, I blogged about it, I’m still pissed at Stanley.
Truly, he left a holy mess for me and several hours of homework when I came in at 5 on Sunday.
And you all thought I made that up.
If only I had to.
In addition, he didn’t take the garbage to the curb for pickup on Monday morning and I fell going down the wet, leaf-covered driveway carrying the recycle bin that was so full I couldn’t see over it. I slipped on one of those huge gobstopper things that fall from the trees and landed flat on my ass surrounded by empty milk jugs and cardboard cartons.
It was so pitiful, my little girls who were getting in the car for school, didn’t even laugh.
They ran down, helped me up and got garbage back in the bin and to the curb.
Today I’m sore and sitting on ice because my ass hurts.
May have to wear something like this today because the ice pack fits so nicely.
I was so mad that I had to do his chore, and got hurt in the process, that I broke the first rule of co-parenting. I talked about their lazy ass daddy to them on the way to school.
Into the box I go.
Now. To be honest, I didn’t say what I wanted to say which is, “Your daddy is so fucking lazy, what did he do all weekend?? That was his chore and I fell going down the driveway because I was in a hurry trying to do his chore before getting you guys to school on time, clean and with homework done because he fucking SUCKS!”.
So because I didn’t say that, and a lot of women who don’t think of their children’s emotional adjustment to the divorce prior to taking care of their own needs, would have, I am letting myself out of the ‘Box of Shame’ and refreshing my ice pack.
What I did do was REFRAME what I wanted to say and instead it came out like, “When you girls get married it is really important to me that you find a man who is helpful to you. I don’t care if he is rich or poor, Democrat or Republican, white, black or green, but I will be looking to see if he is helpful and not lazy like your dumb ass waste of skin daddy.” No. period, I ended at lazy.
But then I continued. “When I was a little girl my mom did most everything at home but my dad worked and made the money for the family and my mom did not work outside the home. So, she felt like it was her ‘job’ to do the house stuff since she didn’t have another job and he did. I, and most women nowadays, do work outside the home and so these men have to help us by doing their share because we are doing our share in making money for the family. I didn’t do that. I did my share of making the money and I did my share and his share of taking care of the house. And look how that turned out? I was laying in a pool of garbage on the driveway. I want you to remember that when you are old enough and thinking about getting married. Remember me lying in garbage on the driveway.”
Terrible, Terrible, Terrible.
If only I had stopped half way through my tirade. I vow to do better.
On Saturday, my mom and I went to the funeral of the mother of a dear friend (the MIL of my friend who suggested I blog about birdnesting and helped me get started). It was a beautiful tribute to her and her children spoke during the service about things that she had done for them and lessons they remembered. (I hope my kids don’t remember that car ride yesterday.) But one of them said, that their mom had taken them camping when they were little because she loved nature but their father had served in Korea and due to that experience didn’t want to camp. So she would take them, 4 kids, alone. Mom and I were speaking of this in awe because neither of us have any desire to camp and there is no way we would have ever tried to manage that alone.
Our conversation went like this:
Mom: “Well, your dad would have complained every minute but he wouldn’t have let me go alone, he would have known I was hopeless and he would have come along to help.”
Me: “Stanley would have thought, “free weekend!” and watched me pack and load the car alone. He wouldn’t have worried one second about us or if we were eaten by bears.”
Mom: “No he wouldn’t. He is too lazy to worry much less go to help you.”
Me: “But Al would have said, “You stay here and rest for the weekend, Baby, I’ll take them.”
Mom: “Well, you better not let that one get away. Stay on your diet and get a manicure!”
Me: “Sure as shooting. And I mean Stanley. He needs shootin.”
I want my children to remember me doing admirable things
not talking bad about their dad.
I want them to remember me being funny sometimes, doing the booty dance in the kitchen (really, I’m quite good) and sleeping with them when they are sick and holding their hand. I’m sure now that the girls will remember me lying in the driveway surrounded by garbage.
Another day and another vow to be a better parent. But I guess we all do that.
Stanley and I are going to have text war soonish.