Summer of Hell?? Well…

So.  It’s been awhile.  Let me fill you in.  The husband went to rehab for alcohol.  He stayed 30 days.  30 days in which I learned how to do everything as a parent alone.  How to pay every single bill.  Alone.  Deal with nightmares, anxiety, anger, and the words “I hate you” from our 8 year old.  Alone.  30 days where I had to drive my boys 2 hours to see him for 1 1/2 hours and drive home 2 hours again.

It wasn’t a pleasant visit.  I mean, did you think it was going to be?  It is a REHAB center.  For people who have addiction problems.  Not really a fun place for 2 little boys.  Or the woman who filed for divorce.  We can just say it was tense.  And ugly.  And there were tears.

So while he was there, for you know, 30 days, I had the boys going to weekly therapy visits to help them with their anger, anxiety, and just learn how to cope.  It was a lot.  Not just financially, but emotionally.  The 3 of us would come home physically drained.

But, don’t get me wrong.  With all of this shit going on, it was actually, a really good summer.  We spent almost everyday at the pool, where the boys became fantastic swimmers.  I got a good tan.  And the 3 of us became a really good team.  The boys knew I loved them and wasn’t going anywhere.  I took all the snuggled I could get.  My mom kept them once a week for a sleepover, which gave me ME time and also let them know how much SHE loved them.

And, in the end, I ended up finding out who I really am.  Who I have been shoving down for so long.  I am happier and laugh more than I have in so many years.  People keep telling me just how much more carefree I look.  My backbone has gotten straighter and stronger and I just feel so much more like ME.  There’s no more eggshells to walk on; no more ugly words or insults to go home to.

Is it perfect?  Hell, no.  I don’t ever want it perfect, because perfection isn’t real.  It’s a work in progress, which is how life is supposed to be.

dear mom, it’s me. i love you.

So I’m sitting here at my desk and I get a notification from my oldest son’s school account saying he’s posted something.  It says “I want to tell you I love you, Mom.”

This coming from a kid who is struggling already with this divorce.  Now he’s having to deal with his dad NOT being there.  With the fact that his dad chose alcohol over him, his brother, and his mom.    I don’t think anyone will understand how it feels to have this message arrive in my email.

Do I completely adore it?  YES.  It was fantastic.  But I know by him doing this it shows me how sad his little heart is.  At school.  And I can’t fix this.  It kills me.  I have to figure out a way to make things okay-ish for him.  Any ideas?

Taco bell is a quick fix for tonight.  Maybe some video games and a movie.  I can do a sleepover.  But sigh.

“There are substitutes for oil…There is no substitute for fresh water.” Paul Ehrlich

The newest shit storm is the only appropriate thing I could start with.  So after the week of him continuing to drink and getting served with a Temporary Restraining order–which, FYI, I only had drawn up by my lawyer to protect that “what if??” he decided to drive with the boys in his car while drunk?  NOT to be a bitch and take the boys away from him.  Not that at all.  To protect our kids.  Right.  But, when he was served, it immediately became that I AM A FUCKING BITCH AND HOW GOD DAMNED DARE YOU.  YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT AND TAKE THE KIDS WITH YOU.

So, Friday night, I packed the boys up and we spent the night at my Mom’s 2 bedroom apartment.  Did I want to?  No.  Taking our oldest (who has ADHD and anxiety) out of his routine totally screws him up.  But it needed to be done.  We went home (if you can call it that anymore) Saturday and Saturday and Sunday morning were actually nice.  Wait.   Scratch that.  I rented a movie for the boys to watch and for us.  But he chose to sit outside for an hour and drink and by the time he was ready for a movie, I was asleep.  Sunday we tried a family lunch, but I told him to pay for his booze and that just set him off.  The fact that I would not/could not leave the boys with him while I went to the grocery store just made it worse.

So this week has been nothing but threats of I won’t go to rehab until you take the TRO away.  You’re such a dumb bitch.  God, why did I marry you?  I could have done so much better than you?  That is all at night.  But, in the morning, when he’s sober, he sends me love songs like Kenny Rogers “Through The Years” and George Strait’s “Wrapped.”  But it’s a never ending cycle.  Yesterday was the swirling shit storm.  He knew we were supposed to go to court today.  So my lawyer tried to get a temporary settlement of things to ensure his rehab visits he had planned today could go off without a hitch and that the boys were safe.  It was ALL GOOD until I refused to drive the boys up EVERY SINGLE WEEK to take the boys to see him.  It’s a 4 hour drive.  Each way.  I offered every other.  Like what he’ll get in custody.  THIS ASSHOLE DECIDED TO TELL ME HE WOULD CALL CPS ON ME (now keep in mind, I do everything for our boys.  I have never, would never, can’t ever hurt them) AND TELL THEM I AM A BAD MOM.  All because of this issue.  That he would rather them go into foster care where they could be raped and molested so he could get what he wanted.  And that he was okay with the hurt and pain he was causing me.

So.  After sobbing and telling him how much I hate him with every fiber in my body, I told my lawyer I’d do 3 visits a month.  It gets him out of the house and away from us.  I no longer know who this person is.  he is not the funny, charismatic, sweet man I married.  I don’t crave him like I used to.  I don’t miss his touch or need him laying by my side at night.  The sound of his voice used to give me butterflies and make my heart beat faster.  Now it just makes me flinch.  He was supposed to be my best friend. For the rest of my life.  The peanut butter to my jelly.

Now, he’s become the oil to my water.



Keep those curve balls coming, life.

So.  In the 15 years (yeah.  15) that we have been together, my husband has had pancreatitis once.  Before that, twice.  (If you don’t know what this is, it’s when your pancreas becomes seriously inflamed and interferes with your body’s ability to process glucose.  And yes, excessive alcohol use causes this.)  Anyhow, enter him telling me the other night he feels it coming on.  And that he’s going to “drink himself into the hospital.”  Yeah.  You read that right.  Not stop drinking or anything.  But drink himself into the hospital so he can get fluids and help himself.  What kind of idiot is he??!!

I’ve decided that I have been placed on this Earth to see how strong just one person can be.  I’ve been blessed with migraines since 20.  Watched my mom go through breast cancer.  Had a broken heart a few times.  Struggled with infertility.  Had my credit stolen.  Twice.  (Both by family members.)  Dad has full blown Alzheimer’s.  All my grandparents are dead and never met my children.

But.  I keep going.  Isn’t that the point?  To not stop or give up?  That whole “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” line?  Or “don’t stop, get it, get it!!”  I keep my cards pretty close to my chest.  It’s something I’ve learned over the years.  But I’ve got to somehow start letting the anger and emotions out.  Not just for me, but for my boys.



almost a single

And it all falls down…

It’s a funny thing when your life begins to fall apart.  You see glimpses of it at your son’s birthday party when a friend is just a little too overly comfortable in your home or in how she presents herself towards your husband.  Or a week later, at your husband’s birthday lunch when this same friend gushes over him so much; it almost makes you feel like an intruder; the 3rd wheel.  But then school starts and you find a school where you are truly valued…like you haven’t been in 7 years.  And your husband finds what he says is his dream job and it’s all going great.




But still, in the back of your mind, there’s this hand, trying to grab you.  A natural disaster hits and you, along with your entire city are captivated with the amount  of loss, destruction, fear, and raw emotions.  You worry about your small family of 4 and if your dad, who isn’t quite dad anymore, will be okay.  And then he gets rushed to the ER amongst rushing flood waters, so he isn’t.  But you can’t get there.  Caught up in that and keeping your boys calm, you brush off the fact that that same friend keeps texting your husband.

School goes back to normal for you.  You win an award and your husband says “That’s great.”  Dad falls and doesn’t know you anymore.  Doesn’t know anyone anymore.  And that friend?  She’s still texting.  He starts telling you what a dumb bitch you are, how much of a stupid and ungrateful bitch you are, and how lazy you are at home.  That you do nothing.  Meanwhile, his job, that dream job, gets harder and starts falling apart for him.  And those names? They keep coming.


Halloween weekend hits.  It’s always hard for you both since Chuck.  Man.  Chuck.  The 4 of you spend it at your husband’s school festival then a downtown family festival.  It was an actual nice day.  Until you, you stupid bitch, can’t decide what you want for dinner.  So FUCK IT!  Just take me home and get the boys dinner.

That night after your husband passed out, you go to plug his phone in for him.  But you noticed-there, on the screen-texts.  From that friend.  “I love you.”  “I can’t wait to be with you.”  “My King.”  “My Queen.”  I want to know all about your fantasties.”  And the worse?  This friend…no.  This BITCH calls your boys hers!

When you finally wake him up, he laughs.  Said they’d been waiting for you for find this “joke” and teach me a lesson.  But what was the lesson learned?  That they were both liars and cheats who broke my heart?  That no matter how much forgiveness I can do for my husband nothing will ever be good enough?

November.  You’re so angry and lost that you don’t know what to do.  Your husband continues to drink more and miss work.  Dad gets worse every single day.  Having to tell your children their dad and that friend were both liars and bad people nearly tore me apart.

December.  He lost his job.  You are ashamed, angry, upset—you don’t even know what you are.  Dad didn’t know anyone at Christmas and your husband was so drunk at a family dinner and so ugly, you cried in the restaurant.


January.  Dad has to go into a home.  He can no longer be cared for by us.  Diapers.  Accidents.  Night spells.  It’s too much.  Dad is here, but that/this isn’t Dad.

February.  Mom’s heart is dying.  In fact, 70% of it is already dead.  The only thing that can keep it alive is a vest. Your husband still has no job.  He drinks all day.

March and April.  The father in law has offered rehab.  Again.

Nope.  The husband has maxed out a credit card in your name.  Called a restaurant to find you.  Tracked your phone.  And discouraged a new friend from hanging out.

All there is left to do is file for a divorce.  Is it what you want?  No.  Never wanted to raised my kids alone.  But the boys need to know they can’t act like this and treat others this way.

You miss your husband.  Your best friend.  The one you told everything to and the one that actually gave a damn.  The one with the easy smile, the contagious laugh, those laugh lines around his eyes, and the love that you had everyday.  He is so lost in alcohol, depression, and self-hate that divorce is the only option.  He needs to go find himself again.  Not by walking in a part once a week while you and the boys slip further away each day or sitting in a house playing video games.

But by getting clean.

Back that ass up

If you don’t understand my silence, how will you understand my words?  ~Unknown

Let’s back this shit show up 4 years.  4  years ago, the boys and I were just moving back home.  Yeah.  You read that right.  Back home.  From a 2 bedroom apartment I rented when I found out my husband had been having a full-blown affair with a legit hooker.  Like he found her on to give her a massage with a happy ending.  Because, apparently, he couldn’t handle that on his own.  Then  they started dating.  WHILE I was fucking pregnant.  But I didn’t find out until our youngest was about 8 months old.

The husband had claimed he was picking up an extra job as a bartender to help make ends meet with the new baby.  Me?  I know nothing about this world so I believed him.  (You’re supposed to believe your spouse, right?)  But I never saw the extra money even though he was always working.  One night, he came home and I asked him to hold the baby so I could pump.  He got so ANGRY.  About holding our child.  “YOU DUMB BITCH!”  Now he’s awake.  I just remember sitting there pumping (like a damn cow) and crying.  This is the first time the insults happened.  After this night, they just kept coming.  I was a “lazy bitch” because after school and a quick workout, I picked up our oldest and got home for my mom to leave.  After dinner and bedtime, I would crash.  “Stupid bitch” , “Ugly bitch” , “Fat bitch”–these all came part of my daily existence.  (So imagine just having had a baby and hearing all these.)

Then.  He came home one night.  I went to kiss him and he smelled, HIS FACE smelled, of her.  Do you understand?  Each woman has a distinctive smell and that wasn’t my smell on his face.  It was in a heartbeat I knew.  I knew there was no bartending job.  I knew there were no late meetings.  I knew.  The next time he “worked” late, I started looking at phone records and they all came back with numbers from craigslist or worse.  I finally got smart/stupid/brave/hell if I know what I got and googled his number.  Boom.  It was linked to an ad itself.  When I clicked on it, there he was.  With her.  In an ad for couples’ massages.  I found out her name was Alexa (and how I hate that name now.)  What got me was how happy he looked.  I mean, they were on a damn date in the picture.  Here I was sitting in a chair with leaky boobs, sobbing my eyes out and he was in a fucking ad.  His response was “Did you think I was going to be around forever?”

Yeah.  I did.

That was Labor Day Weekend.  Every year since that weekend is hard on me.  The boys and I moved out 6 weeks later while he continued his affair.  She even lived in our house for awhile.  He didn’t see us for a month, and when he did, he looked like shit.  He had lost 20 pounds and was heavily drinking.  Thanksgiving passed without him and Christmas was a farce.  He showed up at 8AM with Irish coffee and kept on going.  Somewhere around February, he started to get his shit together.  He asked me on a date and he spent more time with the boys.

I know.  WHY in the hell, right?  Well, he has severe survivor’s guilt/depression.  There have been 14 friends that have died from suicide or accidents.  He questions why he is here.  Before the affair started, another one committed suicide.  He was lost.

In April, I dismissed the divorce (yes, I had filed) because for the first time in a long time, he was who I had married.

But now, here we are again.  Same shit.  Different year.  But now, instead of a hooker leading him around by his dick, it’s beer leading him around by a bottle.