The Good With the Bad

So yeah, I’m getting a divorce. It’s a long story no one wants to hear so I will move on.

We’ve not been living in the same house since July so I’ve had a lot of time to get used to living here and running this house by myself. Which is all fine and good most of the time. Lately, I find myself thinking of the pros and cons of this whole situation. I’ll do the cons first so I can end on a high note. I certainly don’t want to bring anyone down on the most depressing day of the year.


  • Shoveling snow. Not so fun when you are on the other side of the glass.
  • Taking out the trash. It only goes out half the time. I hate dealing with my wretched garage door and long hilly driveway.  In my work clothes.  In the dark.
  • Reaching tall things. I am 5’2″. Need I say more?
  • I know this is coming: Cutting the grass. I really am going to try and hire that out. But I know the time will come when I have to do it myself. I haven’t done it since I was 12. It’s like going to the pool on the first day of the season all pale and KNOWING that everyone is staring directly at you and your pasty white skin and flabby ass.


  • I get all the hot showers. All of them. I live in a one bathroom house. It kinda sucked before, but I made the best of it out of love. Look where that got me.
  • See trash item above. It’s not so bad, apparently one extra person creates double the trash. I only have to take the trash out once a week and the recycling once a month. The glass is half-full!
  • I no longer have to do the “driveway dance” to make sure the right person’s car is locked and loaded in the right spot. It’s all mine, all the time.
  • Same for the god damn covers on the bed. All mine, all the time.
  • The thermostat. The kids are fine, they adapt. But to not have to live with someone who is a walking furnace is liberating. I am like a lizard – I am always cold and looking for a sunny rock. So now I have my sunny rock. Take that.

I Have A Dream

Overheard in the locker room at the YMCA this weekend.

Young girl: “Hey, Mommy, blah blah blah, jabber jabber babble…..”

Mom: “Will you just stop talking for 15 minutes?”

Young girl: “Blah blah blah………”

I wept inside for the Mom. Wept. I know you. I know your life. I know EXACTLY how you feel. You love your child to the depths of your soul. You would throw yourself in front of a bus for her. You would then lift the bus with your superhuman strength to make sure she wasn’t caught under it. You would saw off a limb if it meant saving your child from the horrors of some grave disease. But, you just want the endless chatter to cease sometimes. Just the simple pleasure of 15 minutes of quiet. 15 minutes to shore up and rest your brain and body for the next round of pummeling.

I am in the middle of a divorce, but my soon-to-be-ex and I have already started a custody routine/schedule. This past weekend was “my” weekend with the kids. A 3.5 year old and an 8-month old. And, it was a three-day weekend. (Thank you very much, Dr. King. NOT looking forward to Presidents’ Day.) At the end of the day, with only a wee 20 minutes until bedtime. The time otherwise known as the “sweet release.” The time when the chatter and hopping and grunting and drooling ends. I actually wished that I was getting a colonoscopy. Only because I could be alone. Just alone with a technician while jacked up on some “twilight” cocktail. No discipline to dole out, no chin to wipe, no mouth to feed, no fairy dresses to put away for the 17th time. Just me and the gurney. One with my flimsy paper gown. Just thinking about it gave me the fortitude to keep going.

Now that the dishes are done, the trash is out, our gear locked and loaded for tomorrow, I am ready for the sweet release of sleep and work. I have never enjoyed my job more.

On the Rocks

Over the holidays I was at the grocery store and noticed a woman in front of me buying a strange assortment of items.

  1. A giant liter (or two) of vodka
  2. Light bulbs
  3. A tin of those yummy English buttery shortbread cookies.

You don’t want to fall into a diabetic coma or pancreatic shock in the dark, now do ya? That would just be depressing. It’s much less depressing to drink alone with a light on.

Let’s celebrate the season!