To the woman he cheated with…

Hello My Dear,

It’d be a lot easier to hate you, but what good would that do? Instead I would like to thank you. 
Thank you for tempting him before I married him. We had been together for three short years, and he already fell for the slut nugget whispering sweet nothings into his ear that is not a good sign.
Thank you for this opportunity to teach my daughter a valuable life lesson: never settle for less than you deserve. 
Thank you for reminding me why I keep my circle small. During this process, I have cut out all of my friends who told me “forgive him for your family” or “it was just one mistake”. Those people and I are not on the same wave length, no need to keep them around either.

As satisfying as it would have been to tell your Husband about that night, I didn’t. Why? Because I have class, and I’m a firm believer in karma.

Lastly, I want you to know you are not the sole reason our relationship ended. We had our problems long before you arrived. However,  your little rendezvous  with him was something I couldn’t make an excuse for, it was the straw that broke the camels back.
As I open the next chapter in my life I have you to thank for making it so easy to close the last one. Cheerio Darling 😘

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What I’ve learned since I was 22

  
At this moment I feel like superwoman. I’m sitting by my fireplace with a glass of wine looking at a wood ring I filled. I just washed the dishes from the meal I cooked, using the money I made. I have two beautiful and healthy children, and a place to call my own. “Everything will be okay”, I say to myself over and over to keep my mind from straying.
However, this morning I was full of bitter and hate. I was still determined to do this alone, but so angry. I wrestled an every day morning with my three year old, and ten month old, but today it felt almost impossible. I had patience with my daughter as she put on the 7th purple shirt in 2 minutes, and switched her shoes three times. I laughed when my son had a blowout as I put him in the car seat. Inside I was screaming. 

The last time I was alone I was 22 with a five month old daughter. Together, we had a tiny house in the woods. I was a young, and a new mother with lots of insecurities. I handled my own, but wanted a family for my daughter. And then he walked into our lives. For the past three years I’ve had a family. 
Now 26, and with two kids instead of one, I’m alone again. But I am not at all the same woman I was at 22. I know I’m a badass mother; who leads by example. I know when my daughter is going through heartbreak she will remember a mother who never settled for less than she deserved. I know the pain comes in waves: Big fucking waves that seem like they are going to surely drown me, and then I get a breath of fresh air. I know I will love again. My days may be filled with boogers and diapers now, but my kids will grow. It will get easier. Every damn day will and does continue to get easier. Each day regret grows in his heart, and acceptance grows in mine. 
I am a firm believer in everything happens for a reason, and this relationship was in my life to help me grow as an individual. He was placed into my life to give me my true one love, Hendrix Jacob. Every good quality I saw in him, I have in my son. Although my heart is heavy, I know the end of this relationship is a blessing. Here’s what I’ve learned since I was 22…
1. I know what I bring to the table, and I’m not afraid to eat alone. I have a college degree, a home, good job and I’m fucking hilarious. Anyone who is intimidated or scared away by my two children doesn’t deserve me anyways.

2. Never date a man who doesn’t do his own laundry. I’m a queen, not a maid. I have two kids, that’s enough. 

3. Only purchase what I can afford alone. This goes for vehicles, apartments, houses, cellphone bills, etc. When shit gets tough, people get shady. Depend on only yourself. 
4. I’m going to buy my own damn house. 

5. Never say never, and always expect the unexpected. It’s the ones we love the most who hurt us the most. 
6. Men cannot resist temptation. It’s not their fault all the blood leaves their head (and apparently their heart) to go straight to their penis. 

7. Time heals all wounds. It may not happen as fast as I would like, but eventually I’ll find peace. 
8. When I want to cry, I should dance instead. When the tears start to fall I crank up the Alanis Morissette, and remind myself I’m a rock star.

9. I’m surrounded by some great souls. I have people who love me all around me, and it is okay to ask for help on the days that I do not want to be superwoman.
10. Shoveling, putting wood away, and taking out the garbage really isn’t that hard. I don’t know why he was constantly bitching?
11. My heart will break again, but I choose to love again anyways. I will continue to wear my heart on my sleeve. I loved him with all my heart, and that is nothing to apologize for. 
Lastly, I learned I have realized I am in control of my own happiness. I have two little eyes on me. I owe it to them, and to myself to put myself first (after them of course). I do not need to justify myself to anyone, or look for their acceptance on how I mother my children, and what I do with my spare time. It’s time to be my own best friend. 
Hello 2016. 

Why Mom Loses Her Shit…

Jake and I love each other, but we communicate like napless toddlers at dinner time. As a couple we have a few forces working against us. The first, and most complicated issue is I’m a stubborn woman. I want what I want when I want it, and if you come in-between myself and my mission may there be mercy on your soul. The second force not working in our favor is we were raised very differently, and now we are trying to combine those values and traditions into one family to raise children of our own. Lastly, if mommy doesn’t scream it’s as if she has said nothing at all. 

Jake has told me on multiple occasions he fell in love with me because I was mature for my age, and taking care of Saylor alone. He fell for me because I was responsible and dependable. Little did he know that the trait he fell in love with would be the same trait that drives him up a wall. Jake caught my eye for the exact opposite reason. He was the adventure in my routine world. I was drawn to his care free and go with the flow attitude. One would think we balance each other out, but that’s not exactly how it has worked…

 

Let’s take a look at the bitch factor. I prefer to call myself a strong willed woman, but let’s be real. If mom isn’t happy, ain’t nobody happy, isn’t that right, Jake? However, I am very upfront and clear about my expectations. Over the past three years together I have learned that specific directions are very important. For example, I now know to specify which shelf in the fridge the mayo is on, and would never expect him to look through the entire fridge, or God forbid move something to find it. I also request things done the first time using my inside voice, and make sure to use “please” and “thank you”. My trouble is having the same patience when I’m requesting something to be done for the 38657636th time.  

 

Which brings me to my next point, our upbringing. I was one of four children. I have a half-sister, and two step-siblings. I come from a blended family where everyone pulled their weight. My mother, father and step-father are all retired after 20 years in the Navy.

My sister and I shoveled dog shit, and my brother did dishes. We all had daily chores, and we cleaned up after dinner while the adults had “adult conversation” elsewhere. We were loved and never went without. We were all spoiled on holidays and birthdays, but we were expected to pull our weight in the household daily. Jake is an only child. He is his parent’s world. He was raised by the most loving and selfless woman I have ever met. With that said she has taken care of Jakes every need since day one. Until he moved in with me at age 23 she packed his lunch, made his bed, and happily did his laundry. She is a superwoman, and I envy her ability to complete those tasks for her husband and son with a smile on her face. However, that is not how I roll.

 

So this morning, as I am weeding through the mountain of laundry I try to remind myself about all the times Jake’s care free attitude has brought me joy. I try not to think about him willingly offering to put it away 3 weeks ago, and yet here it sits. I’m going to leave it there until he gets tired of fishing for clothes because I’m trying to prove a point. I try to remind myself that he will someday learn to follow through with his good intentions. I try to keep my blood from boiling as I ask him to check the propane for the 5th time this week. After a long day at work, during his vacation week I try and smile as I come home and cook dinner. He is nice enough to rinse out his own plate in the sink, but leaves the dinner mess for me.

 

There is only one volume level that gets shit accomplished in our home, and that is loud. I can ask ten times for the trash to be taken out, but it’s the eleventh time that rocks the neighbors, and I hear “Why are you screaming?” mumbled on the way out the door with the trash. Why and I screaming? Because I’ve asked politely ten times with no results. I can either scream or start throwing the overflowing garbage at you, which would you prefer? If he’d listen the first time, all hell wouldn’t break lose.  

 

In a perfect world love would be enough. This is not a perfect world. So instead Jake spends half of his time wondering why I’m bat shit crazy and fly off of the handle about laundry because after all it’s just clothes, and they will still be there tomorrow. And I spend half of my time wondering if I have three children instead of two. We both drive each other insane. He thinks I’m a moody and impatient woman. I think he is immature and unappreciative. He expects me to do his laundry, and cook his meals because that is what a woman has always done for him. I expect for him to help with the dishes, and clear the table because that is what I saw my father doing growing up.

 

The comforting thing in all of this is WE ARE NOT ALONE. Apparently, our battle is pretty universal. We will continue to drive each other crazy, and I will continue to vent though writing. Some things will not change. But I am hopeful. I am hopeful that next time I’ll only have to ask for the trash to be taken out nine times, not ten. When he got down on one knee he meant forever, and so did I. I might want to strangle him, but at the end of the day he is mine to strangle. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  

 
 

why we are canceling our big wedding…

It was 2 am and I was feeding my newborn son. While he nursed I scrolled through Pinterest. My profile was littered with baby and wedding items. I silently counted the months until our 120 person wedding… 6 months until the scheduled big day. Already?! So soon?! Why wasn’t I more excited? Why wasn’t I in full wedding planning mode?

I love my man, and I want to be his wife, but in that moment I realized I didn’t give a damn about the wedding. I had no desire to pick out center pieces. I didn’t want to discuss shoes, flowers, cake, or decorations. I wanted to love my newborn. I wanted to spend this precious time going on adventures with my two year old, not planning a big show party.

I pondered the idea of not getting married while Hendrix finished eating his helping of boob juice. I thought of all the reasons why I originally wanted a big wedding weighing out the pros and cons. Sadly, most of the reasons I dreamed of a large wedding was because I wanted my love and our relationship  broadcasted. I wanted a celebration of my family. As a once single mother the family status meant a lot. I wanted bows, pumpkins, candles and the whole nine yards.  But is a overpriced gathering and meal the way to celebrate our family? I couldn’t wait for Jake to get up so I could hear his ideas on the topic.

It took 5 minutes of discussion for us to come to an agreement. We canceled the venue, cake, DJ, hair appointments, dress dates, etc. scheduled for October 10th, 2015. I felt a HUGE sense of relief. I am so in love with Jake, and will spend my life with him. Every day I watch him with our two children and my love for him grows.  One day we will get married. I will wear a beautiful dress and our close family and friends will be there. We do not need a expensive and stressful party to make it real. Spontaneous is way more us.

Jake and I have three weddings to attend on our calendar this year. We will go and dance our asses off, but its just not right for our little family. We have forever together and for now I want to spend the next few years enjoying these beautiful little humans we created.

Delivery: Round II

“I can’t believe we stayed up this late for that” I said to my fiancé as we turned off the movie we just painfully finished. He gave my belly a rub and rolled over. I then started my normal I can’t sleep routine and scrolled through Pinterest, and Facebook. 

I aborted my scrolling when I started getting sharp pains in my lower back. It felt as is a little troll was stabbing my kidneys… The Google search began… “38 weeks pregnant and kidney pain”. My findings were inconclusive. I decided that woman who are 38 weeks pregnant complain about everything. I put down the smart phone and closed my eyes. 

I got up to pee more than usual that night. Each time checking the clock only to be brutally reminded it’s only been an hour since my last bathroom adventure. I don’t know which was more annoying, the troll stabbing my kidneys or the frequent pee trips. 

It just so happens it was also “spring forward” daylight savings. Between the late bed time, kidney troll, bathroom trips and the stupid clocks moving forward I “rested” for 4 hours before my water broke.

It was 4:30 am and I was about to sit down on the toilet and heard a slight “pop”. There I stood in a puddle of my own bodily fluid thinking “oh shit, I’m not ready for this”. The thing about your second child delivery is you know EXACTLY what you are up against, and the memory of the pain comes flooding back in that instant. I tried to remain calm.

I waddled back to our bedroom like a penguin with my underwear around my ankles and softly said, ” jakeeeee”

“What?” He responded, expecting me to tell him to let the dog outside (his favorite night time task).

“My water just broke” I said in the same soothing voice. I swear I saw flashes of light come from that dark bedroom as he ripped off the covers. He planted both feet on the ground, bent his knees and put his arms in ready position (like he was playing defense in some sporting event) and said, ” okay what do I do?”.

From there we scattered. I jumped in the shower, and he loaded the car with the bags we prepared just two days before. Jake called his mother, and woke up our daughter Saylor. 

“It’s your brother’s birthday” we shared. Even our two year old was wondering what the hell was going on and why we were up so early. Daddy got her into a fresh diaper and PJ’s while mommy paced the kitchen waiting for Merme to come get her.

That’s when the contractions started. I had to hide the pain from Saylor. I didn’t want her worried about me. Try smiling through a contraction…. Not the easiest thing to do. 

We said our goodbyes to Saylor and that we would see her in a couple hours. She was easily distracted by the promise of cartoons and breakfast at Merme’s house.

We get in the car and I grabed the “oh shit handle”. Contractions were three minutes apart and relentless. I realized I’d have at least 10 of them on the way to the hospital and started counting through them loudly using the occasional “fuck, fuck, fuck” as a cushion.

“Don’t go less than 80″ I harshly stated, and In the same breath I said, ” I want an epidural this time”.

“Babe, you told me you’d say this” Jake reluctantly responded as scripted to do so, “I’m supposed to remind you that you want to do this naturally like Saylor’s birth”.

” I know what I said!” I screeched with gritted teeth, ” when you push a kid out of your body you can REMIND me how it’s supposed to be done!”.His natural labor intervention stopped there.

We finally get to the hospital and my knuckles have turned white from my grasp on the handle.

“Just my bag” I say as I’m speed walking towards the building. 

Jake must have thought I was crazy (more so than usual). As he approached the large sliding glass doors I was banging on them and screeching “it’s past five fifteen am!”. On the doors read a sign that said, 

“MAIN ENTRANCE HOURS: 5:15 am-8pm”.

I dig out my cellphone and sure enough it read 5:55 am. Apparently the hospital main entrance didn’t get the “spring forward” memo.

The emergency entrance was on the other side of the building. Fantastic. This time I was behind jake, and he met me half way with a wheel chair. 

When we get to the maternity floor I am dilated to 7 cm. “I want an epidural” I said, and my midwife entered the room.

My contractions were 3 minutes apart. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, back prepped for the needle and the nurse tells Jake to stand in front of me. He listens, but approaches me with caution. All is well until I’m told to ” breath through this one but don’t move”. He put his hand on my knee and rubbed. Thinking back it was a sweet gesture, but in the moment He received a sharp “DON’T touch me”. 

I went from 100 to 0 in twenty minutes. Vikki, my midwife, sat in a seat next to jake and drank her coffee. All three of us were talking about everything under the sun besides the topic of my vagina dialating.

Vikki looks at jake and hesitantly asked him, “how involved in this labor do you want to be?”, she paused, “would you like to cut the cord?”.

Jakes eyes started to beam. He put his hands out in front of him as if he was playing football and answered, “Oh Hell yeah! I want to pull the little guy out”. His enthusiasm made Vikki and I laugh. 

After about an hour Vikki checked the progress down there. 10 cm and his head was engaged. Go time.

They rolled a mirror over to the foot of the bed, so I could see EVERYTHING. “Encouragement” Vikki said when she caught the look of horror on my face.

At this time my contractions felt like small Braxton hicks. However, I knew to push with all I had when I felt that tiny annoyance in my abdomin. 

Fifteen short minutes later I was watching Jake pull our little boy out of me and into the world. 

I will never forget Jacobs face as he laid Hendrix on my chest.  

Hendrix cried, and I cried. There is no better feeling in the world than holding your child for the first time.

Jake of course cut Hendrix’s cord, but not without a couple of science geeks comments…”look babe, it’s pulsing” and “did you see your placenta?”. 

Leave it to Jake to geek out during a time like this. All of a sudden I loved my king even more. 

For the next hour the three of us laid there lost in each other. 



” We may not have it all together, but together we have it all” 

My son will know how to make his own damn sandwich

In this house we do not acknowledge gender roles. We work together as a team. Jake and I are raising our daughter to be an independent woman who can check her own oil, change a tire, shovel, carry in wood, mow the lawn etc. Yes, I want her to eventually find a life partner who will help her with the “manly” parts of life, but I do not want her to need someone. Growing up my father made sure his “baby girl” could take care of herself. If my parents catered to my girliness I would have been lost during the first 5 months of my daughter’s life. It was just her and I in our little house. I would not have known what to do when the pipes froze, and the snow piled outside would have been much more intimidating. Instead of being scared I thrived, because I had confidence in myself. I was comfortable outside of the kitchen! When I met Jake he was attracted to my independence. He admired the fact that I could take care of myself and my daughter.

I think it is just as important for my son to have some “womanly” life skills. When he leaves the nest I want to know he can take care of himself. When the time comes for him to share his life and home with a woman I want her be his partner, not his mother.

Here is a small list of womanly chores my son will know how to do before he leaves the nest:

  1. Clean a bathroom: Why? Because I don’t piss down the front of the seat. I love my man, but I hate cleaning a toilet just as much as the next person. If everyone in the house has to take turns cleaning the John they will be more careful about their aim.
  2. Make his own damn sandwich: I want my son to know his way around the kitchen. I would like him to know how to make more than ramen noodle, and spaghetti. I want him to be able to pack his own lunch for work. Most likely he will be living on his own before he meets the woman of his dreams and as his mother I want to know he will be eating a balanced diet. Plus, every woman likes a man who can cook.
  3. Wash, dry, fold, and put away laundry: I used hear “Babe, I need a clean work shirt” all the time. Every time I answered the request with, “you know where the washer is”. Jake finally stopped asking, and started loading the washer if he was low on clean clothes. Yes, I primarily do the laundry, but sometimes I get behind (that’s what working full time, going to school and being a mom will do to you). I’ll save my son’s future wife a little training if he is already a pro at laundry.
  4. Do the dishes: Everyone in the family uses dishes, so everyone in the family should take turn doing the dishes. I want my son to be the bachelor with an empty sink, not one stacked high with dirty dishes. I can speak from personal experience, when I come home from a long day at work there is nothing sexier than my man in those pink dish gloves scrubbing away at the kitchen sink.

It’s not the 1950’s anymore.

His nail polish turns me on…

My daughter hates bath time, so her Dad has started using bribery to help him get her into the tub. The conversation has become quite predicable:

Jake: “Saylor do you want to take a bath?”

Saylor: “No tubby Daddy!”

Jake: “If you take a bath, I’ll paint your nails…”

Saylor: “okayyyyyyy”

Saylor then reluctantly walks towards the bathroom and along the way she demands bubbles in her bath. I am normally cooking dinner in during this process (our way at tackling the domestic duties tag-team style), so I get to listen from a far. The actual bathing process is quick and painless, but it sounds as if there is a torture chamber in our bathroom. Saylor is dramatic just like her mother. Within minutes Saylor and her Dad emerge from the bathroom unharmed, lathered in lotion, and ready for their nail painting party.

This time Saylor throws a wrench in her father’s plans…

“Daddy, I want to paint your nails” she says as she gives him a flash of those big puppy dog eyes.

Jake looks my way, “Do we have nail polish remover?” he asks.

I nod and try to contain my smile. On the inside I’m dying of laughter because I know this man cannot say no to his little girl. She has him wrapped around her finger.

Jake exhales with the same “okayyyyyy” Saylor used before bath time, “pick out a color” he says.

Saylor searches through the bag of colors and picks out the deepest green and brightest pink.

This is going to be good I think to myself…

The end result:

finger nails

 

After dinner Jake helped me with the kitchen and got the house ready for bedtime. Jake seemed to forget his fingernails were still painted…. Until the next morning.

I woke up to him trying to get frisky. As previously stated in other posts I am VERY pregnant. Any woman who has been pregnant knows that sex positions in the third trimester are limited ( https://www.pinterest.com/pin/83316661830619871/ ) . We tend to go with doggy style (this information has a point I promise!). So needless to say we both finish and I’m laying with my head on his chest, large belly exposed, and he puts his hand on my tummy as we relish in each other before the day starts. It’s then I notice his nails and say with laughter, “That’s the first time I’ve slept with a guy wearing nail polish”.

Immediately he responds in his manliest voice, “Talk about a buzz kill, I had to do a double take when I saw my hands grabbing your hips from behind! I Almost lost it for a second!”.

We both roared with laughter, and I gave him a big kiss to secure his manhood again.

See guys everything changes when you become a father:

Even nail polish is sexy.