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HOUSE OF KB
I have always wanted to write. I have, actually, for years. But I don't think the adolescent ramblings of a tween or the documentation tendencies of a young adult count. I've recently reread them. So I can tell you, they don't. Now I need a place to be free. Unfettered. As I figure out this new space and place in my life. Newly single mom. Business owner. Mother. Daughter. Sister. Friend. But no longer wife. Grab a cup, sit on the comfy couch and chat with me.
When I am lost or lonely or sad or overwhelmed, I read. Poetry as of late. Thugunicorn on Instagram is one of my favorites. On a day where I am wrestling with how to put the next foot forward, what I have to offer, what I am even worthy of receiving, I stumble upon this. And sometimes that reassurance from far, far off reminds you that even though you are in the midst of the most hellish of shit, you can still do and be and matter and are worthy.
Whack-a-mole and a Q-tip.
Someone: V, what's it like being a single parent to three kids? V: It's like a never-ending game of whack-a-mole. With twice as many moles but a q-tip instead of a mallet. Please pass the wine.
Green is my color.
Anybody having gone through this before have a timeline for when the jealousy stops? Or perhaps an idea of when I will be able to feel true and lasting joy for people? I am a happy person. Dammit. People tell me I am like sunshine and joy and love. I still am. Shockingly. But this has certainly soured my feelings on marriage. And I get twinges of jealousy when I hear about engagements. Or babies. Or puppies. You know this. We've already discussed it. All the babies. All the p
Seriously? What in the AF?
Funny story. When it all went down last Spring/Summer/Fall, listen we have already talked about how I don't give in until I am ready, I totally felt behind the eight ball. Like he was light years ahead of me in dealing with the separation and dissolution and moving on. Though I guess it's easier to move on when you start the moving while still married. Aaaaanyway...I thought I was behind. And I was. But I am starting to see that maybe that's not entirely true. That it's not t
A letter to my Sweet P.
There will be a letter to your brothers as well. Though they have as much to learn from this one as you do. But I will start with you. So I can mark down the lessons I am learning now. In the hopes that you won't have to learn them yourself. We call you Sweet P. It started when I was pregnant. A way to bond with you without having to give away your name. It stuck. And you are sweet. Sweet and truly joyful. And sassy. People may say you get that from me. I'm not sorry. But cal
Dread aka I knew it would suck.
To be honest, I know, shocker, right? But to be honest, I had been dreading this day for a while now. Not a specific day in May, though I've got a list of those, but a day when the wasband was going to throw my illness back into my face. It happened this week and sadly it was as bad as I had feared. One of those rare moments when my rage is equal to the sadness. I looked at this person who I had promised my life to. Who I brought three children into the world with. Who I foug
It takes work to look this good.
I know what you're thinking. You see me at pick-up and drop-off with shiny kicks, my hair all curly, outfit put together and neatly accessorized and think - my god, how does she do it? She is raising three kids solo. How does she not look like she is the friggin' conductor of the Hot Mess Express. Ummm, I am. I am the conductor of the Hot Mess Express. Toot toot! BUT, I also know the value of faking it til you make it. There is actual research about it. In academia it is call
He's said things.
Mostly the things that I thought I wanted to hear. Certainly the things that I begged and pleaded and cried and yelled and prayed for last year. Things like feelings and the importance of family and the willingness to work together on even the hard stuff. In his words, especially the hard stuff. He even mentioned more babies and a dog. Ummm, hi, who is this person? I have responded with boundaries and my same answer which is, "That's a no for me, dawg." But it is exhausting.
Love is in the details.
We are one of the younger families in our neighborhood. It works. We get taken care of. Looked out for. Checked in on. This has become only more true with the absence of the wasband. Not in a way that makes me feel like I am not handling things. But in a way that makes me feel like I am not alone. Like my kids are not alone. Like there are people rooting for us on every corner. One of the things the kids and I spend (frivolous) money on is our bird feeders. We have three arou
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