I get that question a lot, actually. I talk about something on here then never give you an update or tell you how it ended. BAD BLOGGER! Well, let me catch you up…

Whatever happened to….

My divorce? – My divorce has been final for months and my ex has remarried. I don’t talk about it much here for several reasons; one, my ex isn’t a bad guy. I know it’s easy to make someone out to be the bad guy, especially one who isn’t here to defend himself, but he isn’t. We just weren’t meant to be together anymore. I wish him happiness. Two, like I said he isn’t here to defend himself. And last, it might hurt my kids. My ex is a good dad, and the kids don’t deserve to have me bashing their dad online.

My daughter’s school troubles?- She’s repeating the sixth grade at a private school. Mostly, she seems OK with it, but everyday I question whether I am making the right decision. There will more on this, for sure.

My moving dilemma (or emplacement ennui) – No big answer has fallen out of the sky. This is unacceptable. Therefore I have made tentative plans to move south of Baltimore City, but north of the DC suburbs. No place has been nailed down yet.

My great big new job – This was very secret, so unless you were following me on twitter you wouldn’t have heard about it. My goal was to try on the social media coordinator mantle for a while with an origination that I really trust. It didn’t work out. There isn’t anyone to blame, it just wasn’t a good fit. Only two people actually knew the organization I was working with, that was my attempt to be subtle. Now, I’m very glad I did. I don’t want to say anything bad about them, if it isn’t a good fit – no one is really to blame. I wish the organization and its team members much success. I am already fielding new conversations on other positions.

My son – I get some comments that I don’t talk about my son enough. When you have a pubescent tween girl in the house, it can be hard to remember that someone else needs your attention. But not to worry, Trace is still my lovable baby boy. He’s wonderful, I don’t write much about him because, well, he’s just out there being 10.

My awesome summer- because my summer sucked. mmmk?

All caught up now?

Seven. That’s how many insults/ threats my ex hurled at me yesterday. What was the reason for this particular dust-up? I called to let him know that I had gotten a lawyer, finally. He berated me for waiting until the last minute and ruining all his ‘plans’ and when I reminded him that I have been busy raising children, well, then it got good. Let’s have a rundown, shall we?

1- On him having to produce financial documents to set child support; “You’ll get less, I’m already paying you more than I have to.“

2- On an uncontested divorce (read: he wants to get married posthaste so the Army will move them as a couple instead of separately); “If you drag this out and what I want goes away, then I’m going to make this miserable for all of us.” Already there, dude, already there.

3- Again, on the possibility of ‘dragging it out’; “All that being nice and talking to you, forget it. I’ll come up once a month and see the kids and that will be IT!“ Which would be more than he comes up now, sooooo that’s a win for me?

4- On using the divorce to get him to finally answer questions about who his living with (not because I find her so fascinating, but I want to know who my kids are spending time with; “Well, you’re crazy, how do I know what you would do. If the Army finds out, I could go to jail, and then you won’t get any money at all.” Let’s break this one down; a) No one goes to jail for adultery anymore in the Army b) if you DO get in trouble, you’re a big boy- you knew the risks c) I have no interest in telling anyone, who you’re banging isn’t of interest to me BUT who spends time with the kids…now, THAT is of interest to me. He usually counters this with “Don’t you trust me?” I’ve hemmed and hawed about answering this one outright. I do trust him with the kids, but I’m not relinquishing my rights to figure out who my kids are spending time with and, last, d) You will pay, whether you are in the Army or collecting trash.

5- On wanting to settle the custody issues DURING the divorce, instead of signing the divorce papers and let him have his way; “It doesn’t matter about the custody issues, I can sue you for custody at any time.“ Just you try it, buddy.

Other gems included;

6- “Good luck on getting anyone to stay with you.” This is a variation of the “You’re worthless” and “No one will love you but me” lines that abusers like to trot out. I am not accusing my ex in any way of being an abuser, I’m just pointing out the similarities.

7- “I’ll tell everyone how you are crazy and you used to call at the unit all the time because you thought I was cheating on you.” On this one, he may have a point. I don’t remember calling all the time, but I do remember when he came back from Germany (where he had been by himself for 3 months (I had come home early to have my son)) and stumbling over explicit emails. {{ Here’s a taste of those emails: “I had a dream last night, guess who it was about.” }} Yep, I accused him of cheating, he denies it. I say if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck….well, you get the idea. Picture it; me home with my 6 month old and 2 year old, reading emails like that, so, yeah, I may have been suspicious. HOWEVER, I think got it in his head that every time I called to see when he would be home meant I was calling to see if he was sleeping around. Anyway, it’s a stretch to say a) I called all the time and b) went crazy about it. I didn’t hear him mentioning any of that when he came home and begged me to stay with him after I found those emails. Ah, well, c’est la vie.

Seven insults.

Seven times I considered giving in and just letting it be over with.

Seven times I told myself not to be a fool.

Seven.

My mom has the best stories of our family. I have begged her for a while to start writing them down, and now she is under the guise of  ’guest posting’. I know, how funny is that? Like anyone reads this blog. Anyway, here is one of her stories on her Dad, my grandpa. I’ll be back tomorrow with a Daily Rant and Daily Picture.

One of my favorite sayings that pops in my head is “you don’t know what you don’t know.” The same can be said of  life.  I just found out in the last few years about the man, the real man, that I called my father all of my life. He was called a lot of thing Calloway (his given name), Cal, grandpa, old man- but to his only daughter, to the day he died, he was always Daddy.

He was a hard working, multi-talented person (he could fix anything) who always thanked my mother for the meal she fixed, who loved his children unconditionally and was there for me whenever I needed him. Like the one time a kitten got in the garage and on my way to work at four in the morning I (gasp) ran over it!  Who came and cleaned it up?  My daddy.

The things I’ve learned about him in the last few years have been amazing.  Calloway was forced to stop his “formal” education at the age of ten, and stay home and help on the farm. Think about that.  The girls could go to school but the boys in the family could only go till the age of ten at the directive of their father.  They were needed at home or as they say in Hazard, Kentucky- “down on the farm”  I learned this from researching census records.

Daddy was raised in the hills of Kentucky, where coal is king. It was common then (and sadly, still somewhat common now) that once boys were old enough – about 14 or so- they were to go into the coal mines. Calloway decided he was going to follow a different path, a path that did not include dark pits, company stores, and black lung. He father walked out of those hills at the age of 14 and joined the army.  This was in the 1930′s.

Daddy once told me that he saw a moonshiner kill another moonshiner ‘down thar in them thar hills’.  I ask him what he did.  ”Nothing” he replied, “if I had done something, I would have been killed.”

My grandfather was married five times.  He outlived all of the wives except the last one.  My father was married once. It was a marriage to last a lifetime.

My older brother in recent years has told me stories about dad’s days after returning home from World War II.  Apparently, he made a LOT of money gambling when he was in the Army.  One of the stories I heard was that guys that were playing cards and losing would come and get him to sit in for them and win the money back.  Dad played on the US Navy ships; everyone knew what a card-shark he was but, of course, they all wanted to take him on.

The best story about Dad’s gambling happens after he came back from the war. My brother told me that when Calloway returned from the war (my brother had already been born and I was born in the mid-40′s)’; he continued his card playing, drinking ways.  He was so good that one night in our home town of Louisville, KY, someone pulled a knife on him.  Guess they weren’t happy about losing their money.  But that knife made an impression. That was the last time my father played cards (well, at least with drinking and gambling involved- he still played a mean game of pinochle at the Thanksgiving family gatherings).  Dad apparently said that he realized that he had a new baby girl at home and he had to take care of her.

And that’s how I came to be spoiled rotten.

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I hate the “What if…?” game, but I can’t help playing it. Especially this week. On Wednesday, for the first time since the divorce, I will hand over my children to my ex-husband. They will stay with him for a week and a half. I need this break desperately, they need time with their dad, plus I am traveling. But that hand over will cause me to have a full scale meltdown.

What if they like being with him better?

What if he says bad things about me (he won’t, he’s a good person, but the What if game isn’t about logic)?

What if they don’t want to come back?

How would I live without my children?

What if he’s a better parent?

What if they think that the person he’s living with is better mom?

What if she’s a better cook (not a stretch considering I hate to cook)?

What if….?

What if…?

Dear God, this is going be hard.

My son has now discovered that it is socially acceptable for boys/men to walk around without a shirt. I am beyond annoyed. It’s disturbing to watch a guy walk around without a shirt.  Seriously.  That shit never gets tan, so you walk around like some human beacon with your pale, white skin and YOU CANNOT UNSEE SOME THINGS. Sprinkle some glitter on that and VOILA! you’re a gay, mormon vampire. I think I will pull the same thing on him that my mom used on my brother. This is one habit I don’t want my son to start.

My mom instructed and pleaded with my (then teenage) brother to wear a shirt. But he had as much nauseating confidence in his physique as that dbag from Jersey Shore, so he thought he was doing the world A FAVOR by showing us his one-hair wonder of  a chest. So my mother did what she did best, beat him at his own game. One day, my brother walked in the house again without his shirt on, and this conversation took place:

Mom: Didn’t I tell you to put a shirt on?

Rich: What’s the big deal? I’m not doing anything wrong…

Mom: You know what, Rich, you’re right. (Starts to take off her own shirt)

Rich: NO! NO! I’LL PUT ON A SHIRT

Well played Mom, well played.

My mother never had to have the “put on a shirt” conversation again.

In June of 2005, my best friend came to see me in Baltimore. One of the things that we did was take the kids to the National Zoo. This was around the time that I first started keeping digital photos. I find them to be both a blessing and a curse. Today, I found this photo of my children- my daughter was six and my son was a wonderfully delightful 4. I don’t want any more babies, and I don’t want my babies to stay babies forever. But some days…for a moment, I want to go back and hug those 6 and 4 year olds, hold those small chubby hands, smell their baby smell, gobble up their chubby cheeks, and carry them around in my arms. I guess I will have to settle for this picture. I love you so much Trace and Cheyenne, all the stars and numbers.

A year in pictures…2009 from Amy Phillips on Vimeo.