Some of you may have noticed that I changed my comment settings. You have to be a registered user to leave a comment on my blog now. I'm sorry to all of you nice anonymous commenters. There were a few bad seeds that had to go and ruin it for the whole class. As always, anonymous commenters who don't want to sign up for an account, can leave me emails HERE. And for those of you who just can't seem to keep your nastiness to yourself, you can leave me hate mail HERE.
I received a comment telling me that I was selfish for divorcing Joe, and that I should've thought of my kids. Really? REALLY? Are there are actually people out there who think I'd get divorced and have to go it alone unless there was a darn good reason? It was because of my kids that I stayed in a sick marriage, despite being miserable, for more years than I can count. But some things happened last year that made me realize that staying with him was no longer best "for the kids" and if I stayed, I'd be doing more harm than good to them.
My entire marriage has been a huge string of lies. One after another. I'm not writing about the stuff he's done and continues to do. Believe me, there's a huge part of me that would love to spill everything so you guys could see just what I'm dealing with. But again, my kids may read this some day and they don't need to read the negative stuff about their dad. But it pisses me off to no end, when some ignorant stranger who doesn't even have the guts to leave their name and email address presumes to tell me what I'm doing wrong. You have no idea! Just because I've chosen not to write about all the crap here, do not assume that I just didn't care and didn't try or work at my marriage.
I've spent way too many years feeling like I wasn't good enough. I'm not going to let a bunch of strangers continue to let me feel that way. I take care of six kids on my own. I stay up until 3:00 almost every night so I can get everything done. I make mistakes. I screw up. But I keep going. Day after day, I get up and do it all over again. I don't have help. Their dad hasn't even seen them since Christmas eve. And despite that, I enjoy it! I love my kids! I love the chaos and craziness! I wouldn't trade it for the world! I'm teaching them that they need to respect others and demand respect in return. And I will not let anyone make me feel like I'm less than worthy anymore.
Oh yeah, and I don't need to hear any more comments about me and Victor. He's my friend. He's a good guy. We talk every day. We have a lot in common. It's nice having someone to talk to. It's nice having a genuine smile on my face. It's nice to feel good about myself. I may have been married, but I have been alone for more years than I can count. And only time will tell whether something more ever comes of it or not, but I don't need unsolicited advice from people who can only see the negative in any situation.
Okay. I'm so sorry that all my regular, wonderful readers had to read that garbage. It's because of you guys that I continue to blog and share the fun stories. And speaking of fun stories. Here's an oldie but a goodie. Enjoy!
August 7, 2007
The purpose of this resignation letter is to inform you that I will be leaving my position with your family effective August 8. I will be relocating to the Bahamas in the near future. As much as I would love to stay on as your chief laundress, cook, nurse, nanny, teacher, chauffeur, household manager, accountant, waitress, and maid, I simply do not get paid enough to put up with your children's deeds. Today, for example, Clay launched his dinner plate across the room like some medieval catapult because his "meatball was touching his spaghetti". I don't know what I was thinking when I spooned a meatball onto the same plate as his spaghetti!
Your sons also held a battle in the family room using pillows as their weapons of choice. When battling the forces of evil with pillows, I suppose one must take the high ground which would explain why they were jumping around on the couch while wildly flinging the pillows at each other. In doing so, the wooden frame of the couch snapped and burst through the fabric.One of your children managed to lock everyone out of the bathroom. Well, I assume it was one of your children, however they unanimously agree that Notme was the guilty party. According to your children, Notme has been responsible for laying wet towels on the floor, spilling juice on the carpet, eating an entire pack of gum from my purse, dumping out buckets of toys, and flushing Barbie dolls down the toilet. I, however, have yet to catch Notme in the act.
When Savannah asked me if she could get a screwdriver to take the doorknob off the door, I told her that I didn't want her to touch the door until I tried to unlock it. I can certainly see how she understood that to mean 'go outside, get Daddy's ladder, climb up into the bathroom through the window and then take the screwdriver to remove the doorknob from the inside of the bathroom.'
I have appreciated both being part of your family and the opportunities that have been provided to me during the last several years. Had I not held this position, I would never have learned that staples pass harmlessly through a one year old's digestive system, that nail polish sticks to the inside of a toilet bowl, or that blue popsicles will turn a toddler's poop neon green. Clearly the past thirteen years on this job have given me invaluable information and skills that will help me acquire a new position in the real world.
Please do not let me know if I can be of assistance during the transition.
Please do not try to reach me at the above address if you have any questions or need any further information. I have turned off my phone and am now enjoying doing nothing but reading non-Dr. Seuss books, eating food other than mac-n-cheese and chicken nuggets, wearing clothes without spit up stains or dirty hand prints, and consuming large quantities of tropical rum drinks with little paper umbrellas.
P.S. I finally found the source of the oddly colored liquid that spilled all over the inside of the refrigerator. It leaked from a jar of pickles into which Austin, doing some sort of experiment known only to him, had poured a packet of KoolAid and sugar.