Why School is the 7th level of Hell
I've stated before that school was hard for me, socially. It started in the second grade. I'm not sure what set the others off. The fact that I was from California, or that my parents were hippies and this was the mid-west by God! Or maybe it was just that I was painfully shy and not all that much to look at. Two boys decided that I was DIRT. I can see them clearly today and remember their names, "Troy." Yes, they were BOTH named Troy. We're talking about more then just name calling too. I was jabbed with stick pins, caught walking home off school grounds and the `attempt' made to beat me up. The strange thing was, I was better at handling the physical things, then the verbal. At least with the physical I could fight back, and BOY did I fight back. But being called "Mule, Ear" (Yes, I had big ears and buck teeth) and the incessant "Hee Haw" just made me want to crawl into a dark cave and stay there. If I tripped they were there to witness and mock it, if I struggled reading they were the loudest to guffaw. I had class with these boys for FOUR LONG YEARS.

Things were better for a few years. I moved, my mom held me back. I was still shy, but no one was trying to beat me up anymore. A few of the boys decided that I had `germs' and would spray "Cootie Spray" on anything I touched, but that I could live with. I had one or two friends who I could hang out with on the playground and I pretty much ignored that gaggle of gossiping `popular girls'. That was until my parents happen to make friends with the parents of one of the popular girls. We would go over to her house and we would sit together talking and laughing. I couldn't believe it, she was like me, insecure yet fun to be around. Then life taught me another lesson. Back at school she went from `one of the girls who ignored me' to `a girl who gossiped about me to her friends". I was stunned, broken hearted and a little mad. So, one day I trapped her by her self and asked point blank. "Why are you acting like this? I thought we were friends, I thought you liked me!"

To this day I can remember her reply, "I DO like you, but...you don't fit... and if I talked to you at school, well then my friends might not want to be my friends anymore!"

For some reason, this made sense to me. And so, I continued to be her `closet friend'.

We moved again (of course) mid way through sixth grade only at this school sixth grade was Jr. High. Oh, GOD Jr. High. We moved in next door to this girl who was on the `outs' with the popular girls. I spent some time before starting school with her and got filled in on all the `important stuff' like who to talk to, who not to talk to, which boys were cute and who had dibs on which boys. I felt like I had a `leg up'. Imagine my surprise when the girl who had been assigned as my `orientation buddy' was the very girl that my neighbor had warned me about. "She's SUCH a bitch! Don't trust her" I had been told repeatedly.

My attitude already tainted, and ready for this girl to turn around, attack me at any point, my shyness kicked in at a whole NEW level. I probably muttered two words to her the entire morning and at lunch, managed to ditch her to hang out with the neighbor girl. Unbeknownst to me, I had just SNUBBED the most popular girl in school! At the lunch table it started, I heard something shouted at me from across the room and when I turned to look at the boys who had said it was rewarded with, "Not you shipwreck!" The natural follow up to the line "Hey Dreamboat"

In music class that afternoon the music teacher was throwing the students a dance. After the lunch time fiasco I was feeling pretty low, so you can imagine my surprise when one of the cutest boys I've ever seen walked up to me and asked "Do you want to dance?"

I followed him to the center of the room my heart pounding with excitement and joy. I barely noticed another couple walking toward us until both boys looked at each other, then us two girls and said "Ok, DANCE!" and then turned around and walked away.

I don't remember much after that, other then the teacher turning on the lights, saying that sort of behavior was totally unacceptable and announcing that the dance was OVER. I may have cried, or I may have saved it until I got home.

The worse part came a few days later when popular girl and neighbor girl made up. I was now once again COMPLETELY on the outs. Now it was girls who were trying to beat me up after school and muttering "Hee Haw" as they passed me in the halls. For Three YEARS.

Things got better after that. We moved to a school where I finally made friends. And maybe, just maybe people were starting to mature. I stopped basing my self worth on what others thought of me, and had help from counselors and teachers with straightening out some of my other issues.

But one thing remained with me. That feeling. That feeling of being rejected and hate for no reason. That feeling of being misunderstood and misrepresented. That colored my every action, for instead of becoming harsh and bitter, I found that I couldn't do ANYTHING without considering other people's feelings first. I'm still that way, and I've tried to train that same concept into my children.

As for all those bullies? I've moved a lot and I now live 1200 miles from every one of them (as far as I know). Ironically enough after signing up for one of those `yearbook' websites I got an email from Mr "Would you like to Dance" . I had helped him with his algebra and made out with him behind the bleachers (and almost got beet up by his girlfriend) in High School. But when he started to reminisce the one thing I kept thinking about was that stupid dance. And so being the spiteful and vindictive person that I am I reminded him about it.

"I did that!?"

"Yes, you did."

"I don't remember"

Lier, how can you forget being that cruel to someone

"I guess we all did stupid things when we were younger," I said

"Yeah, so... my wife is leaving me... "

"Hm, too bad. I happened to be in love with the most amazing man in the world"

"Oh... well the phones ringing I think I better go now"

"Alright have a nice life"

Heh, now if I can just find the Troy's!

It's sixth grade all over again
No - this isn't MY story yet, but I just had to say...

I think N LIKES me *giggle* he just offered to write my name on his VANS! while coloring in the checcker squares...

I may just hold him to that!

Then I'll do your hair and paint your nails
I try not to get stuck on one topic here. After all, I'm sure there are people who would rather not hear about my kids or how much I love my fianc?. But, I usually write what I'm thinking about, and I've found that lately the thing I think about the most is my kids. Maybe because it's been almost a month since I've seen them. When they were never here it was easier. I'm rather good at compartmentalizing, so I would gather up all those thoughts and emotions, stuff them in some deep dark closet in my psyche, close and lock the door, and then go on my merry way. But when their here, the door gets opened. Lately they've been here a lot so it's been open, close, open, close, and you know how kids are, a few flies get in, and then you're sitting on the couch yelling "Who left that door open?!" and to you're surprise it was you!

Anyway, to distract me from the flies, I was hoping I could get you, yes, you reading this, to help me out. I was hoping you could tell me a story. You can leave it the comments or put it on your own blog (after all isn't this all about how narcissistic and selfish we are?) And, since we were just talking about this on Wednesday, here's what I would like to know.

Were you the picker or the pickee in the social hierarchy of school? Do you feel this had an impact on your life? Tell me about a time that you were picked on or that you picked on someone else that was particularly heinous. Was it over time or a one time thing? What did it feel like at the time? How do you feel about it now? Have you seen this person (or people) again since becoming an adult? How did it go? If you haven't would you like to?

I suppose the masochistic side of me would love to hear stories from the bullies point of view.

Thank you all, and you're welcome to pass this on.

I'll post my story in a bit.

To the other man in my life
He would often lay in my arms in the evening. Struggling to sleep because I had told him he needed to. His body would fight the efforts just as mine did when I was his age. Just as mine still does. I would rock him and hum or sing snippets of lullabies hoping that if he focused on that, his body would let go and allow the sandman to collect him.

One night as he lay in my arms, I didn't rock him, or sing. I was distracted, by the day, or the latest fight. He was fidgeting and fighting, needing sleep but too restless to settle in.

"Please go to sleep Buddy, Please! Mommy's tired."

And I was; Tired of being a wife, tired of being mommy, tired of working every day and then coming home to work some more.

"Sing hush baby, Mommy."

"What's that buddy?"

"Sing hush baby, please"

Then he grabbed my hand and snuggled it against his cheek, asking without words for me to stroke his face and forehead with my fingertips.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word. Mommy's gunna buy you a Mocking Bird...."

And so I sang, through the tears in my eyes and the tremor in my voice. Blessed that THIS I could fix. THIS I could do, even when the rest of my world was falling apart. I could sing to my baby and stroke his face, and feel his body relax in my arms and listen to his breathing deepen.

I wish our problems were as easily solved now. I still hesitate every time I reach for him, worried that he'll stiffen and pull away as he has in the past. But he's thirteen now. Even if we hadn't divorced he probably wouldn't say those words. And yet, I long for him to reach for my hand and whisper, "Sing Hush Baby, Mommy."

How can one person, mean so much?
His hands; they captivate me, not in the physical sense but in the visual. They are perfect. Strong square palms, with long aristocratic fingers. Just the right size, any larger and they would look ham handed, thinner and they would be effeminate, smaller and they would look like other hands, that I don't care to think about.

His hands; they bring passion with a caress, compassion with a touch, strength when I stumble and they keep me from falling. I can catch site of them performing the simplest tasks and instantly become entranced. The sureness of his movements enthrall. He'll catch sight of me watching and pause, smiling and cocking his head to one side before asking, "What?"

"You're hands are so sexy."

He'll laugh and go back to his task, untroubled by my attention, but pleased that so simple a thing delights me. Some may say it's wrong for me to be so fixated. After all, his hands will transform with the years. They will twist and knot. They'll collect spots and wrinkles, and eventually will shake and fail him. Yet, I'll love them all the same. Because it's not just the hands. There's a power, a heart behind them, and that will remain long after the strength is gone. And so, I shall always be chained, lovingly, willfully, by His Hands.

I love you all!
Look at all the questions and stories and... You all get a gold star today! *kiss*kiss*

Sychotic1 from Lemming Brigade CHARGE! asks
How about you share the stupidest thing that has ever popped out of your mouth. You know, the blah that just as soon as it is said, you want to scoop it back up and hide it somewhere.

Sychotic1 -Thank you for putting up a question, and for finally cluing me in to the fact that you're a chick! DUH!

The stupidest thing that ever popped out of my mouth? Well, I say stupid things all the time, but not the sort of thing you're talking about, I imagine. I have a propensity for swapping words or letters between words in a sentence and completely garbling things. But those sorts of things are usually understood and forgivable. There is one time I can clearly remember wanting to sink into the ground and disappear...

The ex and I were a young couple, up and coming in our church community. (Yes, I attend church - you all can stop snickering now!) We had met another young couple at church and had decided to go on a very Christian outing together, to putt-putt golf. All was going well when Richard spotted a black widow in the corner of one of the `greens'. Knowing spiders freak me out he started harassing it with his golf club and then flicking at it as if to throw it on me. I was going bananas trying to back away and yet was in such a panic I couldn't seem to lift my feet over the edge that surrounded the putt-putt green. Finally in frustration I shouted "God Damn it Richard, cut it out!"

He stopped and looked at me wide eyed. I stood there rooted to the spot for a moment before turning to look at our two `friends'. They were both standing there as slack jawed as if I had taken off all my clothes and stood naked before them. For the life of me I couldn't think of a single funny thing to say to break the tension. Instead I went.. "Uh, yeah, well... I really don't like spiders..."

Luckily, they were REAL Christians and over looked my little potty mouth slip. In fact the two of them were one of my rocks during my divorce.


Redneck Diva of The Ramblings of a Redneck Diva(who also told a story of her own) asks:
So... would you actually kiss your ex's toes???? Just curious!
If I said I would because I didn't answer one of your questions. Yeah, I would, just because I'm that honest. But would I just because... can I get a great big `HELL NO!?' I wouldn't even do that when we were married. They are just THAT gnarly.

Samantha of Little Sam Book asks:
Did you like school? Did you actually want to go, or were you like, 'GET ME OUTTA HERE!'

If so, when and if you went to college, what did you study?

Sorry, I can't think of anything good. ;)
I think that's an awesome question Sam, because I like talking about myself as much as, I like talking about myself! Heh.

School and I had this love/hate thing. By the end of summer I was usually so excited about school I would almost make myself sick. I would imagine all the friends I would have, and how organized I would be and all the excellent grades I would be getting. By the end of the first week, though, most of those delusions were gone.

I loved (and still do love) learning, but hated the repetitious style that most teachers adopted. I also hated homework, with a passion. I hated homework so much (usually math) that I often refused to do it. My justification? "I know this stuff already. Why should I have to do it 50 more times to prove that to you?" This came to a head in Geometry class where I had an 11% on my homework for the year, and a 98% on my tests. I flunked the class, but passed the mastery exam at the end of the year, so they had to let me graduate.

Socially, I was a misfit. I was one of those loners on the fringe of the cliques with no real `group' to fit into. At some of the schools I attended I was more then a misfit, I was a pariah and that made enjoying the whole school experience even harder. Remember the kid for whom `cootie spray' was invented? That was me. In high school it got a little better, and I found that the larger the school the easier it was to found a crowd to hang out with, but I never was going to win any popularity contests.

As for college: Well I got married at 18 and had my first baby at 19. The ex had promised my parents that we wouldn't have kids for five years, and guaranteed that I would go to school. Needless to say that didn't happen. It's one of my biggest regrets as an adult, and one I hope to save my own kids from, if I get any say in the matter.



GrumpyBunny from Grumpy Bunny asks:
Ok - so why 3 kids? I always think three is an odd number. Hubster is the youngest of three. He has an older brother and sister. So it wasn't a case of two girls and gee they HAD to have a boy...

Just curious.
I tell people all the time "We only wanted two kids, but now were left to figure out which two."

Honestly, the baby was an accident. (as was the first). We had our one boy, one girl and had fully intended that to be enough, but never bothered to take permanent action. When I found out I was pregnant I was so distressed I actually considered some pretty weird things (including adoption) but logic overcame emotion (or was it the other way around) and we decided to accept this gift that God had given us. Just to make SURE we got the point, fate played a little trick on us. Twenty weeks into my pregnancy I was told I may not make it to full term, and that there was a chance that the baby could be still born. Let me tell you, God and I had a nice long talk about that one. "Look," I told him, "I just accepted the fact that we're going to keep this baby, you can't take her now!"

Apparently, I made an impression because a short while later I gave birth to a one month pre-mature, but perfectly healthy baby girl. And what a blessing she became. You've never met a child with such a sunny outlook on life. You've heard that `if life gives you lemons make lemonade'? Well this child believes that if life gives you lemons then you run around and tell everyone how lucky you are, because YOU got a lemon, and wouldn't THEY like a lemon too and look there's a pretty flower over there, do you want a flower and oh look I see a dragon in the clouds...

Personally, I wouldn't recommend three children to anyone. It's a whole new ballgame when the children outnumber the adults. That said, I wouldn't trade my angel for the world. For her brother maybe, but not for the world!

Ta-Da
And now, for that moment you've all been waiting for!!

Hump Day Truth or Dare!

This is where you ask me a question and I have to answer it truthfully or perform some despicable act (like kissing my ex's toes)

Comment below (Or message me - you KNOW who you are) and I'll get back to you all - sometime.

It's the Philidephia experiment all over again.
Excuse me? Can you help me? Because I thought it was August. You know, still SUMER! But I seem to have gotten sucked into some sort of time warp, because today, while I was walking through Costco I saw... Christmas Decorations!

I mean, really! I'm a big fan of the holidays. I love them, but part of their appeal is that they happen, well, during the holiday season. If every day was Christmas then it becomes everyday. Doesn't it?

Now, I always pishaw-ed at those folks who grumped that the decorations came out in October. After all, I'm about ready to think in shades of green and red at that point. The air is getting chilly, leaves are turning, the hills are starting green, it's practically winter. (You have to realize that living in California, rain and the leaves turning is about the ONLY signs of winter we get) I'm all ready to drag out my down coat and moon boots!

But August!? Common folks! It's 97 bloody degrees outside! A green and red train with snow on the roof just doesn't quiet... fit. And holly wreaths covered in lights? Sorry, they clash with my bikini.

I never though _I_ would be saying this but Bah Fucking Humbug!

Another conversation snippet from my life
Me: Where do you want to go on vacation?
N: I don't know, what do you think?
Me: Well... I think I would like to go somewhere and STAY there, use it as a base.
N: OK
Me: It should be somewhere that we can do outdoor things, if we feel like it, or cultural things, or go out on the town, if we feel like it.
N: Honey?
Me: Yeah
N: That's where we live
Me: Oh, yeah...

The post where I don't tell you about THAT
I had a comment on an earilier post that I felt needed a longer answer. I also didn't want this to get lost in the comments so I'm answering here...


Hi parttimemom. I just wandered by and read your blog, assumed that, as a blogger, you want feedback, so I'm leaving some. My thought, as I read this page, was that the ONLY good thing about divorce, is that you don't have to have that same fight anymore. Your blog reads like you still have that same fight, every day, in your head.
How you live in your head drives how you live in your life, and the more you color your new life with the anger from your old life, the more you help recreate the unhappiness that you are trying to leave in your old life.
So, dumb as it sounds, there is that old saying about
"God grant me the courage to change what I can, the serenity to accept that which I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference".
Instead of being unspeakingly angry about the weekend schedules with your ex, draw up a schedule, run it by the lawyers and the court, and stick to it. It'll make you happier, and reduce your kids uncertainty about when they will be seeing you. They may be as quietly unhappy about the 'lost weekends' as you are.
I hope this is helpful to you.



Dear Reader,

I appreciate your feedback. Thank you for stopping by and please come back again. I promise not every post is about how much a pain my ex is.

I wish things were as simple as getting a court order and sticking to it. I have a court order, and in most situations that would be enough. But my ex likes to get his way, and when he doesn't he can get vicious and vindictive. Because of this, I have a tendency to tread lightly around him. Trying to bulldog my way through, insisting on my visitations and rights, nearly cost me my kids. I'm not about to risk that again. So, I quietly put up with his little games, grit my teeth and thank God every day that I got away from him and that my relationship with my kids wasn't permanently damaged by the crap that went on before.

Perhaps one day I'll write about how much it hurt to read a Mother's Day card signed "Happy Mother's Day even if you are only a part time mom" or the pain that comes when the son that HAD to end every night with a snuggle in your lap tells you that he wants to divorce you like the kid on TV did, or when your baby looks at you and says "You left us, and if you loved us you would come home so we could be a family again".

I'll talk about parental Alienation syndrome. How the courts nor a counselor can protect your children from it. I'll detail the time my daughter sat, sobbing and asked her dad, "Will you hate me if I go? (to mom's)".

Then I'll explain how you'll do anything, even put up with crap from your ex to get a card that says "You are my mother, but you are also my friend", or have your son lean in and give you a hug, with BOTH arms for the first time in two years, or have your baby say "When I come home, you know at your house, can we make rock candy?"

Yeah, maybe one day I'll tell you about that...