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Bitter sweet

There have been so many moments where I’ve flip flopped from one side of this to the other.  Those who read my blog see where I’ve been torn into pieces over what to do about The Jerk.  One minute I’d give my every breath to have a father for my son, not just any father, but his real father; to give him that father-son bond that cannot be duplicated because he deserves that – all children deserve to have a their mother and father.  Only it wouldn’t be his real father I would want, I would want the person that he pretended to be, in my son’s life. I would want the pretend him, the one who loved his children more than the moon and the sky, the man who doted on them and couldn’t wait to see their smiling faces, the fabrication The Jerk so easy created until one day it disappeared into a disgusting and worthless pile of anger and abuse.  It is because of that day that there are times that I actually pray that God will make him leave for good; no more of this back and forth.  Just go away and let my Peanut live in peace.  I don’t know which is worse him being around or him leaving for good?

Ms. Cookie (Peanut’s teacher) handed me a little piece of construction paper today…on it a sail boat with Peanut’s hand print as the sail.  It read “I’d sail the seven seas for you Daddy. I love you! Happy Fathers Day” all I could was smile and utter a choked Thank you with tears in my eyes.  I thought to myself:

if only he would do the same for you son…..

She looked at me as if she knew, with eyes that said I’m sorry.  I kissed my Peanut and said goodbye, I waited till I reached my car to cry.  It was a quiet cry not the violent kind.  The kind of cry where you’ve given this moment all the energy that you can muster long before now and this is just a repeat of times past. The kind of cry where there are no sobs, no tightened muscles – no it was the kind of cry where every ounce of energy left me as I sat defeated in my car tears streaming down my face and off my chin saturating my shirt.   I’ve been here before, crying all alone not knowing what to wish now just hoping God will lead me in what is right for my son. God please, I prayed I don’t know what to do…just please help me be the best for him. I feel like my hands are tied….

Suddenly my phone rings….it’s The Jerk. I stared at my phone blankly…what could I do? If I ignore it he’ll just call back over and over again till I answer.  So I answer…he’s coming to visitation he says.  I’m emotionless. I wanted to scream in the phone I hate you for what you’ve done to my life, to my son’s life! instead I just said “Ok” and hung up the phone.  I wanted to be angry, to say he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve my Peanut’s love.  Then at the same time – I thought maybe I should be happy that he actually wants to see my son – his son technically.  I don’t know how to feel right now.

It’s bittersweet….

One one hand my son deserves to have his father – but on the other his father is worthless and can’t be the father he deserves.  He’ll come to visitation and play for a while, he’ll leave and probably not see him for another 6 months.  Will my Peanut know the difference?  In the back of mind I’ll be wishing he would leave, that he would say he’s moving to California or Australia and never coming back.  But that’s my selfishness speaking, or is it?  Could it just be that I feel the pain for my son, that I sympathize with the hurt and confusion that will come when he realizes his father is only around out of convenience? 

There is no right answer for this moment.  I know there won’t be some divine intervention where God gives me the answer that will solve everything, no only time can fix this.  I’ll just have to smile through the bittersweet moment and wish that I had given my son a better father, a father who would love and care for him, a father who would never hurt or abandon him.  I’ll own that moment, because it is mine.  I’ll take responsibility for the tears because it’s my fault that they fall; because I chose to be with him,  I chose to stay in the chaos,  I chose to live with the abuse.

It’s oh so bittersweet, because although I want to hate him and wish we’d never met, I thank God that I endured the things I did, because it brought me my son.  No matter what happens I will always be grateful to God for that.

End thought: “When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts.  A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.”  ~Sophia Loren, 

….and I was so ready to finish it on my break and then my “boss” walks in to micromanage me like I have nothing better to do than listen to him ramble. Meanwhile I’m actually working and he is sending me links  to video clips off of TMZ that he thinks are funny over IM…right because that is totally what he is paid to do. WTFE…

Also, I don’t know why this weird woman is twitterstalking me but it’s incredibly annoying. I’m not following her but she is following me obviously and keeps sending me smart a** replies about my “behavior”…for instance in reply to my angry posts she copies my bio and sends it to me. And since she is twitter stalking me she will probably read this so – thank you , I guess, I mean wtf is that about?  I mean not that your input was needed strange lady but if you don’t like seeing what I have to say STOP FUCKING FOLLOWING ME!!

Or in all fairness she could be a bot and auto-posts random shit just to piss me off…either way it’s creepy at best.  STOP FOLLOWING ME BOT!!!

Meanwhile my little sister calls me because she had an argument with my mom about MCDONALDS and the price of a value meal in comparison to individually ordering the items from the $1 menu (seriously?) – I shit you not.

Then my Gma calls me to tell me that a police officer showed up at her house looking for someone in particular…peachy. There isn’t enough xanex in the world to supply the necessary does needed to deal with my family. Dear Britney Spears you totally stole the title to my autobiography [Circus] but I forgive you…cause I’m that type of person…you’re welcome.

End thought: “Family, you can’t live with them and no matter where you run they find you.” – Me

My J is my rock.  He’s strength when I don’t have the energy to be strong, when I’ve given all I have to give he stands to provide all he’s got.  When I’m mean and hateful he replies with a hug and a smile.  When I push he pulls me closer.  When I want to scream he whispers and then….. he buys me flowers.

There are times when I’m just down right mean.  When I’ve had the kind of day where you can’t even muster a smile and then I take it all out on him.  I rant and I rave, I’m short with him and ignore his loving gestures. All because I panic…he’s too nice I think to myself,  nice doesn’t last, nice never lasts. I get angry and violent and push him as far as I think he will go….and then…he buys me flowers.

I want to cry, I want to scream and be angry because I’m scared to let him love me.  To let him have the parts of me that I hate.  It’s  easy to give away the good parts, but giving someone the ability to see you – through and through – good, bad and ugly…it takes guts – a self confidence that I lack.   So as a test I give him a taste, a tiny taste, letting him see the crazy side, uncovering the scars – opening up the chaos I’ve kept hidden thus far bracing myself for the moment I fear will follow – him washing his hands of all that is me…and then when I’m sure he’s ready to leave…he buys me flowers.

All this time, all of these emotional storms he’s weathered with love and compassion, devotion and understanding, patience and unyielding strength and what do I do? Don’t buy me flowers, I say.  I know he can only take so much – maybe that’s why I push..because I’m so used to being mistreated, hated and abused that I don’t know how to deal with nice. So there he stands confusion and hurt written all over his face…Don’t buy me flowers, I say…because I’m crazy I guess.  Because I don’t deserve them and I know I don’t, I don’t deserve him and I’m scared that he’ll go.  Don’t buy me flowers I say, because I secretly feel guilty every time they deliver a beautiful bouquet that I don’t deserve.  Don’t buy me flowers don’t treat me nice because I don’t deserve you I say…and then….he buys me flowers…. because he loves me.

Because he won’t leave me, because no matter how hard I push he’ll just pull me closer out of love.  No matter how many scars he sees, he’ll still hold my hand out of love.  No matter what I throw at him…he buys me flowers out of love.

End thought: “Flowers are Love’s truest language…” –Park Benjamin

Father’s Day

I’m crying today, because of him – again – him being The Jerk. Only it’s not because he’s hurt me, no he hasn’t hurt me this time … instead he resorts to hurting my son.

Father’s day is coming up, the worst day of the year for me since my son has been born.  I dread it, the day I’m supposed to celebrate The Jerk being a father..which he hasn’t been since the get go.  How do I celebrate someone who has seen his child twice since birth…I hate him.  I’m so angry that I can’t help but cry…which makes me even angrier because I’m crying over him again and it makes me sick that he has the ability to put hurt into our lives long after he has gone.   Why is it that he is granted that right? Why should he be allowed to do this over and over?

What’s worse is I know that The Peanut’s daycare will probably create a father’s day gift to send home.  It’s not their fault; they don’t know he doesn’t have a Daddy.  They’ll probably paint his little hands and feet, tickling his tiny toes with the paint brush while he throws his head back and giggles.  He’ll reach down and grab his toes and smile with those bright blue eyes shining just like the jack***es that I refer to as his so-called father.
They’ll put those beautiful little hand and foot prints on a paper – probably with a poem celebrating fatherhood, and all I will be able to do is smile when I pick him up and muster a thank you.  But really, I’ll cry because it will never go to him.  No instead I’ll stick it in a shoe box in the back of my closet along with all the pictures and any remaining memories of The Jerk – until the day that he can prove he can be a real father if the day ever comes.  Not the person who stops by once a year the day before mother’s day just to make his lock lizard fiance mad by visiting his 1 year old genetically bound spawn.  

My poor baby.

I lock those things up in that closet because The Jerk doesn’t deserve for my son to know who he is, to have his photo around the house as a constant reminder of the father that he isn’t – just to haunt my son in spirit. It’s not fair and I won’t do it.

Amazing how a text can remind you of how much and why you hate someone. The Jerk texts me to ask if I’ve received my child support.

Yes I did.

Taking the opportunity, I ask if he plans to attend visitation for Father’s Day (knowing that the answer is probably no which is fine with me. He doesn’t deserve to be celebrated anyway).  Instead of coming up with an answer I would expect, as usual he replies with complete ignorance and obliviousness that astounds even me – the person with the least amount of faith in him:

“When is it?”

…..my first thought was are you freaking kidding me? He doesn’t even know when Father’s Day is???….that’s what kind of father he is.  Something that small sent me into a rage…it was like he had abandoned my son all over again.  I wanted to scream…to tell him how lousy and worthless he was as a father.  How I wanted more than anything for him to fall off the face of the earth and never be seen again.  How miserable of a human being I thought he was to just walk away from the creation of life that was my son – leaving a void I could never properly fill inside him no matter what I gave.  Knowing that I would give my arms, my legs, my breath, my heart, my entire life just to give my son the life he deserves. A  life that would never need a father…the life I know I can’t give and it kills me.

But instead I cried…I cried because it was my fault that he would never have that. That I chose a man that could never love anything but himself….and I’ve never felt more remorse in my life. It’s my fault….how do you tell your child that without them hating you too?

So I replied telling him to forget it, that the Peanut wouldn’t notice whether he was there or not anyway. I wanted to tell him that my J would be there, and he would play with the Peanut and love him just as if he were his Dad and the Peanut would never know the difference. But I didn’t because I couldn’t, I couldn’t be that girl even though I wanted to.  And what does he say in all my despair?….
”Well I didn’t know, I don’t keep up with it.”  I don’t keep up with it ? That’s the best you’ve got you rotten son of a *****!!!!

It just deepened my rage. My face was on fire, hot tears stinging my eyes. I hate him I said over and over in my head till it was the only thought on my brain I hate him.

So father’s day will come and go, with my son none the wiser.  He won’t know his father isn’t there, and in all reality he won’t care.   He won’t care because he doesn’t know him, because he won’t know him. Until the day comes that the world informs him that he’s missing a parent he’ll never know. Then and only then will I step in to explain….and I can only hope that God will give me the words. Right now, the only words I have stem from hate and the Peanut deserves much more than that from me.  I have to let my anger fade with time and be the bigger person, for my Peanut.  Because he deserves that, because he deserves better and it’s up to me to see to it that he gets that.

End thought: “Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged.” Colossians 3:21

Ok so I’m a poet (yeah go ahead and laugh I know I should have been born in like the 18th century or something) anyway….a lot of times something will inspire me and the words just start flowing before I can stop them.  Something happened to me not to long ago and it’s worth sharing; it was a pivotal moment in my life when I realized not matter how bad I have it at the moment there is always always someone who would give anything to be in my place.  I hope this inspires others to think that same way.

Much to my surprise

Today I woke up late didn’t have time to shave my legs.
Lost one of my earrings and couldn’t get my son out of the bed.
I spilled my coffee in the car, didn’t get to work by nine.
Forgot to let the dog out, guess I’ll call the carpet cleaner one more time.
Couldn’t seem to keep it together although I really tried.
‘What an awful day’ I said as I sat down at my desk and cried.

Opened up my email to find my bank account was overdrawn.
Went to ask a friend for advice only to hear that she was gone.
Broke a nail on my desk drawer, just had them done last week.
Looked into my purse to find the cap on my makeup had a leak.
Angry at the world today throwing a pity party for me,
‘What an awful day’ I said how much worse can it be?!

So I took a drive at lunch today, just needed some fresh air.
Sitting in traffic on the exit there was a man standing there.
He held a little cardboard sign shame worn on his face.
Begging for any change to spare, in life he’d lost his place.
His hair was gray and matted he hadn’t shaved in days.
And staring at him standing there he humbly caught my gaze.
His clothes were worn and tattered not appropriate for the weather.
Those clothes, that sign and a small black bag were what he owned altogether.
I didn’t look away from him with those bright blue shiny eyes.
And from that moment I could tell they had seen much better times.

On his sign he wrote God Bless but I wasn’t sure he knew what it meant.
So I took my change and a cross from my neck and didn’t question God’s intent.
Stepping out from my car there he shamefully looked away.
I said, “It’s all I have with me but you’re welcome to it anyway.”
I dropped the change inside his palm as he managed a humble “Thank you ma’am.”
And before I could stop myself I put the cross into his hand.
So there we stood two opposites, his tattered sneakers aside my high heel shoes.
And as the notion struck me, although I wanted to, I couldn’t refuse.
I reached out and hugged him, much to his and my surprise.
I said “God loves all children” as a tear ran from his eyes.

I turned and got back into my car right as the light turned green.
And in my rear view mirror I smiled at what was probably an awkward scene.
I imagine all those people around me must have thought I was insane.
Reaching out to a stranger with seemingly nothing for me to gain.
But they couldn’t see what I had seen, I wondered if anyone ever could.
That I wasn’t really doing what I wanted, I was doing what I should.

Suddenly I felt so ashamed crying over such small things.
Today I hugged a homeless man and became painfully aware of my short comings.
How could I be so spoiled? God has blessed me with so much!
A home, a car, a great career, my church, my health and the love in my son’s touch.
I can shower every day, at night I have a pillow and a warm bed.
While he wipes his face with napkins from the garbage and under a bridge he lays his head.

And as I drove away today tears ran from my eyes.
As I realized it was really he who helped me, much to my surprise.

-AGH

3/23/09

©2009 All rights reserved

No, not really…it’s more like I wish I fell off the face of the Earth.  My Peanut is sick, my face is peeling, we’ve been experiencing Amazon rain forest weather for over a week and the Jerk is yet again back on the daddy wagon. So yes, I can only wish I had fallen off the face of the Earth.

Face peel: Although it sounds like I had some nice gentle pampering micro-derm face peel, the reality of my peeling face is much less glamorous. My office took a trip to the beach – which they commonly like to refer to as the annual Booze Cruise. To date it’s been home to many moments that are better suited for the NBC hit show “The Office”. For example two years back my supervisor drank an entire bottle of jager alone and attempted to help out a single dad that worked in the programming department by trying to ‘hook him up’. So he starts drunk dialing all of the “sluts” that he knows and accidentally dials his wife….. Keep in mind he is EXTREMELY wasted and therefore is not exactly speaking in an inside voice – and we’re on a bus. That trip was lovingly deemed the “Slut Tirade” and he is no longer allowed to drink jager…ever.

So you can imagine I wasn’t exactly excited to be a part of this for yet another year, but hey…it’s free booze, free food and a day at the beach when I should be working – what’s the harm right? Well I’ll tell you what the harm is a UV danger rating of 10 for the East Coast and me without a drop of sun block. I got F – R – I – E – D….so fried that I made a crunch sound when I walked like I was stepping on a bag of potato chips. Now I look like a lizard during shedding season…yuck.    Moving on…

The Peanut: So upon return from the office beach bake-a-thon I was just happy to see my Peanut again. It was a typical evening: dinner, bath, playtime and then a quiet lullaby in the rocking chair before a kiss goodnight in the crib….my bed felt so nice because I was SSOOOO tired and ready for a good long nights rest. THEN 4am wake up call, I thought, hm he must have dropped his paci.  So I stumble through the darkness to his room and feel around for a paci, pop it back into his mouth and lean down to deliver a soothing kiss on the forehead and OMG MY LIPS WERE ON FIRE! I was thinking WTF?! I place my hand on his forehead and realize it wasn’t my lips… Instantly I rush into Mommy mode – I scoop him up – strip the pjs – lay him on the changing table and insert that hated rectal thermometer….immediately it jumps to 101.2….101.9….102.4….OMFG….102.9…and beeps at a scalding 103.1. Jesus freaking crimeny my child is on fire!!! He’s lethargic, barely able to cry….but I was doing plenty of that for both of us. I’m a first time mom, my kid has NEVER had a fever that I didn’t catch at 101.5 or below;  I wanted to kick myself and feel like a total failure but I didn’t have time. I strapped on a diaper and quickly began administering a cool washcloth to his head, turned on the ceiling fan, gave him a dose of Tylenol and prayed…thinking how do I get him to the ER by myself? I mean someone has to drive while I monitor him in the back seat!? So I called my grandmother (who lives literally less than 5 minutes from house if that) and tell her what is going on. Well on her arrival we didn’t go to the hospital, his fever let off slightly and I vowed that in 3 hours when that doctor’s office opened I’d be standing on the front step.  I laid next to him in my queen size bed, too afraid to shut my eyes, till dawn.  Boy what a weekend that followed, after a trip to the doctor the next morning, the ER Sunday morning for an uncontrollable fever (even with Tylenol AND Motrin) they up his dosage and by Tuesday we’re back to work and daycare sans the fever (THANK YOU LORD JESUS). Going about my day praising the Lord for healing my son Tuesday evening I pick up my Peanut – only to see him COVERED in a rash…are you kidding me? I mean what is this??? So we call the doc (again) and come to the final diagnosis of Roseola.

For those of you who do not know what Roseola is  it’s 2-3 days of a high fever typically 103 degrees F, decreased appetite and fussiness followed by a rash appearing on the fever decline.  Fun fun….

So to recap – I’m looking like the new spokesperson for leprosy in 2009, my poor little Peanut has an ear infection AND Roseola, the Jerk is trying to play Super Dad again (God help me) and I find out my account is overdrawn this morning. Yes, I can only wish I had the luxury of falling off the face of the Earth.

End thought: *insert clever well thought out quote here* Yeah, you get the point.

pillsAfter 5 days of chaos and emotionally purging my feelings onto any living object…I’m happy to announce that the doc took my threats seriously pity on me and gave me a refill of my meds minus the office visit.  It could have been because I told him that I had been without them for that past few days and that my sister was getting married, that I was a bundle of emotional rage and that I received my monthly gift from mother f-ing nature all at the EXACT SAME TIME—– or he was just too afraid to let me into his office building after I called him at home – by mistake.  Yes, I did… but I blame the Yellow Pages or my lack attention to detail – in either case I’m sure he’s still probably checking all the windows of his home before he goes to sleep at night…whoops.

Deatils:  After having been without my meds for a few days thinking I could skate by on alcohol alone (that is just a joke, I don’t even drink anymore so put down the phone, no need to bring child services into this)….I looked him up.  No, I do not have his number saved into my phone because usually I just have my grandmother set me up an appointment because she is his housekeeper –incredibly small town ok –and has been for like a bagillion years.

ANYWAY – so I look up Dr. Mac in the good old 10 page phone book for C-town and just dial the first number I find under his name…at 6:58 in the morning….assuming I would get the office machine and I could just ball my eyes out to their voice mail and convince them I really need my meds like NOW.

Well I let the phone ring….and ring….AND RING…and on the 17th ring I’m thinking ok…wtf is up with their machine??  Then I hear a grumpy…Hello? – it’s Dr. Mac….Huh, wonder why he’s answering the phone and not his nurses or assistants or office admin or something.

Either way at that point I didn’t care about his lazy staff and I’m just like WHATEVER I NEED PILLS so I start going into this big spill about how I have been going through HELL and back and I haven’t had my meds in DAYS and that I’m desperate to get a refill before my sister gets married and abandons me for life and I’ve had to keep it all inside so I don’t upset my little Peanut who incidentally is probably the ONLY reason I’ve managed to stay sane and I’ve been a total B**** to my bf all week because I’m on my “cycle” and they shouldn’t call it a cycle they should call it LIVING DEATH because that’s what it feels like and then he so rudely interrupts my bleeding heart story to say…

“Well I’ll be happy to call you in a refill if you’ll call the office, Jenny should be able to take care of that when we open..” Silence….

Wait…what did he say?

Then it hits me….Oh – my – freaking – gracious….I called him at home….before 7am…..

So I say… “I’m sorry…I thought this was the office….” really nonchalant like because that is the only thing I COULD say at this point as I prepared myself for the restraining order I’m sure he was about to file against me. …he of course was all polite and as tactful as one can be at 7am after having a crazy patient call you at home for an anti-anxiety medication refill. And I of course called the office number that he gave me once they opened. Again…someone please save me from myself…oh that’s right..I already have someone doing that….and his name is J.me&j

I have to go ahead and say this…I am the luckiest crazy person in the world these days.  NOT only did my bf survive my hysteric mania for a whooping 7 days – through my sisters chaotic wedding, my Jekyll and Hyde persona, AND having to basically be the Peanut’s keeper during the wedding and all…but the man brought me flowers….which was the sweetest thing ever although in hindsight, it was probably as a peace offering to say ‘I love you, please don’t kill me in my sleep’ *smile* .  And not just any kind of flowers but a dozen long stemmed roses….like seriously OMG…I have the greatest bf in the world!!

He also bought me a trash can but that’s a long story that I won’t go into right now, because I’m going to tell you it’s romantic and sweet that he got me the trash can too but you’re going to go “What? She thinks a trash can is romantic? She really is crazy” and then I would have to explain why, but I’m not going to because this post is already too long and I just created the longest run on sentence EVER.  So I digress with this…

End thought: Boyfriends who bring you roses are sweet, but boyfriends who bring you outdoor garbage cans are husband material. I love you J.