Why I Love Boys

I don't know how or when this happened, but I am surrounded by boys. And not just of the under ten variety either. Don't get me wrong, there are a few women in my life, but day in and day out, it's all me. And, while this comes in handy like say, for changing a tire or jump starting the car (she says innocently like she has no clue how to do this) being the only flower in the meadow can be, well, a bit dis-heartening. So I've compiled a list of mental notes on why I am so grateful to have all these wonderful boys in my life. Mainly so, if necessary, they have a working script to talk me down off the ledge with later.

1. A buzz cut is incredibly easy to check for ticks. Seriously, when freshly done, I can spot one from across the room.

2. I will never have to learn how to gut a fish. I will however, have to bait the hook.

3. With careful laundry preparation, you can shrink all of your Love's "good" t-shirts just enough to not fit him anymore. Wah-La! Free comfy clothes.

4. Sling shots, a bow-n-arrow, and a first aid kit. All the makings of a great weekend without TV. Yes, that is my son's sling shot ready butt in the blog picture.

5. Never having to watch a Disney Princess Movie until you can recite every line as if you were in it. No promises about Star Wars though.

6. Never having to search frantically for Barbie's hairbrush, earrings, or missing left shoe.

7. No one notices if you don't shower on Sunday.

8. If you accidentally fart or burp in public, boys will usually claim it for themselves.

9. Less laundry. They sleep in their boxers and one pair of underwear could last days unless I catch them. (Seriously, Gross!!! What's up with that?)

10. Secret Agent Stuff (Come on admit it, trip wires, night vision goggles, supersonic hearing devices, it's so cool! You know you want to play.)

11. When they're teenagers, you only have to wonder what one boy is thinking. With girls you have to wonder what all boys are thinking.

12. No one steals your makeup, unless it's Halloween.

I'm sure there are more but I can't think of any right now. Perhaps, this should become an on-going list, updated as necessary, and posted prominently on the fridge for my reference. So that the next time I'm on the roof taking down the Christmas lights in June, the kids can read it to me so I don't get any crazy ideas.

Going Postal...

"A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet" -W. Shakespeare. Unless of course your name is A. Stoolfart. Really, this is a real name of one of my customers. (OK, it's got a German spelling, but that is how it's said.)

Stoolfart.

Wait, it gets better. We also have a Harry Teets, Dick Harry, and Mystee Drinkwater. Now, Harry's a grown man but poor Mystee, her parents did that to her. They couldn't even spell it normal. I mean, what is this poor girl supposed to do when she wants stickers with her name on them, or a personalized licence plate for her bicycle? The lesson for parents here... pick a normal name for your kids. They'll love you more for it later.

That Phat-Ho lives on the route I run on Mondays. Go ahead, say it out loud. I often wondered why she didn't change her name when she moved here from her home land. Seriously, the Italians and Irish did it all the time, and for far less of a reason. Lucky for her she does not have a weight problem.

Then there's the Brilliant Family that lives on route six. I'm still trying to figure out if they truly are brilliant, or if they're grossly over compensating. Really, if you were that smart, would you have to advertise it?

Just down the street from the Brilliants lives Tony Stark. Now, before all you guys go running to the Iron Man's summer home, I feel I must disclose that I have never seen any scantily clad women in his pool. No super-techno gadgets either.

The Cullens lived around the corner from my home. I'm sure they lived there quite peacefully until the books/movies came out, and they were run out of town by vampire hating townsfolk with pitch forks. That, or screaming teenage girls.

And there you have it. These are the things I ponder while driving around in my government issued tin can on wheels. Shakespeare, comic books, and pre-adolescent body humor. Oh, the rock star life of a postal carrier is so complex. Or maybe, just maybe, I've inhaled way too much exhaust from the mail truck.

WALK Is A Four Letter Word

When I was a kid I played outside.  I climbed trees, flew kites, ate mud pies, dug for dinosaur, and rolled down the hill in the back yard daily.  When I was 12, and I wanted to see my friends, I rode my bike.  On some days, this meant riding 5 miles to the nearest friend's house, in all kinds of weather, and by all kinds of dogs. On many days, my friends and I would easily ride 30 or more miles all over town.  I did this, and never even thought twice about it.  It was just what we did. So when the heck did this everyday necessity become the new form of child abuse called exercize?  Seventeen years later, I live one mile from the school, and I had the brilliant idea to bestow some of these barbaric customs on my boys by walking them home from school.  You should have seen their faces. The scene went something like this, 

"How far is it?"
"One Mile"
"Did you bring our skateboards?"
"No"
"Water?"
"No"
"A snack?"
"No"
"Can we take a break?"
"No"
"My backpack is too heavy, can you carry it?"
"Sure"
"Can we collect the cans we find on the way?
"Are you gonna carry them?"
"No.  But can I pick up the lottery tickets?"
"Whatever, just keep walking"
"Is this one a winner?"
"No"
"Can we rest now?"
"No"
"I think I may have broken my ankle....Seriously, Mom, I'm having pains...Oh, can I go grab that golf ball?"
"No, just keep walking"
"Is this ticket a winner?"I can't believe you didn't bring water.  Can you check me for ticks when we get home?"

And there you have it. I was so worried that my boys didn't get enough exercize and then I realized that they were constantly pushing their luck,  jumping to conclusuions, and grinding my patience. Here I just thought we were walking home.  No wonder they were so tired.  I think I need a nap.

Thankfully Employed

This is why I can't have too much time off in a week. It becomes extremely bad when it's two consecutive days. Because here I was, off Tuesday and Wednesday this week. Tuesday I could handle, there were tons of things to do. Phone calls, laundry, cleaning, errands, etc. But Wednesday comes and nothing. Then suddenly I remember that it's St. Patrick's day, and I have a waffle iron just begging to be dusted off. So I surprise the kids and what do I get? "Ma it's green."... "Yeah, it's St. Patrick's Day".... "Well I'm not eatin' that"... and so it goes. My morning masterpieces were once again wasted on my lovely munchkins. And since the waffles weren't gonna eat themselves, I ate them... all of them. I fear that I'll have to report next Tuesday that I am not the Biggest Loser, as I will definitely fall below the yellow line after this one single breakfast. So the kids make a hasty retreat out the door to school and I am left with more time...

So I start looking around the house, and think to myself "I'll take what's behind wall number one." Now that I'm thinking about it, this is probably why I shouldn't have a saws-all either. Anyway, I did not find anything exciting as you can see, no pot of gold, buried treasure, or even a 100 year old penny (so much for traditions). Now this little project has ensured that I now have something to do next week when I also have two consecutive days off. Bonus!

Now I realize that the house is yet again a mess and I must clean. Seriously, I think I may need to have my head examined. Once clean up is finished, I must leave the house or risk taking out another wall. So in an effort to regain control, I head down to the beach for a walk because I could practically feel the waffles attaching themselves to my butt.

It's a beautiful day here too. Sixty degrees, barely any wind, loads of sunshine, the perfect day for walking on the beach. Mother Nature is in a great mood today, the whole world is in harmony, Spring is springing...etc...etc... Well, some one forgot to tell Neptune. Because this is what the beach looked like today. No beach to be seen, ten foot waves, 15 foot spray over the sea wall, and me without my snorkel.

So there you have it, I went back home and mindlessly played on the computer until the kids were out of school. Totally wasted the rest of the day. I actually read some 30 plus of the randomly re-forwarded emails. My only salvation is that summer's coming and I'll soon be working 6 days a week again, that, and I have sufficiently made enough work from the hole in the wall to keep me busy for the next three weeks. I did however find wisdom in one of those random forwarded emails. It read, "After Monday and Tuesday, even the calender says W T F. "

Not Liable For Natural Disasters...

OK so I admit it. I'm a bit nuts when it comes to the boy's birthdays. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the rent-a-pony Mom, but I think birthdays are a big deal and should be celebrated. I have two tough birthday months for New England. November is tough because it's already getting cold, and some years we already have snow. Combine that with my oldest's birthday smack between Halloween and thanksgiving, and the standard gooodie bag would result in a sugar coma that would last 'til new Years. My youngest son was born on the Ides of March, which evidently was unlucky for Caesar, but also me, since raising him has been one of the toughest battles ever. Seriously though, March is also tough because we get mostly rain, 40 degree days and in some cases, still have snow from December left. Add to all of this that most of the time I am broke (see single mom raising boys of dead beat father) and planning memorable parties tends to get creative.

When they were little, parties consisted of immediate family, a cake from the kitchen, and a creative twist on the invitation i.e. printing the invite on the inside of the party hat and mailing it out. But as they got older and included friends, the parties seemed to take on a life of their own. so I decided to have them out of the house.

My youngest's fourth birthday was pirate themed. Each child got a rolled up pirate invitation in the mail, complete with a stuffed parrot attached. The "treasure map" led them to the hotel where the pool party was, where upon arrival, they could swim in the pirate's cove, complete with water slides and a hot tub crow's nest. This was a great party, and affordable too, until I realized that I had to pay for every person who came, swimming or not. It quickly turned into the most expensive party ever, for which my tax return ended up paying for. Needless to say when November rolled around and my oldest son also wanted to "swim in the snow", we rented a hotel room and they took over the pool in proper kid style. Invitations to this one included a snorkel, mask, beach balls, and sunglasses, and I think it went over better than the previous pool party. Oh, but did I forget to mention that for both parties we had snow? The March one was even crazier, blizzard like snow resulting in six inches, that because of our New England weather was gone the next day when it was 50 degrees out. Yet, all the kids showed up.

March and November are also great months for movie releases. Disney always has something new coming out. So only fitting that they each had a movie party, where I took an average of 15 boys out to the movies and to ice cream afterwards. Invites for this one included hand made movie tickets, popcorn, movie style candy, and a "preview" DVD of some sort. Thankfully with the help of my AAA discounts for the movie tickets and friend with deep pockets for hiding juice boxes, I got out of these parties pretty cheap. Getting 15 boys to the other end of the mall for ice cream was another story.

We've had a Star Wars themed party, complete with light sabers and Jedi robes. This one was actually one of the easiest being that it was right after Halloween and "Clone Wars" had just come out. Most of the goodie bag stuff was 75% off and mine for the picking. Invites were the musical cards from Hallmark complete with the invitation on the inside. We had a mad scientist party also that year since my youngest has a flair for science. We blew up Mentos rockets in the back yard and each kid got (non) toxic alien goo for the invite. Inside the goo was a test tube with the invite rolled up inside of it. OK now that I'm half way through this blog, I'm starting to see why people think I have too much time on my hands.

As the kids got older, we moved on to sleepover parties. Now, these have become the most cost effective parties ever, running under $100, but with one catch. Seems I always forget to invite Mother Nature, and she gets pissed. Camp out parties have been a favorite here. I move all the furniture out of the living room and set up a tent, complete with crazy Christmas lights, streamers, green balloons (for trees), and roll out sleeping bags. Sounds fun right? And they are. Way fun actually, if people can actually get to my house. Seems that no matter when I plan them we get the worst nor'easter of the year. (For all you non-New Englander's that's a really bad rain storm with high winds) The first camp out we had took down trees and power lines. They closed expressway off ramps and people had to pass my house by 2 exits and backtrack through back roads to get here. We lost power, which as the kids saw it, only added to the enjoyment since every goodie bag included a lantern. And while the cake and candle thing was cool with no power, I also have no photo evidence that this party existed or that all eight boys showed up, since none of the photos came out in the darkness. What I do have somewhere is the photos of the tree that fell and blocked our road for hours the next morning, making parents have to park their car and "hike" in to get their kids. And as the true glutton for punishment that I am, I had another camp out party last night.

But I am learning from my previous endeavors. This time we made a "tent" from king sized sheets, complete with "firefly" lights in the "trees". The beauty of this was that the kids had the whole living room floor to pick spots, and there was no tent to break. Goodie bags included flashlights, s'more kits, cards, and a snuggie for each all wrapped up in a laundry bag for the ease of catching stray socks. I even did cake, ice cream, and gifts early enough that the sugar would wear off by 9pm. What I didn't plan for though, was family emergencies, the stomach bug, and again, another nor'easter. Kid numbers dwindling, it was definitely less crazy than previous parties, but rain, nasty weather and yet again, trees down across the road made for a fun pick up in the morning. But the kids were happy none the less, wrapped in snuggies with flashlights in hand, a good time was had by all.

I've informed both of them both that age 10 is my cut off. Then we'll move on to two friends and a trip somewhere. And they're OK with that, or at least that's what they say now. Because my boys may be natural disasters, but I don't think that I can take the blame for any more freak snow storms or any more hurricane force wind nor'easter storms. My homeowners doesn't cover it.

Beauty In The Eye Of My Nine Year Old

Test your art IQ.

This is a watercolor picture of...

A) A clown

B) A postage stamp

C) Me, having a bad hair day during my curly hair phase.

Best part about art, it can be whatever you want it to be. When my son (Age 5) brought this masterpiece home, I had been working 4 months of 6 day work weeks at the post office. Sadly I looked right past the center image and saw only the wavy lines in the square and thought "Crap, my kids are designing their own stamps". When his grandmother saw it, she thought the clown detail was exceptional (yes, she's biased) but that the clown looked so sad. This then spurred many, MANY, conversations regarding how my five year old should not be so sad and he was obviously exhibiting his true feelings in the only outlet he had. Whatever, Ma... have you ever met my son??? He's never at a loss for conversation. And if he's upset about something, he'll gladly throw me under the bus for it, daily.

My oldest has had a flair for the arts for as long as I can remember and now at 9 he has expanded his talents to other mediums such as pencil, clay, spaghetti, and toothpaste. Thankfully, it's not just his mama that sees this potential in him. Each year the art teacher can pick 30 pieces of artwork from over 400 and submit them into an art show at the local museum. This is my son's second year in the show and I might add, one of the few, who had a repeat performance. So for the past two years this has been "his" night. We make a big deal, as we should, and his aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, etc. and all go to opening night. As do ALL the other families, crammed into this small space all looking for their child's latest masterpiece. It's so loud with everyone weaving in and out of the maze of art work that no one can hear the woman on the microphone (standing five feet away) thanking all the people "who made this night possible". So after everyone has had more than their share of claustrophobia and invasion of personal space, we then proceed to go out to dinner. Which turns out to be another invasion of personal space. And when can they seat a party of nine at my son's family favorite restaurant? "In a while." Nice. Four hungry kids and they can seat us "in a while." Guess we should be happy that the other 5 members of the family couldn't make it. The next restaurant was more accommodating and thankfully saved the night, but with no ice cream for dessert it was a bit of a let down for my boy's big night.

Anyway, as the evening winded down, and my son finally went to sleep after promises of a monster sized ice cream sundae the next day, I was reminded of how cool it was that finally one of my children has inherited one of my good qualities. Oh, and that picture above? My boy says it's "C"... it's a picture of me all dressed up for a night out. Nice.

The Tooth Fairy Doesn't Work On Valentine's Day

Isn't it amazing the things we tell our kids when we need to keep the lie going just a little while longer? Seriously, I am always amazed that they ever trust us again when they find out the truth about all the mythical beings we shove at them from the time they can talk. When my first son was born, I actually contemplated only teaching the idea of Santa instead of the concept of this large fat man with a red face (seems indicative of WAY too much rum in the eggnog) who "magically" transcends the chimney and never gets stuck. Please, a bird got stuck in the chimney once, I'll spare you the details of how hard it was to get him out. And then we teach them that he only works one day a year (Hello?!? Do we really want our little kids thinking this is an acceptable practice) and that he'll bring you everything you ever wanted just as long as you behave. Which by the way, I knew many a bully and brat in school that got EVERY present they wanted. Duh... how do you think they got so mean and entitled? My idea was quickly shot down when I found that everyone I knew was asking him what he wanted from Santa at thirteen months old.

Then there's the Easter bunny. Really... a bunny? What does a bunny have to do with Easter any way? And why does he lay eggs? I had many bunnies growing up and trust me, what they laid wasn't chocolate. So we teach them that this giant magical bunny comes to the house and hides eggs all over the yard. OK, they're not really hidden either, I mean come on, they're neon colors. And then for those kids who either don't have a yard or it's too cold out, we let the giant bunny into the house, so he can hide them all over the place. Didn't I just yell at the kids yesterday to stop playing in my plants and to get out of the laundry closet? And yet a mutant bunny comes and it's suddenly all good? And even better... the kids actually buy this!

There's Father Time and Mother Nature. You think they're married? Or maybe they had a messy divorce. And how many of us have actually seen a leprechaun? Yet every St. Patty's day we send the kids out chasing rainbows and looking for the pot of gold. Funny, every vertically challenged Irish man I've ever met at the end of a rainbow was passed out.

Then we get to my all time favorite. The tooth fairy. OK... he or she sneaks into your house via a window, gets close enough to you while your sleeping to take your tooth and leave you a quarter? Last time I checked ANYONE sneaking into my house via a window in the middle of the night is getting met with a can of wasp spray to the eyes from 28 feet. Then we'll discuss how much it hurts while your laying in the hospital. And who thought that it was a good idea to tell kids (especially the girls) that selling their body parts is a good idea? And you'd think that the deflated economy would he helping this situation, but no, gone are the days when you got a quarter for a tooth. My ex husband got the pleasure of the first tooth and pillow gig, when my oldest son was there on a weekend visit. Evidently all he had on him was $3, because that became the standard for all teeth lost thereafter. My youngest son lost his first tooth at the Statue of Liberty while on vacation in NYC. He got a five spot, since everything costs more in New York. A friend of mine told me she was too tired to go out and make change, so she gave her son a twenty with a note that he should spend half of it on a new tooth brush. Morning came and mysteriously, the note was no where to be found. Sneaky, sneaky boy.

And then one day the tides change. We're caught with our hand on the "Santa" cookie plate or under the pillow. We're forced to answer to the military grilling and come clean with the lies. My oldest son has lost all of his teeth, so seeing no source of income coming in he thinks it's safe to believe the rumors that the tooth fairy wears Mommy Pj's and not wings. He's still holding out for Santa though, just in case. My youngest is only on his third tooth, and has contemplated ways of knocking out a few extras to increase his cash flow. Recently, he tried the string-n-doorknob trick, but forgot to inform me. I came through the door and out it came. It was Valentine's Day and I had no cash or coin. Suddenly I remembered, the Tooth Fairy doesn't work on Valentine's Day! It causes too many issues in air traffic control since Cupid's flying around shooting arrows every which way. And once again, my son bought this and agreed that the Tooth Fairy could wait a day for him, since he didn't want an arrow mishap on his hands.

No children were harmed in the cleaning of my kitchen

I am starting my journey towards the top of Mount Laundry. It's summit is high my friend, and I fear the air will be thin. I am taking along a box of Tide and a candy bar for nourishment. I have heard that I can use the candy bar as leverage to repel down if I loose my footing. It will be a long journey, if I do not make it back, check on my children...they only have enough cereal for two days...

OK, so cleaning is not quite like that in my home, but it is an adventure. Working six days does not leave much time for a good thorough cleaning. So, when it does happen, quite honestly, it can take days. My only respite is that I have a small house (under 1200 square feet). A quick clean can be done in an hour. Unfortunately, when you have a sleepover birthday party planned for 12 boys under ten, and one of them is allergic to cats, well the one hour clean just isn't going to cut it. And so it starts.

Sadly my children get their ADHD from me, and I swear it gets worse as I get older, because the mere task of vacuuming and mopping the floor always gets interrupted by the sudden realization of how dirty the baseboards are, or the pile of paperwork that's waiting to go through. The change of season means the winter hats, boots, and jackets get cleaned and put away (and yet Mount Laundry grows). Then you discover the kitchen table which the takes on a cleaning nightmare of it's own. Seriously, the boys at my table are 8, 9, 43, and 15... does ANY of the food make it into their mouths?? Or does it just go directly to the floor and chairs? And how exactly does it get into that little niche in the table legs? An hour later we're onto the bathroom....

The bathroom is small but needs much updating. This alone makes it difficult to clean, the boys lack of aim makes it even harder. OK, I get that I have different parts, but is it too much to ask that they focus on the task at hand (so to speak) and maintain good aim? The sink is a cluttered mess of toothpaste and remnants of temporary tattoos. Mental note: ask for the "Touch and Brush" toothpaste system for Christmas next year. As for the bath mat and mass piles of towels from tonight's showers that couldn't have possibly made it into the laundry chute? Yup, you guessed it, on top of Mount Laundry. Sing it with me now...you know the tune.

Vacuuming is daunting as it is self propelled and often attacks my feet. I dread having to use the attachments because they will never fit back into place without help of a strong bungee and perhaps some duct tape. I can hear the dust bunnies growling and readying for attack as I move the furniture. I think some of them may be rabid. Fred (our resident spider) has been very busy this spring and I'm pretty sure I will loose one of the kids in a web soon. As I clean, I am making mental notes of new projects for the "Honey-Do" list, which would be great if I wasn't the "Honey". And so I work far into the wee hours of the morning, and just when I think they'll find me unconscious in the morning with a vacuum hose shaped hickey on my forehead, I finally finish the last crevice of the couch. The kids will be up in 2 hours and I'll bet all the coin I found in the recliner, that they'll make sure I have more to clean again in 3.

All and all, I am happy with my rock star evening. No children were harmed in the cleaning of the kitchen tonight, but if their aim doesn't get better, I can't make any promises for the bathroom. I may have to unleash the dust bunnies on them.

Waiting For A Smile...

Today my cousin reported that her son had swallowed a Lego. Since this was her third child, it was more to report that it since it was the head of a Lego person, her son really did have a "head up his butt". And while the newer Moms in the family were horrified, the rest of us freely recanted our best stories of all things stuck, swallowed, and lodged. All of us have stories of raisins up the nose, and small seashells in the ears. My son once swallowed a penny and held onto it for 11 days. Several x-rays later, it did eventually come out, but he earned the nickname of "Human Piggy" and I swear that is why he's such a good saver to this day. But the grand prize still goes to my youngest son, who's name will not be mentioned in the hopes of protecting his teenage years.
Super balls. One inch of rubbery goodness that bounces higher and faster than any substance should ever travel within a confined space. They come in all colors and styles, but the basic premise is the same. Super fast, super high, and way cool for a five year old. The challenge to living in a small house is where to use this awesome little toy that will not break a window or heirloom knickknack, and still be able to deliver an abundance of fun. So my son, always the thinker, came up with a plan. He was going to combine this toy with water and use it in the tub. A small enough space to ensure maximum ricochet, and with the added bonus of a splash down. Since my son knew how to swim he took baths on his own, with my checking on him every so often to ensure the soap was being utilised and rinsed properly.
And the splash down began. There was rapid fire pinging all over the tub enclosure walls and eventually the "plunk' of it hitting the water. All and all, he was getting a great soak in the tub, his playing lasted over a half hour, and I checked on him several times to ensure he was fine. Eventually the splashdown stopped, he moved on to singing, and the call came that it was time to get out. So in I came, towel in hand, but something was missing. The super ball. The little bright orange smiley faced ball was no where to be found and although he claimed to have no idea what happened to it, his face told a different story.
After much military grilling, he broke, telling he that he was pretending to be a chicken and then the ball was gone. Yup, you guessed it...he was pretending to lay an egg. But the "egg" had other ideas. Evidently when you combine soap, water and a small enough super ball, without much effort, things can get stuck in areas other than just an ear or a nose. The question would be what to do about it. Then the phone calls started. At first, I think the nurses thought they were being punked. The night nurse found herself laughing while recanting the story back to me. After a few minutes of conversing over the best way to relay this to the on call doctor for a consult, she eventually called back with a plan. The plan was to wait it out.
And so we waited. The logic behind this is that if it went up easy, it should come out easy. The trick was that we weren't sure how far up it was lodged or if it really was even there to begin with. It was rubber so an x-ray wouldn't show it's placement, and a laxative would more than likely hinder it's coming out. And so, we waited.....and waited....and waited. Morning came and I had to report to my boss why I would not be at work today. Thankfully, while this was a new one to him, he had had three boys and knew it was believable or more likely, that I lacked the creativity to have made this up. Finally, shortly before noon, the waiting was over. The sweet voice from the bathroom announced that he had found the ball. And there, floating proudly in the bowl partially encased, was a perfectly positioned neon orange smiley face.

Super balls have now been banned in the bathrooms of everyone I know...

Thoughts On The Ex-Husband

My ex husband is an idiot. Which is why of course he is my ex husband. And yes, I am also aware that everyone says this about their ex but mine actually is. He had everything he could have wanted, a roof over his head, a wife who worked, paid all the bills and loved to cook, two beautiful kids, and no responsibilities. And still he managed to screw it up.

I will spare you most of the details of my pathetic dating life in high school other than to say it consisted of allot of co-dependency and the need to take care of everyone. Basically, if you weren't sick or broken, I wasn't interested. Which is how I eventually ended up marrying one of the most broken ones of all, at twenty years old. I'll blame my complete denial of his problems on my naivety and take responsibility for my part in the "irretrievable" breakdown of our marriage, but I know "in good times and stupidity" was no where in my vows. And so after 8 years, I booted him out the door.

We had a very amicable divorce. Papers were signed, we exchanged pleasantries at the door, and I took my first breath of freedom as I walked out of the court house. And then it hit him, he didn't own me anymore, and then the real court battles began. Fights over custody, visitations, false allegations, child support, blah...blah...blah... At one point I think I was offered one of the comfy chairs in the front of the courtroom and a personalized coffee mug for free refills at the news stand across the street. Years of these monthly visits to the local probate took it's toll on everyone in the house and all the while he had no clue what his actions were doing to his boys.

Then one day, it all stopped. He had become involved with a woman who from the outside seemed good for him. He had his meal ticket again but, Karma is, as they say, "a bitch". They eventually married, and had a very volatile relationship. Their fights became epic, and since she did fight back (I never did until after the divorce) they usually ended in the police being called. Their fights were violent, one which she stabbed him, another in which one of them started a fire and burned the house down. How's that for smoking HOT burning love??? They made the front page of the paper, the radio, the 11pm, 5pm, and 6am TV news. Even then, he still adamantly maintained that he always thought of his boys first. Even today, he has no clue what the boys witnessed between them and all the mental damage it has done to them. He's in the midst of his criminal trial now, is out on bail, and has found another meal ticket- I mean- woman to take care of him...she seems nice.

So, that brings you up to speed on my now ex-husband. We have nicknamed him the "Teflon Villain" since all consequences seem to slide right off of him. He does not pay child support, and after 13 times in court has yet to receive a slap on the wrist for it. He sees his children for a 3 hour visit per month which usually involves about 2 days of "deprogramming" afterwards and much therapy for the boys. I wrote this post just to provide a reference point for all of my future references to the "Idiot". It may sound like I'm jaded or bitter, but I'm not. Really, I'm not. I'm just realistic about his lack of normal capabilities. But on the plus side, when we go to court now, the judge doesn't think I'm the crazy one anymore.