Confessions of a Horrible Mother

The separation had been particularly hard on her. He seemed to take it in stride like nothing of their 18 years together mattered. He lost his spark for her, it was gone and she was slowly fading away. She noticed it first the week after she moved out. She arrived at his house, the house they once shared, to find all of the pictures with her in them, gone. The ones with him and the children remained, but any image of her ceased to exist. All of her touches on the house: the mantle arranged just so, the kitchen counter, the chairs at the dining room table. Different. Gone. They hadn’t vanished. They weren’t missing..... they were missing her. The process was going faster than she’d thought. She was being wiped away. Wipe by wipe, she was being erased. She pictured herself as the remnants  of eraser leavings on a piece of paper. The kids remained, he remained, the house remained, but she was erased out and blown away, just some rubber pieces brushed away to the floor. She ...

I wasn’t sure why I joined the group. I thought it was probably what I should do.  ‘Going through a divorce is difficult, you need all of the support you can get’. Against my better judgment, my mother was right. The group seemed to be the best bet. Strangers, brought together via the internet to bring solace and comfort to one another. A strong group of women, a fierce group of broads, tough mothers who were as intelligent as they were resilient. Yes, these are exactly the kind of women I needed to surround myself with! The group didn’t turn out to be as I imagined. The strong, fierce survivors who had “I Am Woman” singing in their ear while they fearlessly put the pieces of their fractured lives back together, were absent. A group of Phoenix rising from the ashes to support, hold up and embrace their new single-dom? They were not here. Embraced by their female brethren they would climb great heights for divorcees everywhere? Gone. That group, was no where ...

I stopped at the store on my way home from work.  My kids,  just having spent the week with me, cleaned me out. My fridge, freezer and cupboards empty.  Despite my best googling and pintresting I couldn't find many recipes with canned pumpkin, garbanzo beans, black olives and sardines.  I would have to stop at the store on the way home.  Many times, in my post divorce laziness, I have opted to not cook and get something pre-made, to go or delivered.  Since this was a new me and a new year, I thought I might stray from the comfort of the deli cases and venture into the unknown.   The fish counter was quiet that night.  Just me and the friendly fishmonger, Darryl, stocking the jumbo- previously frozen- shrimp.  "How are you doing tonight ma'am?" There was an easygoing feeling I got from him.  "Oh, I'm just fine.  I'm looking for something to cook tonight."  I smiled "Well, we have these king crab legs on special....

Write. More. Yes, you heard me... Why don't you write more?  Well, its not like I have the time.  I mean don't I write already? I write for work, I write letters to my kids teachers telling them how sorry I am for their laziness, I write in my journal - but that's mostly sentimental jibberish and harsh words meant for someone who will never get to hear it.  Nope, can't do it.  I just can't find the time. Well what are you doing right now? Looking for stuff I don't need on Amazon of course.  Prime, you are a temptress! #damnyoujeffbezos I've read some of your stuff.  It's not too terribly bad, and you enjoy it so much. Isn't it your therapy?  The free kind. Not the talking doctor every Thursday at 10:00 am kind. It is a New Year.  I just got a new 2020 calendar.  I do have that resolution to write a paragraph a day....but a blog?  It seems a little cliche.  Am I not the one that tells the you tubing, insta-storying, influ...