Tis the season...

Yes.  I hate the holiday season.
People who are normally nice turn into complete step ford-like assholes.
And people who are already assholes turn into even bigger douches.
Not to mention the 'compassionate nod' I get when I tell people I am happily single.
Or the weird looks I get when I tell people that Ryan's dad and I share Ryan for the holidays.

But I LOVE LOVE LOVE Christmas.

Ryan is super excited since he still believes Santa is the real deal.
So I will be eating cookies, adding Santa's presents to the small pile under the tree, leaving small chunks of apples in the front yard (and bagging up the bigger chunks for the trash), and writing a letter from Santa to Ryan (with my left hand of course!).

This year Ryan wants to know if Santa celebrates Christmas, Hanukkah or Kwanzaa.
What a sweetie.

I hope all my friends and family have a wonderful day filled with love.
And that is about all the mushiness you will get out of me until next year.
Until then...

Twenty years

You were standing near some freezer items.
Our eyes locked and it was like the entire store disappeared.
It was just me and you.
In that one second, two years flew by before my eyes.

I-83, your hands on my head.
Johnny's house, the couch.
Your grandparents house, the recliner.

It was twenty years ago, but I could still smell your cologne.

It felt like I ran to the check-out aisle.  My hear raced and my skin prickled.  I became aware of everyone, yet no one.  I kept looking for you.

I was grateful for the older couple who got in line behind me.  That meant you couldn't stand there.

I realized then that you were with your wife.
Does she know?

Does she know how your fists feel?
Does she know what it's like to have your hands on her neck?
Do you hold her down too?
I just hope she has more than a recliner to stare at.

The long and short of it

It's not easy being a parent.
It can be made even more difficult when parents have different views on how their children are to be raised.
Let's go one further.
How about when parents are no longer married, have different views on how their children should be raised, and are trying desperately to NOT talk smack about the other one.

I wish I could say that this argument was about something new.
Yet here I am reeling from one of the weirdest arguments I have ever had.
About hair.

Here is where it gets hard.
I can't sit with my ex-husband and needle out of him the reasons that this is the battle he has chosen.  I can't delve into his mind and heart to see what issues might lie there.  That is no longer allowed.
So I try very hard to stay out of it.
I listen to my son as he vents his frustrations, and then I encourage him to talk to his father.
I might give him suggestions on how to approach his father, or what he might say, but somehow I get sucked in.
The ex thinks we are conspiring against him and that couldn't be further from the truth.

What makes all of this even harder for me is the fact that Ryan's father is not my friend.  I don't like him.  He hurt me and when someone hurts me, I don't have time for them.  I won't waste my energy on anyone else who treated me the way Shane did.
But the fact that we have a child together throws all of my feelings towards him right out of the window.

I don't have luxury of telling him to fuck off.
I guess I could, but I choose to be an adult.
So I find saying things like, "I'm sorry you thought I was arguing with you" and "No I don't want to leave you out of the decision making because that wouldn't be fair."

I hate making nice with him, but my son looks up to me.
And I am not going to teach him how to be a dick.

The indifference

I know this may sound mean, but I'm going to say it anyway.
I got a Christmas card from my mother, and chucked it.

When it comes down to it, I simply do not care.

I do have some good memories associated with my mother.
But as a whole, she has done nothing for me.
I would be willing to give her a chance though.  I have a pimple on my ass that needs popping and I can't reach it.

Eh... never mind.

Woof. *the sound that escapes me after being punched in the stomach*

I know it's not the end of the world; and I shouldn't let it affect me.
But it feels like another blow.
I interviewed twice with one company.  The only company that even requested an interview with me.
They told me there were two positions open, turns out there were four.
Good news, right?
Only if you are one of the four hired; and I wasn't.

I feel like crawling into a hole.  But I have bills to pay, and a son to raise.
Sure, I might take a few minutes to feel sorry for myself.  And I don't think there is anything wrong with that.

But a few minutes is all I have.  Because I have a part time job to go to.
And more resumes to send out.

My evil diabolical plan

I have an idea.
I'm going to open up my own business.
Then when things start to slow up a bit, I'll lay some people off.
And then I'll HIRE someone new to do the same job as the people I laid off.
And then I'll keep someone employed who can make sure all of my vehicles get painted.  No not maintenance painting.  I want to have them fancied up, just because I can.
And then maybe I'll let my son work for me as a manager and walk around like a total douche-bag.  He can deny vacation to the people under him, just in case he wants off on those same days.  He can spend all day on Facebook and talk his wife all day because she obviously can't handle daily life on her own.
In the midst of all of this I'm going to ask all of my employees to take a pay cut and let them know they will not be getting any raises until further notice.  But I'll sure to keep in touch with everyone from my super big house in the Outer Banks every weekend.

Oh wait.
That's already being done.
Never mind.

The trade off

Being a mother is hard.  There are times I want to pull my own hair out of my entire body.  And I know that it will get even tougher as he gets older.
To make it even more exciting, I get to co-parent with my ex-husband.  We don't live in the same house (or currently the same town) and our opinions on how to raise our son will definitely clash at some point.  Add in the opinion of his current wife and you've got a recipe for a really crappy casserole...it might possibly have tuna in it.

But beyond all of that worry and fear of what is to come, my heart is filled a love I never knew was possible.
At times I swear my heart is ready to burst, when Ryan will say or do something that makes me love him even more.  And somehow my body makes room for a larger heart.

It is the most amazing feeling in the world; and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

The gray area

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you have the personality of a black woman."

I'm not sure what the 'wrong way' is.
But how am I supposed to take it?  I'm not even sure what it meant.
I sort of shrugged it off and moved on.

But it bugs me.
And I'm not exactly sure how to put it into words.

It's not like this is the first time in my life I've heard something along these lines.  Not quite an out an out racist remark, but something that seems to steam directly underneath the surface of hate.
I spent the better part of my life living in areas that aren't exactly colorful, if you know what I mean.  That has changed a bit over the years but the attitude has not.
The only exposure some of the people in these areas have to anything other than 'the white culture' is what they see on television.
But is it up to me to be the teacher?
Is there a time and a place for these sorts of discussions?
Is it enough to hope that one day, a bigger world will open up to the offenders?
Is saying nothing wrong?

The answers to these questions are not so clear.
But perhaps just asking the questions in the first place, is a good start.

My four horsemen

I really do try very hard to stay positive.  When my brain starts to focus on all the bad things it sees, I do what I can to refocus that energy on the things that bring me joy.

But for all of that effort I say with honesty; I hate the fucking holidays.

Nothing brings me more misery than being the single gal at the holiday events I can't get out of attending. 

It starts just before Thanksgiving and usually starts to mellow out after Valentine's Day.  

This isn't a new feeling for me.  I've always hated this time of year. 

Always.

Even when I found love with my now ex-husband, there was something just absolutely unbearable about making it through these four months.  

Faking it has become such a burden that I don't want to do it anymore.

But I will.

If only for my son's sake.  He deserves it.

I just hope that he, along with my small circle of loved ones can forgive me should my maudlin mood bubble to the surface.