Some days you wake up and life feels comfortable, others [like today] you’d like to crawl back under the covers and play dead. Perhaps call out sick with the runs or a debilitating case of food poisoning. At least that’s accurate for me. I suppose that after the last few days it’s to be expected.
I survived the Christmas holiday suffering only mild trauma.
My son’s an asshole. He’s also 11, so I figure he’s right on time. This year he decided he wanted to hang with his father instead of coming to our home for Christmas. Typically, we split the holiday, but this year was to belong entirely to my ex-husband. This at the behest of my darling child. Fuck you, both.
I convinced myself I didn’t need to see my kid; he puts a damper on my sex life. I got new socks for Christmas and I wanted to break them in with a romp around the bedroom. Should you ever find yourself in this predicament, don't ask Alexa [or in our case, Echo] to play “sexy” music. You will be deluged with crappy music that will distract you making it impossible to focus on being or feeling sexy. The exact opposite will take place. You’ll be forced to change the playlist. Try coming up with a different setlist and taking off your panties simultaneously. Now imagine doing that while holding your composure and still attempting to “look hot.”
So…we caught up on a lot of episodes of tv shows we had missed.
At the last minute, my brat decided that he wanted to casually “swing by” on Christmas Day. He had his father drop him off in the late afternoon. I’m not a fucking moron, he came by for the gifts.
The bumbling Wookie came into the house, plopping down on the couch as if I were supposed to serve his ungrateful ass gifts, or fan him with cash. He proceeded to make an incredibly ignorant statement about Christmas being a holiday dedicated to giving children gifts. "Let the child gift giving begin," he plainly stated. I'm sorry, WTF?!
First off, I didn’t teach him that bullshit! If anything, I have always tried to instill in him the importance of helping those less fortunate. I will allow him to formulate a belief system all his own regarding religion, spirituality, or the like. Should he choose to be an atheist, that’s fine – it’s his choice. What is unacceptable in my home is the assumption that because you’re a child you are entitled to shit. There is nothing redeemable about being a greedy little prick.
Second, get your little bitch-ass up and get mommy a snack. There are no free rides in this life.
Curran proceeds to say that his father told him that I had beat him this year. Confused, I had to ask: beat him at what?
My son tells me that his father said as far as gift giving was concerned, I had bested him this year. Oh, that’s fucking fantastic! The father of my son is teaching our kid that we are in direct competition with one another. At least he recognizes preeminence. It only took our entire drunken courtship, an abusive marriage, and a fucking divorce for him to admit I finally did something better than he did. Just one thing. Never the less, I’ll take it! I’m scrapbooking that shit!
This is the only place I get to speak openly about my ex. There is a chance he’ll read this. It’s a chance I’m willing to take. I would never in a million years say this shit in front of our child. As far our son is concerned, his father is a good guy. I’m ok letting him think that. Truth is, the dude is present in our son’s life. He loves our son. He was a fucking dirtbag to me, no doubt. Then again, I was a raging alcoholic, so I can’t really throw too much dirt. At the end of the day I still bought the best gift; that’s what really matters. I finally win, motherfucker!
Sure, I feel like ass warmed over and maybe my kid isn't grasping the concepts that I had hoped he would - but I finally win. Eat a dick!
If you're a divorced momma, this one is for you.