Shot through the heart and you’re to blame…
I usually blog at night. I’m not supposed to, but that’s when my head is full and my kids are asleep. I then usually schedule it for the morning…I don’t know why. Oh, crap, I do know why. My BFF said she liked to start her day with a shot of me. She said it differently.. I mean, who cares when I post it, no one reads this crap.
The point is, I posted two on Tuesday because I didn’t want my last post to publish on Wednesday morning. Is that weird? I think I thought there would be a ton of 9/11 posts and no one wants to read about why I’m no longer going to the grocery store….or about the rules of Fight Club. Shhhhhh.
I still remember 9/11 like it was yesterday. And I don’t mean yesterday because it was yesterday but the other one, the first one. It was so long ago I was still married. I had just bought a brand new minivan. I think a lot of my adult life (20s and 30s), I was too naive to be scared about anything. I had a good job. I walked late at night with my friend and all our kids to play tennis. I drove with my infants and toddlers to Oklahoma alone at night. Some things you just do without the worry but looking back, I was really lucky.
My husband and I were off and on but after 9/11/01, we were back on because I was scared. I was scared to be alone and he played on my fears, told me what I needed to hear, talked me into buying a house, which they were begging you to do at the end of 2001, but he didn’t change. Nothing changed. I directly blame the terrorists for prolonging my marriage 7 more years. Oh, this is why I don’t blog at night. *depressing*
So I changed his name to the swooper because he likes to swoop in at events and take credit for being a sperm donor. I have so many stories but I’ve sort of put a moratorium on them because I’m so sick of
hearing reading stories about that guy.
I could tell you how he got Tenderheart, the only one who still goes over there, excited about spending the weekend with just him only to dash her hopes when his gal, Felony Melanie couldn’t drive three hours by herself so he needed to leave for the whole weekend to go with her.
Or I could tell you how he keeps calling me to tell me about the two times he’s been to lunch with Sunshine. Yeah? Great. You’ve been to lunch with her twice? Well, you’ve seen her more now than you did all summer, you should be so proud.
But I won’t tell you those stories because of the moratorium.
And listen, I don’t want to get into a scoring situation but I will and I’ll win because it doesn’t take much to swoop in and buy the kid lunch twice but raising her for the last almost 18 years was actual work. Fulfilling work, but more time than he was willing to put in.