Finally. The kids are in bed, the dog is asleep, and I can concentrate. The dishwasher is humming its little tune as it scrubs clean three days worth of dishes. The clothes dryer still isn't drying like it should be, have to remember to call maintenance about that. I also have to remember to reschedule middle child's eye appointment that I completely spaced out and forgot about today. Plus everybody needs to go to the dentist, and there is a Girl Scout meeting tomorrow night, and more unpacking to do. I really need another bookshelf or two, and have to find a way to hang all these pictures. Gotta keep busy, gotta stay focused, because otherwise, I'll feel the pain I am trying so very hard not to feel.
This, my friends, is the house that my ex-husband bought two weeks ago with his new girlfriend. It is over 4,000 square feet. Five bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances, and a three car garage round out just some of the features of this lovely home. Want to peek inside? Well, thanks to our friends at Zillow, you can:
Oh, what a lovely staircase leading down from the oversized loft and the children's wing of this mansion.
Here we have the gorgeous kitchen with tile floors and acres of counter space to get the whole family involved in cooking together.
Here we have the master bathroom, with his and hers sinks and a bathtub built for two.
I admit it. I am jealous. I am a jealous, angry, bitch who has no right to wish him bad luck but I do wish him bad luck. I wish him termites and scorpions and sewage back-ups and exploding water heaters. Why the $%&@ didn't he ever buy a house like that for me? I know I'm being petty and selfish right now, but it's vent here or make a midnight run for some cookie dough ice cream. Why does she get to live with him in the palace and I had to live in tiny cramped homes that stank of mold and broken dreams?
They have lived there for two weeks now, and I saw it in person for the first time last night when I went to pick up the kids. Middle child grabbed my hand and dragged me all around the house showing me everything. I smiled and ooohed and aaahed and complimented, and I saw first hand how happy my kids are there. SHE takes them for mani/pedis. SHE bought both girls two new pairs of shoes. SHE took them on a shopping spree to decorate their new rooms. SHE bought my son a new Skylanders game. She has only one kid of her own and he's a boy, I can totally understand her wanting to get her girl time on. I am glad they are happy.
But if you could just allow me to wallow for just another minute. I left him for so many reasons, our love was crushed to bits long before I said the words, "I can't do this anymore." I don't want him back, but I am human. I want that house. Not him, just the house, and I worry that I will never be able to afford more than the little apartment I live in right now. I worry that I won't ever be able to give my kids a backyard to play in, and a home where we each have our own private space. I worry that I will have to spend so much time and energy taking care of our kids, that I won't have time or energy to make the money I need to make to REALLY take care of our kids. I worry most of all that the kids will gradually want to spend more and more time over there where they are spoiled rotten, and less and less time with me, where life is real and often hard. I worry that I am going to lose them, just like I lost the man I was sure I was going to love forever.
That worry makes me want to eat and cry and lash out and cry some more and then eat again. The choice I am making today, though, is just to type. To type and type and type until I get it all out, and then maybe go type some more. I can't eat while I am typing. I need two hands to express these thoughts at the speed I need to express them. Typing it out will save me. Namaste.
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