Holden likes to read this blog.  When he first started to read this blog, I wondered if that was a Good Idea.  He might read Unsavory Things about thoughts I may have had about People That I Used to be Married To.  He might read my Swears.  He might read about my Bad Habits.  Or about How Much I Hate People.  I was worried about all of these things.  I didn’t want Holden to have a bad taste in his mouth about the Divorce.  Or his dad’s girlfriend (the Homewrecking Whore…wink wink).  Because this is my place to vent.  And to exaggerate certain things that while completely true, might not be 100% accurate. 

But apparently I forgot who my kid is.  Because he is only reading my blog for one reason:  Himself.  His Almighty Awesomeness.  He only reads posts tagged “SuperHolden”. 

When he read about a conversation I’d had where I called his dad’s girlfriend a *Homewrecking Whore, he was more appalled that I had insinuated that HE said that she was *those words* and not at all upset that I called her *those words*.

I know you are thinking how can she let her kid READ this stuff.  And to that I say – please.  If he’s not gonna read my tripe, he’s just going to find some other person’s tripe to read and here at least we are keeping it in the family.  He’s a big boy.  He can handle it.  OR, if he’s like me, he won’t handle it well at all, but at least he will have the decency to keep it all locked up inside till his very insides are rotting, won’t you Pooh?

I’m giving him fodder for his own blog, which, when he gets its all set up, I will put a link up here for him.

Last night he was terribly concerned the The Eldest didn’t have a category of his own.  He really thought that was a bunch of bunk.  The Eldest doesn’t care.  He doesn’t want a category.  I told that one though, “Listen pal.  If you think I’m not gonna blog about YOUR shenanigans, you are dead wrong!!  Blogging is so you can tell the world how dumb your kids are!!”  He rolled his eyes.  So, Holden?  Your step-brother is getting his own category.

And for all you readers – if you think for one moment Holden just wants to make sure everyone is included you are dead wrong!  He just wants to make sure he doesn’t miss any of his step-brother’s follies, and by giving him a category – I’m just giving Holden directions to said follies. 

I can see right through you, kid.

My husband has a sixteen year old son.  I have a thirteen year old son.  Not the Brady Bunch, I know, but whatever.  Something I always knew, but found out firsthand last year?  Blended families are hard.

A year and a half ago – before we were marrired, before we were engaged –  when we were just dating and we had stars in our eyes and fire in our loins – our two boys got along.  They maybe even liked each other.  They spoke to each other.  They played games with each other.  They too, had stars in their eyes.  It was beautiful.  It was a dream come true.

No.  It was just a dream.

For after we got married they quit talking to each other.  And, when they did, it was venomous.  They hissed at and irritated each other.  They never really argued, but i think ignoring each other is actually worse.

Until this weekend.  This wonderful weekend.

We spent this past Labor Day weekend at my Grandparents place on the lake.  We’ve always called it Up North, though actually its West.  If you from Michigan, Western Michigan is most certainly NOT Northern Michigan.  But, I digress.

We all went up (over) – Two adults, two teenagers, two cars, two sleeping bags, two tents…one for each teenager, because they were not gonna sleep in the same tent, I’ll tell you what, and those grubby boys were certainly NOT sleeping in the cabin with us, I’ll tell you what else!!

I am not sure what or why – I’ve learned not to question these things, but for some reason, these kids were taking  bike rides together (??) laughing with each other…The eldest was taking the younger for golf cart rides (along with a three year old cousin, but I’m taking ’em where I can get ’em).

It really was a beautiful thing.

It made my heart sing.  It actually made my mouth sing.  Songs like “We are Family”.  Songs like “The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music”.  I don’t know why, but happiness equals the Sound of Music for me.

And The Captain told his son, as the weekend came to an end, “You and Holden seemed to really be getting along.  That’s awesome.  Thank you!”  To which the Eldest replied, “Yeah, until last nite.  Holden was singin in his tent and wouldn’t shut up.  I almost went over there and shut him up myself.”

Ahhh.  The joys!

At least now they are the public school system’s problem!  Happy First Day of School, my boys!!

I am 37 years old.  My oldest son, Holden just turned 13, and I will be 38 when my second child is born.  Obviously I’m stupid.  Who DOES that?  I would have been forty-two when Holden graduated from high school, for Pete’s sake!  My husband and I could have been in our house, all alone!  Travel!  Cook exotic foods!  Have fantastic parties!

But let’s face it…who does THAT?  We surely wouldn’t have.  So when the reality sunk in that we would be alone in our house after Holden graduates, we did what any parents would do…we created a buffer in the form of another child!

I jest.  Please.  Second marriage – we looked at each other and said, Oh, wouldn’t it be awesome to have a little child that is part of both of us??!!  We are such romantics!  And, so now, I’m 37 and pregnant with my second child.  A child who will be almost 14 years younger than my oldest child and almost 17 years younger than my husband oldest child.

The biggest worry I had when we found out we were pregnant was how Holden would feel about it.  I never saw myself having more than one kid.  Especially after I had my son.  I love him so much, I don’t know if I’ll be able to love another kid as much as I love him.  He’s the absolute love of my life.  He’s the best kid ever.  This baby doesn’t have a chance!

But Holden was over the moon happy about this baby, and he still is.  He calls me “Preggers” and rubs my belly and tells me that it’s ok that my butt is getting big, there are lots of songs about men who like big butts.  He’s hysterical.

I think Holden will be a fantastic older brother.  He has a super sense of humor, and has a lot to teach a person.  He’s thoughtful and sensetive.  I mean, he’s got a potty mouth…but I hope that he will have enough sense to NOT say “ass” to his two year old sibling.  Though, knowing Holden he will purposefully TEACH his two year old sibling to say “ass” for his own amusement…

So, now I don’t worry so much about Holden.  I know he knows how much I love him and that even a new baby won’t change that.  Not ever.  Because he’s so effin AWESOME.

And, thanks to Holden…and Sir Mix-a-Lot, I no longer have to worry about MY ever growing ass…

I probably should say that I should probably erect a new site (I dont care who you are…I just said “erect” and it was funny.), but Im ENTIRELY too lazy to do that.  I havent been here in godonlyknowshowlong…so long however that after trying to get in here with what usually is my password, and couldnt get in here, realized that my password is the one that I had when I was married to Husband Number SUCKASS (Id call him number one, but lets face it, hes not), and the password involved our initials and an exclamation point.  My POINT is…I have no effing clue how to change my password here!  So Im totally stuck with a stupid one.

AND the only reason Im even posting is that I commented on another blog (another thing I havent done in eons) and I thought, crap.  What if someone comes here from that link?  I don’t want them thinking Im still the same girl with all the dating rules!  Cuz Im totally NOT.

NOW IM THE GIRL WITH THE MARRIAGE RULES!  Cuz I’ve been remarried for almost a year.  Good things come to those who wait.  Hes awesome and Im not going to go thru the year we’ve been married now.  Im sure enough crap will come up to blog about in the future and we can just go from here.  Okay?  O.K.  We will have to give him a nickname though.  And that will be The Captain.  I’ve called him that forever, so we’ll just stick with that one.

Heres my year in a flash.  New marriage.  New (old) house.  New stepson.  New job.  New baby (okay…not YET, but in about six months ish there will be).

Its been a busy year.  We’ve done a lot of renovations, both to our home and to ourselves.  Im a different me, but Im still the same.

Holden is still the most totally awesome thing I ever made, and I still really love cigarettes (though I dont currently smoke them on account of The Bean…).

Also, too?  I see the error on the headline of my page, but I cant figure out how to correct it.  And its not that I CANT figure it out, its just that Im AT MY JOB people.  I dont have time to figure shit out, I only have time for this quick “Howdy do?”

SO – Howdy Do!


**you can totally stop looking for the error…i figured out how to fix it NOT at my job!

I realize this is turning into a Cat Blog.  And, I should feel a twinge of guilt, but  I don’t.  I AM turning into The Cat Lady.  If you’ve been  to my house lately, the evidence would be undeniable.

Being in the committed, monogamous relationship that they are in, my cats consummated their marriage and the result is three preciously adorable white kittens with a smidge of their father just on the top of their foreheads.  All three of them, triplets, white, with a black ish paw print atop their precocious little beans.

And, being committed to Family the way that I am, I have no intention of splitting up this happy home.  So, yes.  I have five cats.  Don’t worry, Mr. has since been fixed, so there will be no more.

I named my kitten Hermes, and Holden, thinking I was going Greek named the others Hera and Apollo.  I was really going for Hermes like the designer, but what’s a ten-year old to understand fashion?  He wears plaid shorts with knee socks and deck shoes.

All this nicety goes without saying that Mr. is STILL a complete asshole.  No, no.  Not to me, per se.  Not on purpose, anyway.  Sometimes he may mistake my feet going down the stairs as playtoys, and attack my toes.  But, this is just a common misunderstanding between cats and feet.  It has nothing to do with the fact that my feet are connected to my person.  My person whom Mr. loves without hesitation.

He just really doesn’t like Others.  As I have mentioned.  Probably in at least nineteen other posts.  Because my effing cat is all I can seem to talk about.  Cripe.

He’s petrified of my grandfather.  Hides under the couch at the mere sound of his voice.  He hissed at my uncle today because Unc looked at Kitty.  Didn’t even reach out for a pet.  Just a look.  So I guess that IM not so much in an abusive relationship with Mr.  It’s just that I’m putting those I love in an inadvertant abusive relationship with him.

Kitty never particularly cared for Former Boyfriend, and while I took that as jealously, hindsight allows me to see it for what it really was:  Good Sense.

Holden has made a new friend this year.  A little Korean boy whose mother is here on a visiting scholar thing at our local university.  Tonite, Frederick is over for a sleepover, and Kitty has done nothing but stalk this kid, slinking in dark corners, apparently hoping to get a piece of him.  And, succeed in this task so Kitty did.  Bit poor Freddie on that skin between your thumb and forefinger?  Ouch.  We are making a terribly good impression on our visitors, aren’t we Cat?

I’m glad Holden’s little buddy is so good-natured, or we may have had a problem.  This was his first American sleepover and he was viciously attacked by an evil black cat.  With no tail to boot!

Yet, this is the same cat, who night after night, kneads the pillow beneath my head until he is perfectly sure that it is comfortable enough for him to lay down and simultaneously purr and headbutt me endlessly while I purr and pet him until we are both tired and full up with our love for each other that we fall asleep with his head buried in my hair and my arm wrapped tightly around him.  Thats love my friends.

…Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  I need a date.  preferably one without claws.

I know I’ve neglected this blog and it’s because I’ve been busy Getting a Divorce, a New Boyfriend, a New (old) House, and breaking up with said New Boyfriend.  More on said New House later.

When we moved home whenever it was that we moved home, my father got us a kitten.  His name is Gregory Allen.  He is a manx, so he has this little stub of a tail, and he is all jet black.  He is as slender as Kiera Knightley, and he hates everyone.  Except me.  He loves him some me.  And, I in turn love him just slightly shy of how much I love my son.  Some days I love the cat more.

We went to great pains naming this cat, yet we call him Kitty.  It’s not like he comes when we call him or anything.  We could’ve named him Booger.  Wouldn’t have mattered.  But we call him Kitty, nevertheless.

About a year after we moved to the basement Cottage of my family home, my dad picked up a rat of a kitten who looked like she needed to be loved.  And, like so many other Things My Dad Picks Up, the kitten was immediately neglected.  Well, okay, maybe not neglected, but definitely not loved the way a kitty is supposed to be loved.

~This is how you love a cat: When it purrrrs, you purrrr back.  When it wants to rub his face all over your person, you let it, because you want the cat to know you love it. 

~This is how you don’t love a cat:  When it wants to play, you lock it in the bathroom because its “buggin’ the shit outta” you.

So, when my dad bought a house Up North, we obviously couldn’t let him take the cat with him.  So we took her in like the little orphan we knew she’d end up being.

My dad named her Pepper.  Which is a stupid name for a cat.  I’m sorry if your cat’s name is Pepper, but I will not change my mind.  Holden and I immediately renamed her Talulah Milwaukee’s Best Buttercup Peapod.  We had every intention of calling her Lulah, but, you know….we call her Kitty.  Since sometimes calling two cats Kitty doesn’t really differentiate betwixt the two, we call them Mr. and Mrs. because, of course they are married, and not living in sin.

Mrs. is white as snow (thusly, Pepper…der!) and she’s not very bright at all, but don’t say that to Holden because it will make him cry that you called his cat mentally impaired.  Mrs. has a tail that goes for miles like a piece of white silk ribbon comin’ out of her butt.  She uses that tail to tell Mr. that she isn’t interested, thank you very much, and swat! in the face, Mr.

Mrs. loves everyone, and this is good for Holden.  Since she isn’t the brightest bulb on the string of Christmas lights, she lets him pick her up with her front hunched over the crook in his arm, and her backside just dangling in the wind as he bobs along doing whatever unnecessary thing he’s doing.  Mr. knows better.  He takes one look at that kid, and says, “O hell know, buddy.  You do not need me in your arm while you are looking for your tennis shoes.  You’ll do very well without me.”  And, scram! he’s gone inaflash to hide under the sofa.

But, not the closet.  No, he won’t be hiding in the closet anymore.  Not since I inadvertently locked him in there for Lord knows how long.  To make matters worse, I called and called him for Lord knows how long, not thinking anything of it, since he doesn’t come when he’s called in the first place!

People who don’t have cats just cannot understand this kind of love.  People often think of cats as snooty and self reliant on account of the fact that they disappear when you have company.  This is not the case, Cat-not-likers!  Our cats just don’t like you.  That’s why they go away when you are over.  They hate your stinkin’ guts, and cannot figure out for the life of them why we keep your company. 

Well, except for Mrs.  She loves you anyway.  But, then again?  She ain’t too bright…

Holden is doing very well.  He’s getting A’s in everything except science.  We had a rocky start and are playing catch-up.  But, who gives a frig, I’ll tell you.  He’s still taking piano lessons.  He’s joined 5th grade strings – violin.  He’s in the Drama Club.  He’s taking Saturday art classes at Michigan State University.  The kid’s a monster genius and no one is going to tell me any different.

My boss asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving.  I said I was going to my Gramma’s.  “You know,” I said, “going upstairs.”

I like living here though.  I love my Cottage.  I painted a wall orange.  Like the perfume Happy – that box?  It’s that color.  And, it DOES make me happy.  Everytime I walk downstairs and walk into my Cottage, I smile!

We are Happy.

The other night I was reading Holden his little devotion that we do before bedtime.  It was about life’s ups and downs and how God is always there for you.  I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to talk about the divorce!  That if he had to say anything THIS would be the time.  At the end they ask is YOU are having any ups and downs in your life right now.  He says, “Yeah…” and shakes his little head forlornly like.  I said, “What, buddy?  You can tell me anything!”  He says, “My loose molar is really bringing me down right now.”

He was dead serious.

These are the issues that bring him down.  I will not lie to you: I immediately thought, We Are The BEST PARENTS EVER!

We are.

Holden and I saw New Moon with on Friday 11/20.  Holden was so geeked about seeing this film on its OPENING DAY that we could barely keep him in his seat.  We got there an hour before the show so that we could be the FIRST ones in line.  I was so pleased that I could give this kid a pleasure that was so simple.  He is such an easygoing dude.  He loved it, of course, and is half-way thru the book.  Again.

I had gone with my girlfriends to the midnight show.  I’d never done that before.  It was almost as exciting as seeing Justin Timberlake in concert.  I’m not even lying.  I was effing stoked.  And, it was what it was.  I didn’t have high expectations.  Twilight, really, wasn’t that good.  The books REALLY weren’t that great.  Yet I am in a total choke hold.  I am beholden to this fad.

The thing about this movie is this:  Jacob.

I was never on Team Jacob.  I am an Edward girl all the way.  I mean, really?  Vampires are Hot.

But when Edward takes his shirt off, though he sparkles in the sun, there just isn’t much there.  I mean he’s built an all.  But, he’s a skinny built guy.

Jacob?  Holy crap.  It was like porn for me.  The kid had his shirt off for almost the whole movie and was I ever grateful.

After the show, my girlfriend’s and I stood around (at 2:45 a.m.) and kibitzed about the movie.  They said how they were a little disappointed in the story line and the stuff they changed from the book…

I was like, “Storyline? Wha??  I quit thinking after that dude took his shirt off!”  Those abs changed the whole landscape of the movie for me.  It stopped being a love story and started being a lust story.  Mine.  And, you know?  Whatever, okay?  I know he’s like 16 or whatever.  Suck it.  God made him that way, and God let him be in that movie.  And, God let him take his shirt off.  And, God let me look.

On this Thanksgiving Day when we sit around the table and say the three things we are thankful for, I’m not going to be the least sorry when I say, “Wherewolf abs.”

Happy Thanksgiving, Friends!

I went up North last weekend.  If  you are from Michigan, Up North is the place to be.  Especially in the Summertime.  Windy roads, trees all over, hills, water, sand dunes.   Love it.

I went Up There because my Totall BFF’s husband is a competitive canoeist and last weekend was the Au Sable Marathon.  Race starts at 9 pm on Saturday night and finishes around noonish on Sunday.  Those dudes are canoeing for 15 hours.  They pee on themselves.  Its disgusting, really.

I had so much fun!  Even though I was tent camping and it rained on and off the whole weekend…it was a lot of fun. 

Sucky part?  Soon as I get home I’m all like, Hey…it hurts to pee.  So I go to the Dr. and I have a bladder infection.  My neice, Chloe, asked how I got it.  I told her I went potty in so many gross portapotties this weekend, who knows what crawled up there and died.  Grr.  And also?  Ow.

Speaking of crawling up there and dying…my sister Rachael used to Blog.  Remember, Rach?  I was just re-reading her posts, and you should too, cuz she’s funny.  And touching (like Josh Grobin.  Not like Michael Jackson)(and don’t give me any shit about that MJ dig.  I love Thriller, okay?)  And, she loves me.  She’s on my list right there on the side.  She’s my Sister Girl.

My son recently had this conversation with me:

He:  Can you keep a secret?
Me:  Mayyyybeeeee

aside: you see how well I’m keeping that secret, World Wide Web?  Tell me yours!!

He:  I think Daddy likes That Homewrecking Whore.

aside:  ‘cept he called her by her name.

Me:  Oh yeah?  What makes you think that?
He:  They text NON STOP, and it isn’t about work.

aside:  oh yeah….they work together.  She’s his assistant!  Der!  Who doesn’t want to get a divorce when they can schtoop their secretary instead!!

Me:  Buddy, don’t read your dad’s texts.
He:  Oh I’m not.  But sometimes, when I’m playing Pocket God on Dad’s iphone, she pops up, so I just scroll down to see how many times she’s texted him.
Me:  Dude.  Do NOT read your dad’s texts.
He:  I’m SO not!
He:  It will be really hard for them if they get married!
Me:  Why’s that?
He:  Well, they WORK together!  I mean, that would be taking “til death do us part” to a whole nother level!
Me:  Why?
He:  Well, because if you live together and work together, death IS the only time you get apart!!

I told him not to worry because daddy really doesn’t take those vows very seriously that YES, that would be really hard!


Everyday, I am thankful for such a well adjusted child.

I’ve been sitting here through this whole post, dreading what is coming next…I have to go to the bathroom.
Grr.  And also?  Ow.

(That title is for you, Missy Lou!!)

I like to eat.  I mean, I LERVE to eat.  Love it.  Its really my favorite thing to do.  On a rainy day?  Eat.  On a sunny day?  Eat.  Windy?  Food.  When I’m sad, I eat.  Also, when I’m happy.  

I also love to read cookbooks.  Right now I’m reading Orangette’s Book , and it really is mouthwateringly witty.  Fo Sho.    I can’t wait to have a proper kitchen again (someday…sigh…) so that I can prepare some food stuffs.  Specifically some Butternut Squash Soup.  It has pears in it.  I am happy just thinking about it. 

So, yeah, eating and being a general generic foodie is really my passion.  I’ve eaten lots of yummy things, and I thought that it would only be fair that I share the Yummy Things I’ve Eaten with you.

Bar None THE Yummiest of Things I’ve Eaten

Several years ago in Chicago, my sister in law, Vanessa, took us to brunch at a little place called The Bongo Room.  I had french toast.  I know:  woo hoo.  But this was no ordinary breakfast fare.  It was French TOAST!!!!!

It was thick french bread.  Baked to perfection.  With ripe bananas, crunchy pecans, light and fluffy toffee butter and rich, delicious maple syrup.  And, it was a healthy serving, too.  But, don’t worry, I finished it all.

The beautiful part of this meal was the toffee butter.  I don’t know how they did it.  It was, as I mentioned, light and fluffy.  Real butter.  With toffee in it.  Whoduthunk?

I have tried, for five years, to replicate this recipe.  I have come close, but not even touched upon this breakfast’s wonderment.  I can’t get the butter right.  Good Lord on Friday, that was good!  I can taste it right now.   Yummyumyummy.  Yum. 

The next time I visited Ness, I asked that we Brunch at Bongo.  We did.  My mouth was watering.  Literally.  Spittle was running down my chin.  We were seated.  We were menu’d.  Then, the saddest thing ever happened:  The dish was no longer on the menu.

I’m sure I had something good instead, but I’ll be damned if I remember what the hell it was…

The Second Yummiest Thing I Have Put into my Piehole

Again.  Chicago.  I think all of the Tasty Treats I’ve eaten come straight from the belly of ChiTown.  Also, again with the brunch, and again with the french toast.  The restaurant was Feast. 

These trendy restaurants are always my favorites.  Also, and diner with one name is going to be good.  Also, places that only seat about fourteen people, are the best.  I don’t know how we didn’t have to wait in line, but we got right in!  (And, also?  It seats more than fourteen people.  I was exaggerating.)

This one was made with challah.  It had some berry compote and cream running all over it.   It was so sweet.  And, also, creamy.  And perfect.  And tasty.  And delicious.  And yummy.  So so yummy.

There was no point in trying to recreate this delicacy.  I don’t even want to.  I couldn’t.  I don’t want to disappoint my own self, and undoubtedly, I would. 

I will just cherish it in my head.  Cuz, if I ever get to Feast again, it prolly won’t be on the menu.

And, Thirdly?  More of the Same

Chicago.  June, 2009.  The place: Meli’s Diner in Greektown.  Brunch.  This time, with no husband in tow, I was on a budget.  Typically, I wouldn’t go spending a trillion dollars on breakfast, what, with a H&M so very close, but it had to be done.  When I saw the item (first thing listed on menu) I knew we were meant to be together.  Even if for a short time.

This meal, like every other wonderful meal in Chicago I have eaten, was a chef’s special. 

It was an omelet.  So very fluffy-like.  It was filled with pancetta, goat cheese, and scallions.  The clincher, my friends was this ingredient:  Figs.  Fresh ones.

You may think it sounds like it wouldn’t go together…but whenever I took a bite with a fig in it, the little fig seeds exploded in my mouth with a burst of sweetness, mixed with the tangy flavor of the goat cheese, mixed with the gorgeousness of the pancetta, and the bitiness of the scallion, OH HOLY GRACIOUS!  SO GOODY GOOD!

Other Things That Rank Close

My friend Shawnie makes the most delicious guacamole.  She uses cream cheese, which makes it extra creamy.  If its not at her house when I am?  I take it as a personal affront.  Like she’s on purpose trying to hurt me in my feelings.

I went to Chicago a couple weeks ago and had hot dogs at some little hole in the wall place called Jean and Jude’s.  No sitting, and there are just the bare bones as far as toppings.  Mustard, ketchup, relish and peppers (I nixed the peppers.  Gross!)  The best part is that they top the dog off with fries.  I got a single and it was something like $2.50.  Cheap and delicious.  My fave!

My Gramma makes THE BEST lasagna I’ve ever had.  Cheese Ey.  So delish!  Its perfect.  I’m always for a cheesy dish.  I love  pasta, but could always do without all the meat.  Too many people focus on the ground burger or sausage or whatever other meat they put into the sauce, but I think in any pasta dish it’s the cheese that counts.  Lots of ricotta, mozarella, and cottage cheeses.   Its also one of those familial recipes that gets passed down, and I have yet to get it right.  My lasagna is good, but Gramma’s is divine!

Hungry yet?  I am!

My neice, Maya, comes in from the backyard yelling, “Holden said a naughty word!!”   I ask if it was “shit”.  She says “yes”.  Holden comes in trailing on her heels saying, “NO I DIDN’T SAY THAT!  I said the Eff Word!”

Well, oh.  Der.

Some kids were calling him names and quite honestly, the damn kids had it coming to him.  I kinda wish he’d have cocked his arm back and nailed the vile little creatures in the mouth!  Instead, he calls then Effing Idiots.

Which, okay…don’t say that, okay buddy?  Come get your mom, and I will inihilate them.  With my fury.  And, also, my fists!

Then the other day we were wrastlin’ around and I landed on him.  He grabs his leg, writhing in pain and says, “Holy Shit!”

I looked at him that way, and the writhing stopped immediately.  He knew what was coming.  I told him if he couldn’t control his potty mouth then I was gonna buy a bar of soap.  Cure this the old fashioned Christmas Story way.  That’d teach him.

But the thing is this: he told me.  He said it In Front Of Me.  To my face.  He’s not sneaking off and swearing at school.  He’s keepin’ it in the family.  So while I want this language to stop, and while I make a point of not swearing in front of him at all, I’m very happy that he’s honest and willing to bear the consequences from me because he knows that I lack any kind of punishment skills whatsoever I love him regardless.

This led to a deep discussion with Gabe (formerly Big Hands, currently Ex-Husband Who No Longer Deserves a Kitschy Nick Name) about our new roles as Parents Parenting a Child in Two Different Homes.

This is not gonna be easy.  We have different ways.  Ways that made sense when we were together, as we balanced each other, but now are things that just make you wonder if you are Doing It Right.

We are.  We will.  This will work because we will make it work.  Because it is different now, and because we will have to compensate for each other.  Even when we are only one phone call away.

Holden will swear.  He’ll probably rage sometimes, too.  But, really?  He’d probably do that if we all lived under the same roof.  It’s neither of our faults that he swore.  His potty mouth has little to do with how we are raising him.  I don’t know where it came from, but I doubt its because his parents are divorced and he has a black hole in his heart.

Who knows where these kids come up with stuff…

They have their own fucking little minds, and shit’s just gonna spout out of it some times, right?  Get off their asses!


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