Flip the script.

Man.

I've been really depressing and somewhat negative lately. That post I put up yesterday was pretty darn harsh and almost downright scary.

What is THAT about? God, you'd think I have a brain in my head or something.

Anyway! I opened up my email this morning and guess what I subject line I saw on one of the forty-five emails that have accumulated since last night?

The OurLastName Walt Disney World Vacation

Because:

WE'RE GOING TO DISNEY WORLD!!! WOOOOOOT!

Okay, we're not actually going to October. But you guys know how I like to plan stuff, right? And you know how I get all these big, huge ideas and then just go nuts with them? Well, over the weekend I was driving home from visiting my grandmother and I thought about how fast life really passes us by and other sentimental crap and I decided that life is just to freaking short, you know? My kids are nine. In ten years they'll be off at college or whatever.

And by cracky, we need a vacation.

I then determined what Jason's reaction would be, which would likely be as follows:

"I have to work."

So I thought to myself, "Self, we are going whether he goes or not."

And I hate to be that way, but dude. We can't let our lives pass us by because he's at work.

Much to my delight, he agreed that he could take a week off in October, when the children have Fall Break from school and as soon as those words left his lips I was on the internet booking the vacation.

I will not obsess over taking time off work.
I will not allow my husband to obsess over taking time off work.
I will not worry about my fat body in a bathing suit in Florida.
I will not worry about the money we spend on this trip.

I will go and have a kick-ass time with my family. And be grateful and thankful.



Also? Since it's five months away? I'll probably talk about it way more than I should.

A question with no answers.

I have so much I want to write about lately. So many interesting things happening in my little life and so many interesting things happening in the world.

There is one thing, however, I can’t seem to get off my mind. I’m not writing this to create controversy (I don’t like controversy!), I am really, genuinely curious about this.

As you might know, I became very concerned and depressed regarding the case of Mary Winkler. If you aren’t familiar with this case, Mary Winkler was the wife of Matthew Winkler and the mother of two little girls. She was recently convicted for murdering her husband (who was a pastor) last March. The crux of the case was an attempt to determine if she was a battered wife. I believe she was. Other people do not. I’m cool with that. I don’t know her and I didn’t know him.

A letter to my local paper over the weekend expressed shock and dismay that the parents of Matthew Winkler were fighting for custody of the two small girls. I’m totally paraphrasing here because I absolutely cannot remember the exact words the writer used, but basically she said, “They did a pretty craptacular job with their son. Who on EARTH thinks they could do a better job with these two poor little girls?”

So. What about that?

I know a lot of people that have grandchildren who they have custody of. I don’t mean the grandkids stay over at their house a lot. I mean the grandchildren live in their home with them and do not see the parents on a regular basis. The vast, vast majority of these people who are raising their grandchildren (at least the ones I, personally know) are really good, decent, hardworking folks. I honestly believe they did the best they could with their children.

So whose fault is it?

I mean, I guess what I’m asking is: At what point do we stop blaming the parents and start taking responsibility for our own actions? Even if our own actions mean we are a tremendous jerk who ends up in a pool of blood on the floor because our wife can’t take our extreme BS anymore?

I don’t know.

My ex-husband had this friend who I hated. His parents had divorced when he was really young and he used that as his catch-all excuse for his extremely poor behavior. He had a full scholarship to college. He got to live in the dorms for free and everything (says the girl who had to work her considerable arse off to get through school and found it very difficult to do so)! All he had to do was show up on a daily basis and maintain a “C” average.

Well, he didn’t. Within months of starting college he was getting drunk every single night and dropped out. He smoked so much weed that it was practically growing out of his skin. He ended up working at a series of fast-food jobs and living in his mom’s basement playing video games until he had to go to work again. Once, he almost shot me because he was so freaking paranoid that even though he knew I was coming over to his house, it scared him when I showed up.

Everything, in his opinion, was because his parents were divorced. If you ever confronted him on why he behaved in the manner in which he behaved he would start his sob story about how his mom and dad were divorced and it really messed him up. Never mind that, what, about fifty percent of marriages in this country end in divorce? That thirty percent of the kids in my graduating class had a different last name than their parents (and that was fourteen years ago)? That plenty of people, darn near everyone I would assume, had some kind of crap that went on in their childhood? And they made a choice at some point to move past it and become a productive human being?

He’s dead now. He robbed one of his teenage Burger King co-workers and then caught a ride in the back of a pick-up truck with an unsuspecting man and woman. When he saw a police car coming down the road (a police car, incidentally, that was NOT looking for him) he took his shotgun (which he was apparently carrying) and blew his own brains out.

I wonder if that was his dad’s fault too.

I guess the primary thing I’m wondering is, who really is to blame? For kids who drop off the grandchildren and say, “I don’t want to bother with this.” For adults who have children that they are ill-equipped to raise. For people who let drugs and alcohol take over their lives and lose everything in the process. For men and women who grow up mean and violent and hurt their families. Is it their brain chemistry? Are they just evil? Were they molested as a child? Did they not get the love they needed?

Is there a good answer here?

A different kind of Thank You.

I’ve often wondered if I’d ever come to a point in my life where I would be able to have forgiveness for people who have “wronged” me. As I’ve mentioned before forgiveness isn’t exactly my strong suit.

Over the weekend, I realized I have forgiven my ex-husband.

My aunt Tracie and I were talking about, of all things, eye colors. I have green eyes. Both of my children have brown eyes. Tracie said, “What color are Jason’s eyes?” I told her they were brown. A few minutes later, she laughed and said, “I asked what color Jason’s eyes are because I forgot about your first husband!” I told her I had too and we laughed.

I haven’t forgotten him. He’s just like a vague, fuzzy memory of what used to be. Every now and then I allow myself to think of what my life would have been like if he and I had stayed married, and usually it’s so horrible that I just dismiss it immediately and won’t allow myself to go back to it.

It isn’t even about what a bad husband he would be. He would have been a dreadful husband. Good LORD. Words cannot even begin to express his numerous flaws as a husband.

But for me it’s more about the other things.

I wouldn’t have a college degree.
I wouldn’t have a nice home (sucky neighborhood, true. But nice home).
I wouldn’t be emotionally stable.

Okay, I’m not all that emotionally stable at this point. But I’m closer to emotional stability than I have ever been in my life.

I wouldn’t be me.

Now, some would argue that “me” is not all that great. My mother-in-law, I am certain, would have some strong disagreement with the concept of “me”. Thankfully, her opinion does not faze me. Because, you know, she doesn't count.

I’m okay with me. I’m okay with the person I’m becoming. I’m not a cake…I’ll never be done. But who I am, for now, is okay.

So many people I know right now are going through some horrible difficulties with their former husbands or wives (or baby daddy’s or whatever). I hear about their issues and I wish I could do something, anything to help them through it.

My ex-husband is a huge ass, a horrible human being, and basically a waste of skin. But he did me two of the best services ever. He provided spermies to have my two beautiful, wonderful children. And then he left us the hell alone.

And while I don’t think he’s intelligent enough to actively realize how much of a gift it is that he’s left us alone, that’s what it is. Actually, he probably thinks he’s hurting me by not being a part of the children’s lives.

The joke is totally on him!

But that’s probably not a Christian way to think about it, right? And since I’m being generous and all, I don’t want to lose my testimony.

So, ex-husband. Though you both suck and are a huge tool, you at least don’t subject me or my wonderful children to it.

And for that, I thank you.