Fear and Parenting in Las Vegas

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I’m taking a few days off from the blogosphere. I need to recharge before I launch into the next phase of my life — independent living and single parenthood.

In looking for guest posters, I reached out the lovely Pecosa, who recently won my Eden Fantasys giveaway, to see if she was ready to post a review of what she selected with her winnings. Long story short, she wasn’t ready to share just yet, so I asked her to share a little of her own divorce story.

She did not disappoint. She was married at 14 folks, yes, I said 14. Get comfy folks, grab your popcorn. This is a good one.

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No one goes into it thinking that they’re marrying their future ex.

We go into it bright-eyed and hopeful. Our heads filled with a dream of what’s to come and where it’ll go.

I was extremely young when I stepped into that dream.

I met my ex-husband in my geometry class in high school. It was like fate had arranged this meeting.
Neither one of us was supposed to be at that school. Neither one of us was supposed to be in that class. I was the good girl. Smart, pretty, innocent…and he was…for lack of a better word, a thug.

It was a whirlwind romance and next thing I knew I was unofficially engaged and then officially married. Three years later we had a complete family: husband, wife, two kids and a pet. Sounds great, right?

Not exactly. I love my kids. I loved my husband. But we were sooooo young and he was…he had a wandering eye and then some. I went through years of knowing, years of denial. “Ignorance is bliss” I would tell myself. He was a great husband up to that point save for the few indiscretions.

We had moved to Austin from this little town at the tip-of-Texas. I loved it there. We had a gorgeous apartment, a more-than-decent truck and anything we wanted we would get. I was accustomed to the good life after living the shitty one back in Brownsville. And then, he lost his job.

I was blessed that I had a great job. I was 19 and carrying a full load on my shoulders. I was paying all the bills, the rent, daycare…yes, even though he didn’t work he was never home. The relationship was shit at this point. And then to add the icing to the issues filled cake: he was having a kid. He was having a kid with a girl named Rosie back in our hometown.

It’s okay. I thought I could even make that work because I refused to surrender to some mini-me that thought she could have my husband and make a family. At this point, it was not love. It was pride, obsession, illness. I was scared shitless of being by my myself. How would I raise a family on my own? Who would pay the bills? Who would…wait a minute…I was already doing all of that by myself anyway. Regardless, I made up my mind that I needed him there. If for no other reason than to assure me that I was not a failure. Two years later, that was over.

I admire women who have the guts to get out of a situation when they realize they’re not happy anymore. My seven year marriage did not end by choice. The events that led to it just happened. It was not him having a child from an affair, it was not him being unable to keep a job. It wasn’t him not paying enough attention to me. When times were good, they were amazing, and most of the time they were. My marriage ended because of situation
that had nothing to do with us as a couple. And I’m so thankful that it happened.

The separation was hard. I struggled to find myself and to this day, three years later, I still don’t think I fully understand me.

The kids, especially my little girl since she’s the oldest, go through rough patches. He still has not gotten his act together. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to keep a promise, but he tries. He sees them whenever he can, and while it’s not enough, it helps. My kids have everything they need with me.

The hardest part of this whole thing was learning how to live without someone to turn to. I still call him when I’m shopping for the kids. Hell, I still even call him when I’m shopping for myself; the man always did have great fashion sense. And actually, the hardest part was picking up the pieces of a broken family and trying to put them back together without the missing piece.

Divorce sucks. Period. We don’t get married thinking we’ll end up here, but if we do, we must avoid living in the past and look forward to the future. Do the best for the people involved and always remember that it’s not a failure, it’s a new lesson learned.

Okay, it’s been a hectic week, and frankly, my brain’s about tapped out for ideas for weekend posts. So thanks to one of my favorite brunettes, I am the Diva, she’s given me a brilliant reason to write something positive for a change. She gave me a letter of the alphabet and charged me to write about 10 items that I love that start with that letter.

My letter? You guessed it. I’m getting my pirate on. RRRRRRRRRR.

1. Restaurants.
I love to eat. I love to eat well. I love to eat well when someone else does the cooking. I love to eat well when someone does the cooking and the dishes. I love to eat well when someone does the cooking and the dishes and I don’t have to cut someone else’s panckes/meat/vegetables/you get the idea.

2. Reggie Love.
My friend, Regina, gets me. We’ve been through professional and personal challenges. She’s been my co-chair, my VP and my employee. She left me to have her little Angel girl and now she’s going to have her own little dude in a few months. You can tell how much I love her by the fact that I am posting possibly the worst cell phone camera picture of me just you you can see that she is as gorgeous outside as she is inside. I love her dearly, hence the well-deserved nickname.

5. Rita Rudner.
Last night, Regina and I had a mommy’s night out and caught Rita’s show. We peed our pants from laughing so hard, and, unlike Regina, I can’t use pregnancy as an excuse.

4. Rafting.
I took a trip down the Yampa River back in 1998. What a rush. Beautiful scenery. Great whitewater. A fun crowd. I’ve wanted to do it again but never found the time and money. Someday, somehow, I’m going again.

5. Rhubarb pie.
Rhubarb pie always reminds me of my Grandma Freda. I love the sweet schism of the sour and sweet. Great rhubarb pie is becoming a lost art. I hope some celebrity chef rediscovers it and makes it into the next Mahi Mahi.

6. Rice pudding.
My dad cooked made things in the kitchen (other than a mess): North Carolina pulled pork barbecue with deep-fried cornbread, ham sandwiches, and rice pudding. Whenever my mom made a batch of white rice, she’d make a couple of extra cups of rice. After dinner, Dad would put together a batch and pop it in the oven. I’d get to stay up late and wait for it to cool enough to eat. No one makes it like he did. It’s a great memory that I’ll always hold dear.

7. Reading Rainbow.
This show, not Star Trek: The Next Generation, was my first introduction to LeVar Burton. As a rabid kiddie-lit collector, I watched this show with rapt attention even though I was well out of the target demographic (4-8 years old). The best thing a kids’ television show can do is to get them to turn it off and go grab a book.

8. Ratatouille.
Speaking of kids’ stuff, this was one of the first movies I saw with Boo in real movie theater. I, for one, am a big fan of the rat (I’ve had two of them as pets over the years).

9. Redheads.
Lucille Ball, Debra Messing, Carol Burnett. Alyson Hanigan. Me. Redheads are funny. Wanna argue that? One word: Bozo.

10. The Ramones
Believe it or not, I’m a punk rock girl to the core. It all started with The Ramones. Screw the Ghallagher brothers, Joey and Johnny were the original rock and roll Cain and Abel.
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So, you wanna play too? Drop me some comment love and I’ll get you a letter.

Don’t forget to get me your Epiphany Award winner. Check out the rules and deadlines here.