2 weeks, 1 day

It's been quite interesting to me, this watching the death of my marriage. It's been slowly dying for a while now, but now the FF>> has been pressed and things are moving right along.

When we first got here, well, there were angry drunk phone calls and we won't count those. Once Drunky McDrinkypants sobered up a bit, there were some surprising desperate and frequent calls. Calls where my job was but to listen. Calls full of I love you's and I miss you's. Calls suspiciously lacking I'm sorry's, but that's a tale for another day. There were how are you's and how are the kids and let me talk to them, even the baby who only eats the phone and isn't it really hot there and what about those Broncos calls. There was always and I love you at the end of those calls.

After about a week, those calls turned into more of the oh shit sort of calls. 'Oh shit, you're really living in Phoenix, oh shit, I really might lose my job, oh shit I made a totally ass of myself' calls. Not so much with the how are you and the I love you. Not so much with the talking to the boys. As a matter of fact, those calls didn't end with I love you at all. They did end with a lovely, awkward pause right at the end of the call where the I love you should go, so it was obvious that it was being omitted.

And here we are. Present day. These calls are fun. They are like fact finding missions. They are lists. 'Today I went to 2 meetings, kept my job, bought some bagels and watched Dude, Where's My Car'. As curious as I am about how he is spending all of his newly found free time, I have kind of a lot going on right now and am not so worried about how long he was in the john today. These calls don't contain the word You. Or They. But there is a whole lotta Me. Which is the natural process of these sorts of things, I suppose. These calls don't end with the awkward pause anymore. Their ending is the oki'lltalktoyoulaterclick ending.

Time of Death: 8:04 p.m.

It's funny how it just dies all of a sudden. It's funny how, though I feel weird about it, I don't really feel sad about it. It's like 10 years just never happened, like these kids just fell out of the sky, like we're right back to barely knowing each other, except without the front seat of the car and the foggy windows and the 'what was your name again?' It's just all so very matter-of-fact.

And I am totally ok with it. What are those 5 stages I am supposed to be going through? Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance? Woo. That's a whole other post.

day 13

Wow. You weren't expecting all that down there, were ya? Well, thanks again. I feel better having told you.

And now I am SURE you are just DYING to know all about Phoenix. Maybe that can be the new theme of this blog...I'll travel all over North America, pretend to live in different cities for a few months and then give you the scoop. Because I care. I'm nice like that.

So, back to me. We left with, well, nothing. I only have one pair of unreasonably comfortable shoes (two things I have never been accused of: being sexy or being fashionable; see link above) and I couldn't justify bringing the world's greatest kitchen gadget with me

...so I have been busily starting to accumulate all those little things that clutter your drawers and that you take for granted every day.

I went to Ikea the other day to look for beds for the boys (because as much as I love my sister in law and am grateful for her taking in me and my minions, if I have to sleep on that nasty old leather couch much longer someone will suffer. Greatly.) The doors to Ikea opened and I smelled a lovely new smell. The smell of possibility. Ikea and me, we're cool. I kind of have a crush on Ikea. And suddenly, I have an EXCUSE for Ikea. Danger, Will Robinson!

Sorry, I got sidetracked. Damn you Ikea! I can't quit you!

Seriously, there I go again.

So, like I was saying, I'm starting to get stuff. Wanna see my first big girl all on her own purchase? It is a total necessity and there is no way my life could go on without it.

See? HAD to own it. Wanna see the second purchase for my shiny new life? Of course you do!

I may have gross, hairy legs because I have not yet bought razors, but goddamn it, if you need a peach cobbler, I've got you covered. Pampered Chef products ALWAYS trump almost everything else in life. And I got them at a yard sale from someone who clearly did not know what to charge for them, so that's nice.

What else? Oh yeah, I have completely lost my mind. I have gone, like, crazy and shit, yo. Case in point. I few days after The Exodus, the S.I.L. and I were hopping in the car and she happened to notice that I had left the Gucci purse on the hood of the car. I grabbed it and we were off. A few days later, on my way to get the boys from school, I not only SAW the Gucci bag on the front of the car, I saw it take the flying leap OFF the front of the car onto a very busy street, and it still did not register until I got all the way to the school and all the way home again. I backtracked, but it was gone. The police called a bit later and said that someone had turned it in, complete with all the money I had in the whole entire world and the one credit card I hold. I picked it up from the police station and it did indeed contain all of my things, though slightly flatter and less Gucci-esk.

Whew. Switched to Target purse. Lesson learned. Until the other day when I got home from the grocery and noticed that I was oddly bagless. I remembered putting the purse on the hood while I buckled up the baby, but couldn't say with any amount of certainty what my next step was. I called the grocery and had them search for it, to no avail. We hopped back in the car, drove back down the same busy street as before and as well rolled up to the Safeway we saw a $1 bill floating down the road. The rest of that long saga contains bits about me running down said busy road, shoeless, weaving in and out of traffic picking up cards laying about the road. The $50 and the great great great chapstick I had were gone, but I got back the card, the debit card, the Colorado driver's license and the shiny new Arizona driver's license I had just got a few hours before. Whew. Lesson learned. Until a day later when I was out early hitting yard sales because I came here with, like, nothing and I need shit cheap and when I got home I couldn't find either my debit card or the $20 I had out for gas. Shit. So I hopped back in the car and backtracked. If you have ever gone yardsaling with me, you would realize what a flipping ridiculous thing this "backtracking" really was. But I tried. To no avail. Until I suddenly remembered that I had worn my uber-sexy capri jeans to a PTA thingy the night before and had brought my card along just in case. Back to home, where I found my card safely wrapped in the $20, tucked away in my hot pants (you can't be the only one, Dunkie).

I need a chip implanted into my elbow or something with all my bank account and state issued identification information stored on it. Of course, I'd probably leave that on the hood of my car, too. Idiot.

Now I just have to find a job. Andy thinks I should do a Tron inspired strip dance rountine at one of the many fine adult establishments in town. I was thinking more along the lines of hash-slinging (the legal kind, you naughty people), but maybe Andy is on to something. I would totally have a corner on THAT market.

Ooooh! I almost forgot! L will NOT be getting dentures for her first birthday after all. My little girl got her second tooth today. I'm glad to see that her life is one of such leisure that she is not in any hurry to do anything, even growing teeth so she can feed her painfully cute face.

And I have one other thing to confess. I kind of met someone. I kind of really like him. He's bigger than I'm used to, and louder than I'm used to, but we're spending an awful lot of time together and he's growing on me. He comes with me to pick the boys up from school sometimes and we all go to the grocery store together, too. I never thought he'd be my type, but what do I know? Wanna see a picture? Click right here.

Hot, huh?

day 11

Ok. Hi. I'm back. This is kind of, um, awkward and stuff. I don't really know what to say.

(Let's start from the very beginning, a very fine place to start. When you read you begin with A-B-C, when you sing you...)

(The craziest, mostest randomest things float through my head on a regular basis.)

So, my husband. He drinks. He sort of stopped for a few years, but sort of un-stopped when he moved in May.

So, me. I have this, well, addiction to people who treat me badly. Alcoholics treat me really badly. Turns out it doesn't much matter if they are sober, dry, clean or otherwise non-drinking drunks. They find a way to get their punches in, and I find a way to jusify, blame myself, or ignore it.

I have been ignoring it for a while now. And then, a few weeks ago....

Hold on for a minute. I have to say this first. I really, really don't want to be putting this stuff on the blog. The blog, it's sunshine and rainbows and shit. But I have been reading this book and wondering why I have never read this book before (in all fairness, hot gay Russell once told me I oughta read it, but I never listen to anyone) and I got to thinking that maybe, out there in THE REAL WORLD, in that magical land where everything is not black-on-white-in-ariel, that maybe one of you also is married to an alcoholic, or is a codependant, or has suffered an amazing sort of emotional/physical/sexual abuse in your childhood that has left you unable to attach emotionally to people and leaves you, instead, seeking to re-live that same childhood relationship over and over again as an adult with someone who not only will not but probably can not give you anything emotionally, and maybe, just maybe, you will read this and see that I am not some brave super-hero but a scared little girl in way over her head and realize that I am doing it anyway, maybe not well, but DOING IT anyway, and perhaps you will realize that if I can do it with my craziness and my baggage and my crippling sort of fear, that you can do it to. It being making something better in your day, your month, your life. So I will try to blog as much of this as I can. No promises, but I'll try.

....i found him drunk in the middle of the kitchen floor. And then 11 days ago he locked me out of the house. Honestly, he really locked himself in the house, with the kids, forgetting in his stupor that I was not in the house, and the police came and there were sledgehammers and police reports and warnings that Canadian Child Services only gives you one chance and then they give your kids foster homes, and so we left. Four hours later. In the middle of the night. The day before my 8th anniversary. We left with 10 bags, the four of us, no stroller, no nothing, all alone, got through customs, found our way on a plane, and then slept like the dead that night.

We are all ok. The boys started school on Monday, 6 weeks behind the kids here. B already has friends. T is having a hard time. He really misses his dad, he's terribly shy and he is sad. He will be fine, though. I kiss him a little extra every day. L only was walking for her dad, and so today when she stood up and walked, it was like the first time all over again. She will be one in 14 days and our incomplete family will have a very small, very fun party for her.

I am, oh, this is a a tough one. I am great right now. My nephew and his friend are watching America's Next Top Model and they just bought me Sonic tots. Good boys. Being here with my nephew (we're living with my sister in law for now) has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. He is a great kid and I love him and his silly fourteen-year-old-football-star-pimple-girl-myspace world has been refreshing and the
most amazingly beautiful sort of a distraction. My boys are enamored with him, my daughter is totally head over heels in l.o.v.e with him and I, well, he is the reminder that I am blessed. He and my own kids. They make it magical and glittery and lovely and delicious.

Don't think that doesn't mean that I am not dying slow little deaths every day. Because I most certainly am. I heard someone once say that they were just as addicted to their alcoholic as he was to his booze. That may be the truest thing I have ever heard. I am addicted to the stress of a loveless, emotionally dead relationship just like the one I grew up with. I am addicted to the chaos that life with an addict brings. I am addicted to the panic that you live with every day when there is no predictability, no security, no guarantees. I am addicted to trying to help him, trying to save him. I THRIVE on that shit.

I have to start thriving on something else. Maybe that something else could be these. They're really good and I already have huge thighs, so why the hell not, really? I have to do a searching moral inventory, as they say, and, in a nutshell, fix this shit. And fixing yourself is seriously hard stuff.

So, that's what's really going on. I really want to get back to boogies and bandaids and stuff. And I will, but expect a little bit of this in between. And thanks for e-listening.


Shhh, I have a secret to tell you. I don't know HOW to tell you, but I kinda have to. It's killing me. So, here goes...

*deep breath*

I'm not in Canada. I am about as not in Canada as you can get. I am in Phoenix. It's 62 in Vancouver today. It's 105 in Phoenix.

You know the one word you never, ever want to hear a few weeks after you haul your family and everything you own to the next closest country?

Relapse, that's what. Wagons are nasty things to fall off of.

So, here I am. I am learning all kinds of new things, like what wolf spiders look like, what sorts of features are important to me in an apartment and whcih drive-thru's in Vegas offer a cheeseburger with your divorce.

I will get back to the blogging as soon as I can manage a coherent thought (read: as soon as I can put down the margarita and walk away from the pool, or as soon as I can figure out how to get my laptop to use a wireless connection).

I miss you. I really do. I'll be right back....

*Aww, you all think I'm in VEGAS, don't you? No, we had to cancel that trip. See, I'm kind of busy and shit, what with the whole single mother thing. Molly, MAD props to you.

love on the rocks*

8 very, very long years. Happy anniversary to me.

*Do not be fooled into thinking I am a Neil Diamond fan, 'cause I'm not. I kinda hate him. It's more like a loathing in the pit of my soul, actually. Except that he's sort of a genius and I secretly really like him, especially Sweet Caroline when I'm all drunk.