tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7173750299031680542024-03-13T19:13:25.101-07:00Mommy in a blenderBecause step parenting, co-parenting, teen parenting and Evil Ex's lead to drinking and poor judgement. Poor judgement leads to good advice, so I blog.Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-29478253571574155822012-09-09T15:53:00.001-07:002012-09-09T16:43:51.939-07:00Top 10 ways to ensure your child's University tuition is spent on therapy instead<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 1pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><w:sdtpr></w:sdtpr><w:sdt docpart="A5D9C1343243422AB76CCC8785C8930A" id="89512082" storeitemid="X_EDCFDDEE-EB99-4737-9CA1-C968C0AE34F9" text="t" title="Post Title" xpath="/ns0:BlogPostInfo/ns0:PostTitle"></w:sdt></span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know you have all been enjoying tales of the Evil Ex. You may have found yourself morbidly spellbound as if you were watching a trainwreck as I have described some of her most crowning moments in parenting. Labour Day weekend actually marks the anniversary of one of Evil Ex’s most glorious moments in vengeance that resulted in a demonstration of horrific parenting; I thought I would commemorate the events, which are featured below. Here is my top ten list of how to ensure your child’s university tuition will be spent on therapy instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last weekend the children should have been returned to us on Friday night. On Friday, we discovered that EE had no intention of getting themback.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Therefor our plans to go to Whistler for the long weekend were kyboshed yet again. I was inspired to write this after it was discovered that EE had told the children that we didn’t see them on the weekend because he was too “lazy” to drive the 2 hours back to city and get them on Sunday am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(and by “Lazy”she means,” refusing to give in to her and her self-serving manipulationt actics)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>DDILF’s pick up day atschool was yesterday and low, who do you think had decided to show up? It seemed that Evil Ex was running another slander campaign in light of our unwillingness to drive back to the city. I do admire her “do it to them before they do it to you” strategy. She must have studied “The Art of War”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was blatantly apparent that her mission was to make DDILF look like a jerk. Not only was she commenting to other moms, but also to the children and their friends: “I wasn’t sure he would show up to school pick up, that’s why I am here you know.” I am impressed by her nerve and tenacity, but clearly she missed her calling as a B rated porn actress because that’s about how convincing she is. So here we go; my top 10 ten list for “How to ensure your children’s university tuition gets spent on therapy, because you screwed them up so beautifully”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stop letting your kids see their father completely (because he is sick needs to see a doctor, or god forbid they mightfind out that you are the sicko) If you see that your husband has come toschool to see his kids, quickly call 911 and scare the kids into the car by saying: “Daddy’s gone CRAZY”. Then cry assault and have him arrested. Make sure you do this right in front of the kids and the entire school… [don’t attemptthis if you see he has a cell phone camera and can quickly discredit all claim,leaving you looking like a complete asshole] <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When your lawyer finally tells you that you have to let your husband see the kids, and you do;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>get all liquored-up and show up at the house at midnight; waking up yoursleeping kids by screaming<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m going tokick you in the neck!” and pound incessantly on the door. Then be grateful thatunlike you, calling the police and having their mother arrested is not one of those touching childhood events he wants his kids to experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have your brother-in-law try to punch out your husband when he comes to the house to see his kids. Again, ensure the kids arew atching this, but that there is no camera phone recording. (We don’t want to embarrass our feeble brother-in-law as he completely fails connect a single throw)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When it serves you, use him as a backup babysitter. When you are in need of some cougar time, but you have worn out your favour with relatives, randomly show up on the doorstep of your husband’shouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be nonchalant as hell, and act asthough you are giving him the awesome privilege of seeing his kids. Just don’tbe surprised when your child has a complete meltdown. Maybe she is wondering why her mother would leave her with an apparent crazy person so she can go party.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Make a scene; every chance you get. When husband chooses to accept the unpaid babysitting because he is just grateful to see hiskids, randomly try to start a fight with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If he does not want to get into a fight in front of the kids, just start yelling at him about his new girlfriend. When your husband asks you nicely to leave,and tries to close the door… throw yourself on it, beat on it, kick it,shoulder check it and try to force your way back in; when that fails and the door is firmly closed and locked with your face behind it… scream at the top ofyour lungs: “don’t touch me! Don’t push me!” and make a huge and overly dramatic scene and then go to the police. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Make your 7 year old lie and get his father arrested. When you’re really mad because your husband won’t acknowledge your existence and you’re attempts to pick a fight make you look like an ass. Just take your 7 year old down to the police station and make him tell the police aversion of number 6 that ultimately gets his dad arrested. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NPBL-eXsGDo/UE0c-z-QZMI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/FEgdLotBe4E/s1600/Shawns+Facebook+post.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NPBL-eXsGDo/UE0c-z-QZMI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/FEgdLotBe4E/s320/Shawns+Facebook+post.JPG" width="239" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">[I actually love this one, because my son was home for one of theseawesome events and posted this comment on his Facebook status. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t love when the police showed up the next day to haul my DILF offto jail for 4 hours. Thankfully "crazy" is easily detectable by trained police officers. They and the neighbours all agreed that EE was in fact nuts, and he was released with no charges.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">8)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Attempt to run him over while your children are in your car. I have nothing to add to that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">9)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Add Drama wherever you can. When you are sendingyour kids off to go to their Dad, pour on some drama. Say things like “Its OK,everything is going to fine. You have to go. You have to go, but you can callme and make sure you do. You better call me<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">; if anything happens</i> I will come and get you OK?” Make sure you keep it up until you can see that your daughter is starting show signs of trauma (shaking,crying hyperventilating) then wave and look sad and desperate. This only works for a while, because eventually they realise, that in fact, everything is OK. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">10)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And finally, make sure your kids think that their Dad is just a loser, a cheater, a beater, a crazy and plain old doesn’t love them. There is nothing better for a child’s self-esteem than the knowledge that something is inherently wrong with one or more of their parents. Children are extensions of their parents, if something is wrong with a parent, there must be something wrong with them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s good, because you get to swoop in on your broomstick and be the big winner… because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> are the only one who matters afterall. </span></div>
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Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-44995339697111931392012-09-06T17:55:00.003-07:002012-09-06T20:05:53.849-07:00Epiphany<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 1pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><w:sdtpr></w:sdtpr><w:sdt docpart="D1C2BA9B5F2248C7A4E7985AD6CE0476" id="89512082" storeitemid="X_A7AE4BA1-DAF8-4F8C-A5FF-3D59253FB24A" text="t" title="Post Title" xpath="/ns0:BlogPostInfo/ns0:PostTitle"></w:sdt></span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This morning I awoke feeling weary in my bones. I began to question my life’s work. I considered everything I had ever done, the blood, the sweat, the tears. What do I have to show for it? In all these years, have I amounted to nothing? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I sold my business in June.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A business I started from the ground up; a business I struggled in daily just to survive; no different from the 10 prior years as a single mom. I felt chewed up and spit out. I consider myself lucky to have dumped it and been left semi in the black. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">3 months later I am more rested and less angst. But now I am left with a feeling of being cast adrift into the unknown, without a purpose. I am identity-less and questioning my worth and my future. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then I was struck by a thought; more an expanded awareness of consciousness itself. I thought of my son. In my mind, I was looking into his big blue eyes; it felt like I was looking into his soul. I suddenly became overwhelmed with a sense of privilege. I was chosen. Invited rather, to bring this unique consciousness to life. What a beautiful creation I made. I felt connected at that moment to the core essence of my being. I am a creator. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am not measured by my successes, failures, accumulations or acquisitions. I am not measured at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just am. I am here to experience, to live, to love, to think, explore and expand. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My contribution is the culmination of every thought, idea, emotion, interaction and decision I make; not what I do or accomplish. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My purpose is me; ever evolving. And so, I am open to the flow of life. I am allowing the current to carry me to the places where the wisdom of my life experiences are needed and best put to use. I don’t need to pigeon hole myself into a job description or title. By virtue of my very existence my value and potential is ever unfolding, never ending and entirely limitless. </span></div>
Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-68125027206963215512012-09-02T13:40:00.001-07:002012-09-06T20:59:18.207-07:00Aliens and abductionsLabor day long weekend and DDILF and I have just sent our Swiss "replacement child" off on a bike ride in the woods and settled ourselves on the river bank of our campsite to do some work. I love my new office. I attached a photo of my view. I call him replacement child because my own 16 year old has no interest in hanging out with me whatsoever... So Maximilian will have to suffice as the replacement ... and really I could do worse, he is very sweet and laughs at my jokes. Although I wonder what he secretly thinks of his wacky home-stay mother. <br />
My poor DDILF is as we speak; being screwed yet again out of a long weeks with his kids. The EE loves to make arbitrary changes to agreed upon custody arrangements. EE has returned from her holiday with the kids a day late, which of course lands directly in the middle of a long weekend.<br />
What really gets me is her smugness at screwing over her own kids. Just like the previous long weekend where we had planned a trip to the US but could not go because the day we planned to leave she decides to with hold the passports... Which makes total sense because DDILF an I are Aliens and it would be so easy to abscond with the children, move to another planet; never to be seen or heard from again. Maybe we can find replacement children for EE...It seems to be working for me..<br />
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Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-74984591890914018032012-08-29T12:12:00.000-07:002012-09-06T13:29:10.668-07:00What happens when your inner childs climbs into the blender...?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was responding to a forum post from a lovely man with a
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was desperate because his second wife after nine years
together had started to become a real control freak. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe it just hit her that the years of togetherness had
never really smoothed out the blending like she’d hoped. Maybe she was hoping
for whipped, or frappe? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think sometimes us step-moms hold on to a secret hope that
the Evil-Ex will one day simply disappear and all matters of parenting will be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mine!</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Insert evil laugh here)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When there are children and an ex-wife in the picture there
is a constant reminder of my “place” on the periphery. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I will never have final say on what school they will attend
or sports they play, or even all the clothes they wear or values they acquire. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I got into a huge fight with DDILF one day because I wanted
to clean the shit-show that was the childrens bedroom. DDILF got so territorial about
it (probably because he didn’t want me to have ammunition for a future fights) that
I became utterly indignant. My inner child reared her bitchy little head; dug
in her heals and threw down a massive tantrum. “I am the woman” she said (just to clarify- <em>She</em> said it, <em>I</em> didnt) “This is my home and domain and if I want to help the children
make their room livable that should be my prerogative! Why can’t you at least
give me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i>??”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now the irony in all of this is that I hate cleaning thus my
grown up self-actualised self was left to question the motive of my inner child’s
massive tantrum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so I realised that the “that” in that statement really meant that I desperately wanted
DDILF to relinquish some control to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i>.
I wanted to clean the rooms and yes, use it against him at some future date
when I might be feeling unappreciated or powerless…. wait…sorry… I just choked
on some crow… gross.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Step-parenting can be so ambiguous that our efforts to stake out our turf and define ourselves and our place in our family’s lives can become an exercise in utter frustration. I am learning that I can try to pin myself up against the glass and resist the blender, or I can let go and roll around in the sweet sticky mess...Whatever the case may be, I do know that there</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> is no room in here for a bitchy inner child and her tantrums. </span></div>
Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-17744228455775495362012-08-27T14:31:00.000-07:002012-08-27T16:21:16.852-07:00The simulation of imminent death is good for family bonding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I just spent the weekend with a girlfriend that I have not
seen in like 12 years… </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Crystal was my bridesmaid at my wedding 16 years ago. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>We have since lived in separate provinces
and have scarcely been in touch. She had her first child at the ripe old age of
20 and I the age of 23. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Any single mom who devotes as much as Crystal has to giving
her gifted-needs first born child everything available on the planet to succeed
in life is a rock star in my eyes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, she
has had 3 more babies. All of whom are now under the age of 8. As if raising 4
children wasn’t a ridiculous endeavor, she has managed to simultaneously amass
a small fortune, and by small I mean the likes of a feudal system Lord-ess. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s a little bit bad-ass. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Crystal rolled into Whistler village in her new Escalade
and her little army in tow for the Wonderlust yoga and music festival last
week. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>DDILF, my 16 year old Toad and our
German Exchange student Max, (because I need exchange students just to keep
this old dingy afloat) rolled into our camp site with a trailer down by the river.
DDILF is utterly thrilled that we have our own weekend retreat for $11 a night.
Let me tell you it’s worth every penny, every penny and not a penny more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No white trash here boy, no Sir-ee. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are you looking at? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Crystal text messaged me from her resort hotel “Let’s take the kids
white-water rafting or something totally obnoxious. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My treat! My 6 and 8 year olds are totally
hard core and I want them to have fun” </div>
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Say no more… this is my town! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am Adrienne La Montagne, fearless mountain
guide and adventure seeker. I got this. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Within a couple of hours me and my entourage were barreling up a logging
road to Whistler Bungee for lessons in scared shit-less. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just to clarify, the kids weren’t scared
shit-less, I was. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One after another every member of both families hurled
themselves off the 160ft bridge. We were secured only by a springy rope to a belt and then tied to a bridge. Not by some camouflaged clad marine that might have instilled a sense of safety and inspired heroic bravery but by Josh, a 20 something dread-lock-haired dude who sounded eerily like Spicoli and his English side-kick Wigglesworth, and by English I mean drunk. Well, probably not drunk at that moment but I was
concerned. Sorry for stereotyping. I love Brits. They make great drinking buddies.
</div>
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The 6 and 8 year old went off that bridge like they were
freaking spawns of Spiderman. </div>
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Aleksandar’s arms and legs swam frantically as he fell like
he was in an imminent death spiral. I laughed my ass off. 6 year old
Savo smiled gleefully as he was gently dangled and dropped clear off the 160
ft. platform. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it was my turn… I nearly
cried. I stood on that platform toes pointed out into the abyss of a massive
river canyon and my life flashed before my eyes. I turned around slowly, I couldn’t
look out, or down, I looked Dreadlock Josh straight in his mirrored sunglasses</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Um… no thanks, I am going to get off now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josh : smiling apathetically </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gulp… turning
pale</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Josh:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are totally gonna do this is, it’s gonna
be totally awesome, and you’re going to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do
this</i> on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">first </i>count of one. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ready…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(“Ready” was a statement and not a question, so to imply
that I better be fucking ready cause I have clients who want to jump)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Josh: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“and 5, 4, 3,
2, 1…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
White terror… Photos of my jump revealed my body position
stiff as a fucking board with legs and toes pointed straight down like a an
Olympic diver going into a pike. This was not the posture of the notorious mountain
thrill seeker I am so infamous for being, but I do highly recommended the
experience. There’s nothing like a simulated death experience to bring family
and friends together. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Coming up next more thrilling adventures, (all in the same day)
lessons on how to raise extremely fucking cool kids like these, and then later... the beneficial
effect excessive swearing has on children…</div>
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Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-32073095895785814102012-08-24T11:45:00.001-07:002012-09-06T13:31:37.295-07:00Keeping in "check"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think for the most part, most us are selective about whom we allow into our inner circles. The transparency of my personal life is reserved only for the most trusted of friends and family. The ones whom you know have only your highest best good in mind. If someone oversteps your boundaries, shows disloyalty or becomes a nuisance you simply send them on their way. When step children come into your life, it can be a mixed blessing. The "mixed" part happens because children are automatically in the fold. They are by default, intimately aware of the comings and goings of your personal life. When the step-child comes with a malicious parent who uses them to pry into your life, the infiltrators are no so easily rid of. This can result in a straining of the relationship you have with your step-children.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently we discovered that every week my step children are
returned to their mother, and promptly interrogated as to what went goes on
during their time with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cheerfully
talking to your kids about what they did, where they went and did they have
fun would be perfectly normal. That line of questioning sends a healthy message that you hope they
are having a good time and you want to hear all about it, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently my step-daughter let it slip that the first
question the children are being asked upon returning home is “so, did anything bad
happen?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That line of question sends a
not so healthy message to an already torn child who now thinks, “Am I in some
kind of danger?” I mean, we had already surmised that the kids were being
questioned about our personal relationship and life together. We chose not to press the children about it ourselves because we
knew they were already being “pressed” enough by the Ex. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least pre-custody
hearing, her motives were obvious. She wanted to control the children with fear,
and slander DD with a variety of mental disorders that only a qualified insurance adjuster like herself could diagnose. All in the hopes of gaining full custody and a handsome support payment.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">But mostly, I suspect</span> it was because she was just plain pissed about getting
turfed out on her ass for cheating, and he was going to pay. Hell hath no fury
and all. But why, after she lost her case and custody was settled couldn't she just
let it go? I won’t even get into the kind of anxiety attacks that would afflict
my step daughter on occasions where her mother dropped her off personally. Let’s
just say it took months of deprogramming for the crying, shaking and hyperventilating to
stop. Oddly, she seemed perfectly happy on days she was picked up by one of us
at school or from friends. Was it all a performance? Who knows? But happily
Jube has now fully returned to a normal, nosey, spastic, constantly bugging her
brother and totally bored all the time 10 year old state of being. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2 years have passed since the separation and the kids are
figuring it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little by little, bits
of information are creeping out of them that previously they would have been
afraid to tell. As more and more the children confide in us, the more I have
begun to feel that there is an intruder in my life. Not like an unwanted
house guest who has overstayed their welcome, but infiltrator who can attain
very private details of my life and will happily use it as fuel to gossip and undermined
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember once, early in my relationship that I’d had a
“client” in my salon. This client had obviously booked her appointment with me
on behalf of EE for a little interrogation session. She made one comment that
stuck with me. “This is a small town you know. It’s a good thing because it
keeps you in check”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I thought “And just who the fuck do I need to check
with?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is just one of the reasons I
don’t live in a commune. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At times my life feels a bit like I'm a character on a reality show. There
are cameras you know about, and some that are hidden. With kids you never know what
little spat over chores or very personal discussion about money or future plans
they have overheard. And what about bedroom noises?! On a reality show,
there is an audience to satiate and a cast who is compensated in some way. In
my life, it’s not an audience; it’s more like a beast. The beast needs to be
satiated and the children know it. (They are astute you know) They know mommy
loves juicy personal and especially negative morsels to fuel her thirst for
drama. I know there are times their version of events get a little glorified for the
sake of ratings. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so I am left to wonder… How do you keep from feeling
resentful of the children when the Ex deploys them as her henchmen? And w</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">hen a parent creates an atmosphere of alienation towards
the other household, how do you minimise collateral damage? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would like to have an open and loving relationship with my
step-children. I know that out of fear and loyalty,
they would throw me or DD under the bus in a heartbeat to satisfy their mother’s
stalker-ish obsession. So when my shields are up, and I am on high alert its the children who will feel my guardedness and not the love they deserve. </span></div>
Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-67076455307208859542012-08-17T10:50:00.000-07:002012-08-17T11:45:15.832-07:00Division of Assets & Underwear<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So my super cutie-pie Dream-DILF love- O-my life is a bit of
a pack rat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not quite A & E Buried Alive status, but there are
moments when I question the potential of that. Are we just one mild head
injury from hoarders? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am not an overly obsessive neat freak, nor am I the most organised
person in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That, in fact adds
to my concern. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If, even<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> I</i> am overwhelmed with the clutter,
could this be potentially serious?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went on a campaign a couple of weeks ago to clear out the
garage. DD has a habit of piling heavy and dangerous items on top of light and
unstable items. (The other day I went to grab an empty cooler from high atop a
pile of rubber maid bins and the cast iron Xmas tree stand he had so delicately
set on top nearly took me out) The very decision to take on the garage is a
death defying endeavour. I endeavoured to proceed with caution. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lo and behold under the rubble somewhere between Xmas lights
and linens, I came across some boxes. Boxes that I was sure were supposed to
have been returned to the one who shall only be referred to as “Evil Ex”. I
shuttered. I should have walked out right then and there. Regrettably my lower
self-saboteur got the better of me and I peeked. Fuck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Right on top of the very first box I open were (you guessed it) two large volumes of my beloved DILF and the Evil Ex’s wedding photos. Why??
Why do we let our glutton for punishment-self-defeating curiosity get the
better of us? Prior to the move and post division of asset I distinctly and succinctly
stated that I did not want any remnant of the former wife in our new home.
Moving into the home that DD shared with her was creepy enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On one occasion, I had come across a pair of
black polka dot G-string panties whilst cleaning under the bed. Barf. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I almost packed up right then and there and went back to my
high rise apartment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so after several melt downs and an attempted mutiny I was
confident that I had assured myself safe and clear passage into our new home
together sans Evil Ex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How these boxes
got past me during the move is stupefying. Now, there were some boxes with quite entertaining contents I must say. For example there was an entire box of EE’s high school annuals from the 1980’s.
There was an entire photo album cover to cover of EE in 1980s style vanity
shots. She had gigantic bangs and the photos had been taken with a soft light filter.
The pout-y faces she was making I can only liken to that of a Madonna-wanna-be
porn star. It was hilarious. I am sure that had the contents of all the boxes been similar, or grandmas silverware I would not have been so upset. But it was the wedding photos that got to
me. There are things that you just can’t un-see. Once your eyes have seen something
so disturbing, it is burned into your brain forever . </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next few hours were a blur. I do know that they involved
some strongly worded text messages that resulted in the immediate arrival of my
beloved home from work in the middle of the afternoon. I also recall that there
was debris strewn down the driveway and onto the street. By debris I mean boxes and
photo albums. (DD disposed of them immediately, thankfully) I don’t know how on
earth the debris got all the way onto the street, but oh well. C'est la vie. This
incident just illustrates my earlier point (see blog: “your place or mine”)
regarding the co-habitation of the crime scene. </span></div>
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Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-11858195581124674272012-08-16T17:31:00.000-07:002012-09-06T13:42:13.276-07:00I am a total freak<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Speaking of our weekend getaway… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I really want my 16 year old son to come. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He is the apple of my eye and at 6’3 he’s a big hunky
apple. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love him. For those of you with younger children, please
don’t take it for granted that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you </i>will
forever be the apple of your little man’s eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember when the Toad was about 7 we often read “I
love you forever” by Robert Munch before bed. Every time, I bawled
like a baby at the ending. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On one occassion, the littleToad looked up at me with his big blue eyes and freckly nose, and in a very
sarcastic tone said “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really,</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mom?”</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>as in... "could you stop blubbering already you
freak?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ANY-HOO… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There <em>was</em> a time I distinctly remember,
when Shawn promised me that he would always want to live with me. I explained
that one day he would grow up and get married and have a family of his own. I
assured him that he would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>always
want to live with me. The little toad could not even fathom the words I was
saying and his eyes welled with tears at the mere thought of it. Those were the
days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Getting Toad involved with any family activities these days is akin to pulling teeth. That was, until Freckle Face came on the scene. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Freckle Face is my favourite person. She is 16 and pretty
and smart and when FF is around The Toadactually resembles a human being. He
showers, he brushes his teeth and he speaks to me in a tone that is just
slightly less sarcastic than his usual one. Thank goodness she is around a lot!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had the ingenious notion that is if FF would come
camping, then Toad</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> would come too. Maybe he would even hang out and go tubing
down the creek, or biking on the trails with us. It was brilliant! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Convincing FF's mom that she should come
away for the weekend with her boyfriend and his family was another story. Crap.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So here’s what I did… I called Freckle Faces mom. I was determined
to convince her that we are responsible, and that of course they will be
supervised and have separated tents etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The chat started out so well. We talked about how cute this teenage
puppy love is between our kids and how much we both love the others child. I
had her all buttered up. I thought “this is great I got this in the bag, no problem-o”.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alas but, no. You know when a conversation
is about to take a turn into disappointment -ville.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tone of voice shifts from perky and optimistic
to: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“listen, you people are
great, but we just don’t think at 16 it’s appropriate…” “I know” I say ”I
understand… sniff” Then I did what any desperate to have her only son come
on a camping trip mother would do… I started to cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started to blubber and cry on the phone to FF's mom like an utterly hormonal pre-empty nester “But...
but... but…Toad won’t come if FF doesn’t come! he doesn’t want to hang out
with me any more! He’s going to move out and we will never have had this weekend
together and this is so unfair and it's all your fault!!! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can
she come PLEEEEAAAASE??? “<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t win that fight. </span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gVVY2sgjcvw/UC2POkRbq-I/AAAAAAAAADI/DWfjcIzICjo/s1600/ShawnandSyd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gVVY2sgjcvw/UC2POkRbq-I/AAAAAAAAADI/DWfjcIzICjo/s320/ShawnandSyd.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-25497065244790730112012-08-16T12:32:00.000-07:002012-08-16T22:11:41.070-07:00Kiddies in the middleIronic that only last night I posted a tragic tale of bad parental behaviour and its toll on the innocent. Distpite everything I have witnessed over the past 18th months of my relationship with DD, I am still shocked and amazed when the Evil Ex's weapon of choice is her own the children. <br />
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Last week DD politely requested the Evil Ex send the passports along so we could head over the line and go camping in Anacortes Wa. for the weekend. We did not recieve a reply. Another polite reminder was sent this am. Here's how the conversation went, pretty much verabatum.<br />
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DD "Just reminding you that we need the childrens passports for our trip this weekend."<br />
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EE "I will not be sending the passports with the children" <br />
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DD "why are you punishing the children?" <br />
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EE "I will have them call you later to discuss"<br />
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DD "you will have <i>them</i> call to discuss? They are 10 and 8. Why are you putting the children in the middle?" <br />
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EE (silence)<br />
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DD "Your selfishness never ceases to amaze..." <br />
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EE (silence) <br />
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EE's inner monologue "Oh, I am so clever! I just totally screwed... uh-I mean <i>saved</i> my children from a horrible weekend by the seaside, swimming, riding bikes, hiking into waterfalls and roasting schmores over the campfire" <br />
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Seriously, who are these people? <br />
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<br />Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-27300562818064814582012-08-15T21:47:00.000-07:002012-08-15T22:53:38.892-07:00The Evil Ex<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-shJmSC619W0/UCx1GuImOVI/AAAAAAAAACk/07-7zY3hlqE/s1600/51g5BFjlgQL._SL500_SS500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-shJmSC619W0/UCx1GuImOVI/AAAAAAAAACk/07-7zY3hlqE/s320/51g5BFjlgQL._SL500_SS500_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my fantasy MILF meets DILF, they fall in love and live
happily ever after. The MILF and DILF children all hold hands and sing Kumbaya
to the universe for bringing two such deserving albeit broken families
together. With all wounds healed, and the loneliness of single parenthood
behind them, joy abounds, bonds are made and a new family emerges from the
rubble. In retrospect I really should have been so much more specific in my
MILF meets DILF manifesting visualization practices. I should have envisioned the
ex-wife holding hands and singing Kumbaya along with everyone else. My bad!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Ex’s cooperation in this little scenario was a lot more
vital than I realized. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my own childhood divorce drama the animosity primarily
stayed between my mother and father. The new partners were, for the most part left out of the bickering or backstabbing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Although my mother admitted later that even though she’d
never wanted my father back, it stung a little to learn that he was the first
to meet someone new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly because she
was so mad at him by the time the divorce was done she just didn’t want to
think of him as anything other than lonely and miserable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyhow, she did what any <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">good</i>
mother would and she zipped it. She knew that whoever this poor unwitting soul
was, she was going to play a vital role in the lives of her children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She actually felt somewhat relieved to know that there would
be a nurturing and stabilising influence around for us kids. Because she was a
smarty like that, I was able to embrace my new step-mother and felt deep
appreciation for her in my life. I also have a deep appreciation for my mother
who put aside her own anguish for my sake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I guess I expected that every other mother would do the same…wrong-o.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so, naivete, blind love and good intentions completely skewed my
better judgement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I skipped happily out
to the step child’s soccer games and school events holding hands with my yummy
DILF early in our relationship. I made friends with the other moms. I set up
play dates with friends at school. I was determined to be there for my DILF. Now these things are innocent enough and maybe I was under some delusion that my involvement would ease the ex's mind...wrong again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let’s face it, no woman signs up for motherhood with the
intention of having another woman raise her children, even part time. These
sorts of scenarios can make any ex jealous, angry even. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The angry ex is usually angry because she’s been hurt or
betrayed and I get that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Betrayal sucks, and anger is justified</span>, but most good mothers get over it in time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But sometimes the ex becomes angry because she is the betrayer, and been caught and turfed out on her butt. In this case,
we are dealing with an Evil Ex. In the case of the Evil Ex, even well intentioned involvent such as watching a soccer game </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">may trigger an alchemical reaction likened only to that of the making of a
Marvel Comic Super Villain. Super Villains are dangerous. They might try to run over your
DILF in her car. They might make a lot of noise in public places. They might attempt to
have your DILF committed, or much, much worse, so much worse actually, I won’t
even dare to blog it. But the WORST, worst thing a Super Villain Evil Ex will do is
involve the children. Making a child choose between two parents and a bonus mom,
who just wants to have fun with them and make them happy is... So Not Cool. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So here is my advice: When the Evil-Ex can’t keep her shit
together for the well being of her own children, then you must.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You must become the super-stepmother heroin and
dig deep into your chest and pull out a big fat chunk of empathy, because only
your empathy can neutralize her super villain powers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Empathy will serve to keep you neutral, and neutral is
everything when it comes to your relationship and the well being of those
kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Empathy will serve you in the eyes of your partner, who only
wants peace in his home and stability for his children who are grieving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will love you more for staying above any
drama the Evil Ex tries to serve up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It won’t be easy. Practicing empathy for an Evil Ex can feel
about as easy as natural child birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
wish someone had told me, I would have gone to Buddhist boot camp for empathy
sooner. Persevere. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might need
stiches from biting your tongue when you want to retaliate with some choice words
of your own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alas, I have slipped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you will never trump the Evil Ex by
playing her game. Transform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don your
glossy cape and be the Super-Step-mom you were meant to be! OK, I’m being
dramatic. Just swill down a big fat helping of suck it up butter-cup and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">be</i> the peace you want to create in your
new family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Go ahead, hold hands and sing Kumbaya until it hurts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Your step children will respect you for it and be happier
and healthier for it, even if they aren’t allowed to love you for it…yet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717375029903168054.post-59901638365949361492012-08-14T17:19:00.000-07:002012-08-16T22:10:47.967-07:00Your place or mine?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-toIf8JJWzpY/UC3SSr0faBI/AAAAAAAAADY/f_-kfqDnQRM/s1600/1801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-toIf8JJWzpY/UC3SSr0faBI/AAAAAAAAADY/f_-kfqDnQRM/s1600/1801.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have been pondering the possible causes for the litany of
challenges my beloved (who we will refer to as Dream DILF or DD for short) and I have endured as a couple and a newly blended family. Over the weeks ahead I will be covering some of these causes and their effects. Things I didn't anticipate, but maybe should have? What could possibly go wrong when you are in love with a your Dream DILF and his two kids?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I mean, I love kids. I even have one myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">DD obviously knew something I didn’t. The first 3 months of our relationship he repeatedly
asked me “are you sure you want this?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
thought he was being cute, however I realize now that he was referring
to how I would adjust to life with children much younger than mine. Previously to meeting DD I had been living the
single life of a ski bum and had a very independent 15 year old. This adjustment to my life will be the subject
of another blog, I’m sure. Until then, we have more immediate drama to attend
to. This is what I always wanted, after all, a real family and I was not going to let
him deter me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite DD only being out of his marriage for
just a few short months, he must have considered the possible scenarios that might play out, given his already high drama divorce, should we choose to jump in with both feet and co-habitate. Had
I known what he knew then, I might not have gotten on the divorce-coaster so
eagerly. But was I was quite happy and oblivious in my love induced delusion thank
you much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And apparently so was he. Neither
he nor I hit the brakes. We were too much in love for sensibility. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Move in with you, really? Ok. Sigh." Clearly we didn’t think
that one through all the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It will be great, we will all live together, and we’ll make
illegitimate babies" <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wink wink</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Where was the practical headed nerd that I now know and love,
then, huh?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So here’s my advice when the DILF of your dreams asks you to move into the home he shared with
the Evil Ex:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do NOT move into the home DILF of your Dreams shared with the
Evil-Ex. Gee, I wish someone had written this blog 18 months ago before I made
that epic faux pas. Are those murmurs? Did someone say: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Duh … is this blogger a complete idiot?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are just scratching the surface of my awesome decision making. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just keep reading my blog, you’ll see. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, choosing the newly blended
family home can be a real defining decision and is not to be made under the
influence of a love induced delusion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just be patient, wait until the dust settles, the crime
scene sells, and all of her Tupperware and underwear is packed up and out. Then
you can move into a new place together. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unless your life has become utterly boring and
you want to add a little Evil Ex screaming and pounding at the front door to
spice things up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forgive me if I sound
callous, and I assure you we will be discussing empathy for the Evil Ex in a
future blog. For now, this one’s laying in the extra-marital bed she made. Next
week:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>assets, underwear and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aww-kward</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Manifestation mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092197636783427215noreply@blogger.com0