Open Letter

Dear Mr. S,

Your mother had some interesting things to tell me about you. It was pretty funny, actually. She does speak her own truth, doesn't she? She told me that you can't handle stress and that I should do more housework.

Here's what I want you to know:

• I want to reconcile
• Things cannot continue as they have been
• I still love you

Short and sweet, but that's what it is. I miss you and I'm glad that we're having this time away from each other. It's allowing me to learn a lot about our relationship and myself and our little baby boy.

I hope that you're not looking at the incident on Wednesday night with the hammer and the wall out of context. Did you hear that old saying about the straw that broke the camel's back? If you take that incident out of context and dissect it, you could probably make the case that it wasn't significant enough for me to take our son and run. However, I can't take it as a single incident. I've been asking that we try a trial separation for a while now and you've been saying no. Your way's not working because the levels of tension and stress and, yes, violence, have been getting worse, not better. So, I made one of the hardest decisions I've ever made in my life and took the baby and left.

I hope that you're able to spend some time alone, because I know that's very healing for you.

I hope that you're able to get past some of your anger, because that'll be very healing for us.

Monday Morning

I get up early, get us both dressed and outta the house. I take DS to daycare, check out a new place, tell the daycare provider (DCP) what's going on. She cries and reminds me that Mr S and I love each other and DS loves both of us. DCP also tells me that we will get back together, everything will be much happier and that we'll have a baby girl soon. From your mouth to God's Ear, DCP!

I check out a new daycare because one of the things that Mr S complains about is taking DS and geting him from daycare. Never mind that the drive for all of that is barely 20 minutes and I go 40 minutes one way... So, if I can find decent care near my job I'll take over the work of pick up and drop off. Hopefully eliminate one stress from Mr S's life.

Gotta call the lawyer, eat my lunch and actually do some work!

Saturday

So I'm staying with my good friend (GF). DS is having a blast playing with her kids. It's all good.

Go to another friend's (P) for the day because GF and her hubby are gone for the day. P and I hit the mall, get some more clothes for DS. She feeds me tomato soup (glorious it was) and a beautiful salad and then sends me and DS to a very nice nap. I feel much better. Sleep really does knit up the raveled sleeve of care.

Go to my aunt's house for a party for my cousin's new baby. Very nice. Stay the night at Aunt's.

Go back to GFs on Sunday afternoon. DS continues having a blast playing with her kids. She's very good about listening to me while I process my emotions and learn stuff about mine and Mr. S's relationship.

In the afternoon I call my mother-in-law (MIL) so that she can give me pointers on a happy marriage. This makes everyone on my side of the family laugh as both of MIL's sons' marriages are on the rocks. Anyway, I'm willing to grasp at any grain of truth that I can find at this point. MIL's pearls of wisdom:

• Mr. Supportive cannot handle any stress.
• I should do more housework.

Neither of these statements is false. To say that Mr. S cannot handle stress is a bit like saying that Hurricane Katrina sprinkled a wee bit of rain in New Orleans. MIL points out that Mr S thinks that he "has to do it all." I've heard him say this many times. My mother points out, especially about housework, that, whenever I do housework, Mr. S tells me stop it, because I don't do it right. Remember the cat litter thing? True, true, true. He's a perfectionist and I'm a lazy opportunist that hates doing housework anyway; and am perfectly willing to allow him to pile all of this stress onto himself, even though I think it's dumb. (Fine, it's gotta be perfect, you do it yourself.) Ok, I admit it, not fair. In fact, kinda crappy. This is not an excuse, but I'm still really pissed that he and I had a deal about after DS was born that we'd have a cleaning service so that I can play with DS instead of scrubbing toilets. Mr. S changed the deal without telling me and that's really got me angry. Not a good dynamic. But I understand it a lot better now. Hopefully that'll help me figure out a solution.

Whole Lotta Going On

Well. There's been a whole lot going on in my life and in DS's life and, even in Mr. Supportive's life.

Thursday night Mr. S and I had therapy. The first part was rough. I don't think that he got it. By the second half, I was crying my eyes out and pleading with him to understand. I think that I made him understand that I'm really seriously scared about the escalating tension and violence in the house. Or, if he didn't actually understand, then he at least accepted that's how I feel and that he should behave accordingly.

He left me and DS alone that evening and I packed our bags. Friday morning I drove to work with a suitcase in my trunk. By lunch time I went to the district court for our county, got a protective order, picked up the baby from daycare and came back to the office. We weren't going to go home. The folks at the court house told me that they'd serve the protective order on Mr. S by 6pm or so.

DS and I left.

Mr. S tries to call me that evening, find out where we are. Turns out he's gotten a movie and Indian food and wants to have a really nice evening together. Don't ya love the honeymoon/calmer period in the cycle of domestic violence? Anyway. I didn't want him thinking that DS and I were laying in a ditch somewhere with a car accident. So I called him, told him that we weren't coming home. He tells me about the Indian food and video and then said "You picked a bad night. Good bye."

My mom got mad when I told her that - "Oh, he's putting it back on you, huh?"

I'm very sad. I cried my eyes out on Friday night because I knew that he'd be sad and broken hearted. I don't want to hurt him, I want to reconcile. I really seriously, honestly do. There's a very good person inside all that pain and stuff. I still love that very good person. His anger and pain and stuff get in our way.

Not that I'm claiming to be little miss innocent victim, absolutely not.

oh and another thing

I forget to mention that, during the 20 minute silent treatment, Mr. Supportive tosses his plate onto a packing box in the living room and it makes a loud crash and falls to the floor, scaring DS. Mr. S gives me a hatefilled look like - this is your fault, you'd better make it right. You throw crap around, scare the toddler and it's my fault? Please explain that, because that looks like a big load of horse hockey from where I sit...

26 hour truce

The 26 hour truce ended last night when Mr. Supportive and DS came home from shopping for diapers between 8 and 8:15 or so. Apparently, Mr. Supportive feels that hanging out with the adorable little Squirt Bean for even 3 hours is such laborious work that he's entitled to collapse upon completion of that assignment.

Anyway. When he got home, DS hadn't been fed and was in hysterics because of a new toy that his daddy got him. I got him calmed down (DS, not Mr. Supportive) and distracted by something different. Mr. S informs me (in that not loud yelling voice that he has) that DS hasn't eaten yet and why don't I get him some dinner. DS needs a new diaper. I say to Mr. S, would you start dinner for DS while I change the diaper.

And the place blows up.

Apparently I spoke wrongly to his lordship, the Honorable Mr. Supportive. He had a hissy. Ended up using a hammer to pound a hole in the kitchen wall because he had difficulty getting a pot down from the pot wrack hanger and that frustrated him. Poured himself a beer. Direct violation of the truce agreement, which specifically stated no booze. I point this out and he informs me that the truce is over. He nukes himself dinner, but none for DS, and lets me know that he's not going to make dinner for DS. We wrangle over that and he none to graciously sets up some veggies to steam.

I get DS changed and finish with feeding him dinner. Mr. Supportive informs me that I am not to speak to him for 20 minutes. Whatever. After 20 minutes he informs me that he doesn't like me. I barely manage to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head. Whatever. So sick of hearing the same stupid shit over and over. Get a new record, dude. This one's played out. So, if you don't like me, why the hell are we still married? He's got no answer.

I'm outta here.

I just have to figure out whether or not we can separate amicably or if I have to sneak me and DS out of the house like thieves in the night.

Well, Dang

My friend L. just kicked my rear end from here to Christmas. My husband is a mentally unstable, non meds taking, mean drunk with a history of past physical and verbal abuse.

What the holy hell am I doing keeping my son in that environment?

Day 1 of The Truce

In therapy last night, Mr. Supportive and I declared a truce. He did agree not to drink last night, and to the best of my knowledge, he didn't. Much more pleasant evening than I was expecting - although not without hiccoughs. (Why isn't that word spelled "hiccups" anyway?)

Therapy was a blow out. I'm a lot angrier than I had thought. Fortunately I got a lot of it expressed and out of my system, that makes my stress level lower. So, the therapist got us to declare this truce and we agreed to come back on this coming Thursday. We're in crisis. I agree. Mr. Supportive thinks I'm exaggerating. I'm thinking he's out Cleo-ing Cleopatra, Queen of Denial.

Whatever. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle and, frankly, all that really matters is DS.

In an effort to be all truceful, last night I cleaned the two bathrooms, the cat litter and did a load of laundry. To get to the laundry, I had to clear a path through all the boxes and crap that's downstairs in the basement. Duly cleared. Mr. Supportive's idea of acknowledging that I was doing any housework at all was to criticize the way that I was cleaning out the cat litter. I finally said to him - look, can't you just be glad that I'm doing something rather than trying to dictate how I'm doing it? He was not pleased about that response and slammed the front door at me. Not that the door slams really well, but he tried.

So, you might be wondering, what did Mr. Supportive do with himself and DS last night? Well, thanks for asking, I'll tell ya. He played with the baby some and made sure that videos were running the whole while, took off the baby's diaper when I asked him to change the diaper, complained about that and then whined that the lights were too bright and, the minute I slowed down, raced upstairs to lay down in the dark. I swear, that man can't last past 8:30 on any given night. He's either drunk, tired, sick or headachy. I did notice that, once DS saw I was cleaning the bathtub and climbed in, Mr. Supportive headed himself right down the stairs to watch TV. Bright TV lights and all. Poor guy, that musta been some headache.

Hate and Loathing

Goodness, but I am filled with hate and loathing this morning, all for, you guessed it! Mr. Supportive himself. Calls me up at work this morning, while he's still home, and starts carrying on about where are DS's blankets for daycare! How is he going to nap without his blankets. Barely lets me tell him that I have no idea where the blankets are and then hangs up on me. Jackass. I hate being hung up on. Then won't pick up the phone when I call back. We're about 2 steps away from becoming Mr. Supportive's parents all over again (a most emotionally unhealthy couple) and I don't want to raise a 3rd generation of dysfunctional people!

Thursday night, we were at a lovely little restaurant in a shopping center near daycare and a lovely Latino gentelman tells me, en español, just how pretty I am and how much he likes me. I eat this crap up, ladies and gentlemen! Ever since then, I've been dreaming (literally) about my future with some college professor from Mexico whose wife died tragically a couple of years ago... Hot, heavy erotic dreams. No, don't ask, because I'm not going to tell. It was just a dream!

I gotta get back to reality and deal with Mr. Supportive. 'Course, right now, with as ticked off as I am, I'm considering making myself available in case Señor Professor shows up.

Mr. Supportive and I have therapy tonight and I wanted to do some real positive stuff, but I'm afraid that all I want to do now is scream at him.

Sigh.

Five Things I Can Do to Save this Marriage:

1. Get back to my wedding dress size. This involves losing around 80 lbs. Tough, yes, but I could do it if I put my mind to it.
2. Do additional housework. This involves getting over being pissed off that Mr. S and I had a deal that, once we had kid(s) we'd have someone come in and clean for us. I'm seriously, seriously pissed that we're not doing that.
3. Exercise. Cardio 3 times a week for 30 minutes.
   

Any ideas for others?

Five Things that Mr. Supportive Can Do to Save this Marriage:

1. Stop drinking.
2. Begin rigid adherence to his meds schedule and not change his meds without talking to his doctor first. Yes, he did that.
   
3. Exercise. Cardio 3 times a week for 30 minutes.
4. Get a new job. I am so tired of listening to him whine.
5. Take a photography class - he needs something creative to express himself and is damn good with a camera.
   

Five Things We Have to Do Together to Save this Marriage:

1. Unpack the moving boxes and get fully settled into the house.
2. Get rid of about a third of the crap in our house.
3. Collaborate on healthy meals.
4. Resolve to communicate respectfully at all times.

Oh and for those who were wondering - DS is fine, his elbow and shoulder are fine. He's even started kissing me back when I plant kisses all over his cute little face. Much better in Mommie World.

Source of Evil in the Modern World

Forget Dick Cheney, religious extremism, Republicans, Democrats, Communists, environmentalist whackos, money or whatever floats your boat to blame for all wrongdoing and doers.

It's me.

I am It. She who brings all darkness and pain to the universe. The worst mother in all the land, probably in all of history.

My adorable sweet innocent 2 year old baby boy and I were rough-housing last night as we often do and I lifted him up by his arms behind my back, as we often do. He loved it, ran around to be lifted again and blammo. I dislocated his shoulder and/or his elbow. 2 hours in the emergency room. He's such a sweetie, forgave me and everything. Poor little boy.

Begin Anti Spousal Rant

And Mr. Supportive, as my friend L. so aptly named him, spends most of the time I'm trying to get DS calmed down raging at me that this is all my fault because I'm fat. There's just no other way to put this: Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere, my husband is a jackass. Of course I'm fat, I have food issues and eat unconsciously and all sorts of stuff. I use food to stuff my emtions down so I don't have to feel them. Classic stuff. That doesn't actually make me evil. Hurting the baby, that made me evil.

End Anti Spousal Rant.

I'll get over the guilt though, especially as I see that the Wee One is ok. And he is ok. He's just fine, in fact. His arm's sore, but that's to be expected. He'll be right as rain by the end of the weekend and probably begging me to flip him over my shoulder again. (Yeah, right, like that's gonna happen!)

Learning Myself

I learned something about myself last night - howI handle DH's ranges and snits and temper tantrums really sets the tone for how our time together goes. I've gotten bored by them, frankly, because he's always bitching about something. He does a lot of whining and complaining and not a whole lot of making things better for himself. It's mighty irritating. It's ok to piss and moan if you're doing something to make it better. If not, shut the hell up. My stepdad called that "bitching about your weight while eating a snickers bar." DH is the King of bitching about his weight while eating a snickers bar. I should ask him if I can have some cheese with that whine. He probably wouldn't get it.

Happy V-D.

Last night was a pretty good night for me and DH. He wasn't in his usual rages about work or whatever, which made life a lot easier. I really do sound like a battered wife, don't I? Damn. Sometimes writing things down makes them more real. Crap, crap, crap. Damn again. I have serious battered wife tendencies, and he has serious battering husband tendencies. Good thing we're in therapy. Hopefully we'll continue making progress, even if it is two steps forward one step back types of stuff.

So anyway, lots of snow this weekend, which was nice for the baby, even though he wasn't having anything to do with the snow. It's nice to look at but he wasn't going to be put down into that stuff.

And So It Begins

I guess I'm not new to journaling, as I kept one for 20 years before quitting. I don't know why my 30s were the years to not write. My therapist and others have been at me to write again, so I guess that I'll acquiesce.

Intro stuff: I'm a wife and mom. The baby's 2 and the light of my life. I'm from Michigan, but living in Maryland. I'm an association executive who's finally (finally!!) found her way into a professional trade group in whom I actually believe. Pray Goddess it works.