There are times when I hate my life.  Don’t get me wrong, I would not go back to my ex husband in a million years.  I also would not end my current marriage, but my children bear the brunt of my decision making abilities and for them, I wish things were different.Every year, the school my children attend have a Father/child pancake breakfast.  Normally, this is not an issue, as my husband is home to take them, because their father will not take them.  This year there was no one to take them.

They decided they wanted to be temporarily adopted by my Best Friends husband, who has children at the school.  He was thrilled they chose him, as he honestly loves my kids like his own.  But, the morning did not work out as planned, as many mornings being a single mother do not, and we did not make it.

I took them to school and the breakfast was still going on, and I walked in, in all my glory of sweatpants, clogs a huge sweatshirt and sunglasses.  My hair and teeth had not even been brushed.  I was not expecting to have to walk in.  I find my friends husband and drop my kids.  I am the only mother for miles around.  I wanted to cry for my children, and yes, for myself.

Pity parties can be therapeutic.  Sometimes you need to give them for yourself.  I got angry that my ex is uninvolved and doesn’t even go to a parent/teacher conference, let alone have anything to do with the school or their education.  This is his choice.  It hurts the kids.

I got angry that my husband was out of town, again.  It seems that he is missing everything important by going back and forth from Houston to Washington, DC.  He is missing important functions for his kids and mine.  Who is that fair too?

I met up with a friend who asked me where my ex was.  I said, “He is with his other family in Atlanta.”  She then asked me where my husband was.  I said, “He is with his other family in Washington DC.”  And, here I was, with my only family in Houston.  Being Mr. and Mrs. Mom again.  And having a pity party.

My friend suggested I needed an alternate husband.  A gay husband.  A fill in.  Although this did make me laugh, and is actually not a bad idea, the fact is, it wouldn’t change a thing.  This is my life.  This is the life I created.  I have two wonderful kids that I must care for and keep and hope that their therapy bills when they are older are because they are talking about their lack of a father figure and not because their mother was Mr. and Mrs. Mom

Where’s Daddy