I try to leave.

I’ve tried a million times.

I break up with him.

I say we will never work.

He’s not my “type.”

I make a list of why we shouldn’t be together; I bad mouth him to my friends…convincing myself we have no future. I fight with him to test us; not even knowing I’m doing it. But I am. A year later, and I am still insecure and scared. Should I trust this?

But he never gives up; he never lets me go.

He is my person. 

It’s raining.

And Sunday.

The sky is gray and sad.

I am sad, too.

And feeling pretty shitty.

Sundays usually don’t suck around here. But today, this particular Sunday…sucks shit. See, when you’re divorced and have kids you do the “kid-switch” thing. And some of us do a 2-2-5 schedule. Like, two days me, two days you, then five days, me again. And you alternate weekends as such. Omg, I have NO idea how that works, and honestly, I don’t think I even explained that right. I’m confused writing it, so you can imagine how a kid would be completely fucked up doing it. But it works for lots of y’all. No judgment here. Others, like us, do the week-on, week-off thing. It’s easy and pretty self-explanatory. I have the kids one full week, and Mark has them the next.

It is the co-parenting plan for dummies.

I mean, if I can do it, anyone can. 

I am a mother.

I am scared.

I am worried.

I am angry.

And I am entitled to my opinion.

I am also educated enough to know that my opinion is only an opinion and while it is what I believe it may not be correct. And I also understand that what I believe is not what you may believe, or the guy next to you…or my boyfriend. Or his Aunt. Or her friend. And YOU might not be correct. It’s called an opinion for a reason, y’all. And because I live in the United States of America I am lucky enough to be able to state my opinion whenever and however I see fit. It’s called Freedom of Speech, as you know…and because I just so happen to write a blog, I plan on voicing my OPINION right here.

Aren’t I lucky?

And I’m not sure there is anything more powerful than an angry, scared Mother with a blog. 

Flowers are nice.

Candy is sweet…

A card is good if you write in it. 

Some even buy jewelry. 

Ahhh the day of heightened expectations; and shattered dreams.

What? Am I wrong? Bullshit. I am so right.. you just hate to admit it. Valentine’s Day is the one day of the year that ALL women expect their men to blow out of the water but no matter what they do, it’s never enough. Never. If it’s a dinner reservation, it’s not at the exact place you wanted. If it’s flowers you’re thinking,”They die. Really?” Or if it’s a card (which should be perfectly perfect) you are pissy…he didn’t use his words. And you’re waiting for the gift that goes with it. Ha. 

When did Valentine’s Day become such a high-pressure holiday? And when did we as women get to be such spoiled little brats?