Breaking up is hard to do, or at least that what some song says.
Tonight, I am fed up. I have been breaking up for a year, now, and you know what? It's freakin' hard, because you can't just break up and have it done with, now, can ya?
When I broke up with the guy I dated before my future ex husband, he told me I couldn't break up with him, because we were both in the relationship, so we both had to break up. He wasn't breaking up, so neither could I.
And life just comes full circle, huh? So now, I am being serenaded by the little noise my phone makes every time I get a text message, because some people just don't understand the words "leave me a-freaking-lone".
I'm done answering messages. I'm not accepting anymore phone calls. I'm putting all emails into the "show the judge" folder without reading them first.
I am not going to give you one half of the children any more than I would give you one half of one child.
I am not going to "lean on you" when my friend is ill.
I am not going to give you helpful friendly advice the same day that DHS shows up at my house because you called them.
I don't care if you managed to get yourself on the VIP list at DHS. Of course your house is clean, you live with your mom, and she has a staff. And no kids live there. (Nor will they ever.) I am one adult living with six children, so I am completely positive your house is cleaner than mine. But that's not what makes a home.
The number one thing that makes a home is love. The number two thing that makes a home is not being a complete asshole. The number three thing that makes a home is get a freaking job. The number four thing that makes a home is I hope you get paid for sending text messages, and if so, you owe some child support. The number five thing that makes a home is you don't teach your kids to talk back to police officers. The number six thing that makes a home is you don't tell your kids they're too dumb for school so they should sing. The number seven thing that makes a home is yes, I'm using this list to bring up an infinitesimal number of things you have done to piss. me. off. The number eight thing that makes a home is if my dog doesn't eat you, there are more vicious things inside, and only six of them are the kids.
Finally, the number nine thing that makes a home is I will fight tooth and nail for my kids. Not to keep them. Not to prove a point. Not to get you back. But for them to have an opportunity to develop and grow into the men and women they are supposed to be. Don't get in my way. Do. Not. Get. In. My. Way.
To my readers: I am sorry. This is a rant. I hope it's out of my system. It's probably not. It takes a lot to make me mad. It takes a lot more to make me mad enough to say anything about it, especially on the Interwebz. But you know what? It's been more than a lot, and I've had it. My inner redneck has kicked her way to the outside, and I'm afraid she's here to stay for a spell. Please be nice to her. She isn't even a decent writer, but she doesn't know that, and she's quite outspoken, so just bear with her, please. Her expected departure is October 26th, please pray that nothing delays it. She's kind of a bitch.
