I haven’t posted anything about my ex in a while, and it might have given some of you hope that he was hit by a bus or something. Nope. I sure would have posted about that. I might even have rented a billboard to spread the news.
He’s still around. In fact, right around the corner. That’s where he and the new family have rented a house.
It makes us totally accessible for the occasional (or often) drop-by. Oh the joy. Disguised as disdain.
When he and I first moved back to our hometown, we rented a house instead of buying because we weren’t sure if we wanted to live THIS close to our families. We considered one of the outer, smaller surrounding towns to subtract twenty minutes from the convenience factor of our parents’ potential drop-by. Then we had a talk with my father-in-law about space and freedom and how the daily drop-by would take away from that.
“Listen, I know that we are right down the street and on your way home from work, but we’ve been out on our own for a while, so we like our privacy. You must call before coming over.” (I know it seems rude and unappreciative of family, but when the man stopped by our Houston apartment on his “way home” from each one of his Austin hunting trips, drunker than Cooter Brown, it seemed like a logical conversation to have.”
I might have to revisit the conversation with my ex.
“Look Ex, we’ve been apart for seven years now and you’ve been absent for the majority of it. I’ve gotten used to my space and freedom. You’re gonna have to call first. Or just don’t come at all. That works, too.”
In all fairness, he does call the boys first. The other night I was making BLT’s for dinner. (Martha Stewart would turn over in her grave if she was dead.) MonoBoy asked if he could have eggs and bacon instead of a BLT. Then his phone rang and he went to another room to answer it. When I finished the bacon, I poked my head into the living room to ask him how he wanted his eggs cooked. No MonoBoy.
I went to his room. Not there either. Working out in the garage? Nuh-uh. In his brother’s room hanging out like buddies? Bahahaha, puh-lease, no.
“Where’s your brother?”
“Dad called and wanted him to ride to CVS Pharmacy with him.”
“I have no idea. It’s Dad Logic.”
Some time later, MonoBoy walked through the front door. “Are my eggs ready?”
“They were. Then they got cold. The dog loved them, though.”
Is what I said on my way to the kitchen to make him more eggs.
Then last week, I was again preparing dinner when he dropped by. (Kids expect to eat every night. It’s quite annoying.) The boys announced that they were going to Academy with their dad.
“Wait! It’s dinner time. Is he going to feed you?”
“Doubtful. We’ll just heat it up when we get back.”
When they came home, they said that they had gone with him to get his hunting license. (Way to go State of Texas for enforcing that whole “no hunting license if you owe child support arrears” thing!) And he asked them to go with him to the deer lease that weekend. Just them and his best friend – a Man’s Weekend.
LoverBoy explained that his dad really needs a Man Weekend because he works 12 hours a day on Monday through Thursday and he has to come home to annoying kids every day.
First of all, let me point out that 7:30am to 4:30pm has never and will never total to 12 hours. I don’t even think you need to be an accountant to figure that out. Second of all, WHAT?!?!?!? That’s called L-I-F-E, LIFE. I probably work an average of 10 hours a day and I come home to kids. When’s my Man Weekend?
“Mom, it’s not the same thing. He has to go home to THOSE kids. You have us.”
Oooooh. That’s explains it. If they’re opposite of you, he must come home to sweet, helpful, appreciative children that never make fun of their mother. I can see how that would be annoying. My bad. I totally have it made.
So when can I get my Wo-Man Weekend? I need a break from my angelic kids and some unwelcome drop-bys.