Common sense would suggest that we have an equal share in the lives of our children and what we have built. I truly sit here every day wondering what it is that prevents us from simply parting. I admit that I will always believe that what you have done is a disgrace to the concept of marriage, and I will always believe that you should be ashamed of yourself.

I told you before that my idea of ethics would suggest that you should have left a long time ago, because of your actions and because of what I have felt for you. I understand by now that this might never happen, for some reason I do not know and for some reason I likely will never understand and agree with. But, it is what it is, you are here and you won’t go without taking what you want, every piece you can get, and what others may tell you that you should take.

A couple months ago, I put everything behind me, even if I was dazzled by some of the decisions you made. I put myself on a path after our marriage. Because I felt we can easily separate. We built it, so we can take it apart, right?

It seems our story has made the rounds in the neighborhood and I always wondered whether I will be the poor fool who was cheated on or whether you will be the one who will be talked about as the one who cheated on her husband. It may be a bit of both, but it is a conservative neighborhood and I am surprised that I already can deal with the somewhat nasty remarks about you I hear from some dads who seem to know what is going on.

She tells me she was with her son at a restaurant. She saw my Mr. Ex walking by, considering the restaurant for himself, with a girl. It was obvious, she said, that they were together. Not just “together” but “together together.”

Hmmmmm….

Le sigh. Of nine children, I seem to be the only one who was born without the craftiness gene. My sisters sew their baby’s cloth diapers and whip up cakes in the shape of a teapot, just like that. I can’t even seem to tie a nice looking bow out of ribbon!

I’m a pretty simple girl (just don’t ask my Ex Husband to confirm or deny that). All I wanted– all that stood between me and everlasting bliss and happiness — was a big comfy chair in which I could alternate reading and napping.

My boyfriend and I have been dating for three months today. On our first date I told him about having a daughter, a conversation which always terrifies me. Because I am young, I suppose, it tends to catch people off guard.

He reacted to my revelation so respectfully, with such understanding and when I said I don’t introduce her right away to men I date he agreed it is a prudent decision. I’ve made mistakes before where this is concerned—allowing Cali to get close to my boyfriends, even knowing the relationships were unlikely to last.

Over the course of the past few months, I felt desperate at times. It was tough and crushing to see what I am up against. Not just you. I had no support system whatsoever. My mother told me that she would be there for me. But essentially, I was alone. After a few weeks of desperation, I began looking for ways to climb out of that dark hole. Suddenly I noticed that I was the one who has been miserable. And I did not want to be miserable anymore. I needed to pick myself up, fight and be there for my kids.

The trash can is still in the middle of the kitchen floor, supposedly on top of a lizard whose presence I could not handle.

Yea, I haven’t moved it…I am too scared. Who needs a man when you have SuperMom?!

Two nights in a row lunches have been made the night before—but even better than that…..Cali is making her own lunch! It was my mother who pointed out that she’s more than capable, which had never really occurred to me. I still make the sandwiches, but she gets everything else prepared.

Remember when you first visited me for a few months in another country back when we met? Remember how you cried on my shoulder the first day? Remember how you felt? Remember the loneliness? But you had a way out, a flight back to your family, and I did everything I could to give you a way out. Remember how you were homesick? I may be homesick, too, at times, but you seem to have forgotten how it feels to be alone in a foreign country, culture, without friends or family. You make fun of me when I think about home and leaving this country. You make fun of my accent and certain words I use.

Well, that’s not exactly true. There’s not enough time in the mornings—today I was half an hour late for work (and damned lucky my boss wasn’t in). I rushed to make breakfast, I rushed to make lunches, I rushed to do Cali’s hair. I barely had time to throw on make up and find clothes. My morning jog has long since become a fantasy I only commit to in theory. Is it necessary to be this rushed? No, of course not. I’m this rushed because I wake up twenty minutes, half an hour max before I need to be out the door.