Tag Archives: married

Someday Maybe


This past weekend two of my friends got married.

A month ago another friend got engaged.

Tonight I got a call inviting me to a Bachelorette party.

While I’m at the point in my life where most of my circle is where they’re at in their lives. Not everyone is.

Which is normal. Except when you’ve told everyone you are never getting married again. Which wouldn’t be so bad except… I’m beginning to realize I really wouldn’t mind getting married again.

Which maybe I should rephrase isn’t bad, except sometimes it feels like it is. I have been so independent for so long it feels a bit counterintuitive to want to be married again.

But maybe because I’m older and not necessarily wiser I would like to be able to have another chance. That was incredibly hard to type. That was even hard to share.

It is almost ten years later and I feel like I failed. I come from a home where my parents are still married. They fought and fight for each other. They are partners.

They are friends.

That’s my blueprint.

That’s what I wanted.

That’s what I know.

That’s what I still want.

There is also a deep, dark piece of me that worries time isn’t on my side.

I mean I am almost two years on the other side of fifty.

But I also know so many people that found their person well into their second act.

I guess my point in this and it’s a biggie, is it’s ok to still want all the things.

It’s ok.

Whatever that maybe. I joke sometimes that maybe I’ll just do what Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn have done. I don’t know. I just know I need to stop giving up on things because something didn’t work or it may not happen. And this is for everything in my world. Getting married again, well, that is just an easy analogy.

It could someday maybe and that’s so much better than never.

Here’s to your someday maybes Mommas.


The Fixer Of Broken Boys Part 12: I’m Not The Marrying Kind

I am not the marrying kind…

After the debacle of the one that should have never happened, I didn’t date for almost two years. On purpose. If I did date I broke up with the guy very quickly, walls were very high.

Out of respect for my daughter I’m going to go about this a bit differently…

I was introduced to my ex husband by a friend. He was the complete opposite of anyone I had ever dated and I thought that was a good idea.

Since I referred to him as ex I think you already know.

Here’s the thing you have a type for a reason. I believe that. I relish differences and believe strongly successful relationships are about caring and compromise.

But you have a type because it works. He was not my type. Not even close.

If you love someone you go to True Value even if you’d rather be at Target.

My ex believed the only person who should compromise was me.

A year after my daughter was born I just couldn’t anymore.

My leaving was not well received. I was accused of things that weren’t happening. My family was not nearby. It was incredibly hard and went against everything I believed in. It rained the day I moved. My Mom, me and G…

I was a wreck. I was lost. I will be honest it is nine years later and I am still at a loss when my daughter is not home.

It is is beyond true what they say when you hit bottom you find out who your people are. Fast.

Sadly they aren’t the ones you’d hope they would be.

Do me a solid please don’t ever tell anyone to get over it. When your world is falling apart and you are making $8.50/hr paying rent, child care, with a husband who won’t divorce you so you can’t get help and you’re trying to figure out how you can pay a lawyer … please don’t tell that person to get over it.

That’s helpful. Not at all.


How about sit with me

How about let me cry



Single Mom of the amazing Dbl G
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Henry Rollins Middle Aged Punk Prom Date

The Empty Field

The Empty Field….

It was a simple task. Fill out your user profile in the new expense system at work. Verify name, address, phone number, date of birth.

Marital Status.

There is not a drop-down for “f you” or “none of your business.”

There is not an option that says “Divorce in progress.”

I need a gosh damn yield sign because the next question is even better: Emergency Contact Information.

Can I put a coworker? Is that weird? Who would I like you to call in case I break a leg, get in a car accident, or worse, die? Shall I also put my life insurance policies into the comments field, as well as their distribution amounts?

I was so proud to be a wife, and I wasn’t just proud to be the noun, I was proud to be his wife. It didn’t care if you were the mail carrier, the grocery store employee, the doctor, the co-worker, the playdate counterpart I just met. I was proud to take his name, be his association, be his person.
He was supposed to be my person. The one who listened to my bad day, who knew how I liked my coffee, who could identify my mood based on the appearance or disappearance of a beauty mark on my face, who knew the right spot on my neck to kiss, the jokes to make me laugh, the right amount of time to hold me before he pulled away.

He was supposed to be the luckiest man alive whether we were together in a room of 20, 200, or 2,000 people.

He was supposed to be my forever emergency contact. The person whose heart would cease to beat if mine did.

He was supposed to be the one they called if something happened to me.

My mouse cursor slowly blinks at me, patiently but passive aggressively waiting for an answer, kind of like how I waited for him for so long and I am reminded.

I am reminded I am my own person. He isn’t my person anymore.

And when the coroner called to announce the death of our marriage he didn’t answer the phone anyway, and his voicemail box was full of all the preliminary warning messages he never wanted to listen to.

The mouse cursor blinks on.

-Jessica: Awesome Single Mama