A Waffle House Christmas

Goodbyes suck, but saying goodbye on Christmas really really sucks. This is the third year I've had to kiss my kids goodbye on Christmas and I'm beginning to wonder if it will ever feel anything less than shitty. Sorry for the language but this is me being 100% real.

Last year I cried from 8pm Christmas eve until 2pm Christmas Day when my girls arrived on my doorstep. I was an emotional TRAIN WRECK. Looking back I feel kind of guilty for being such a Debbie Downer. Thankfully I was with people who loved me (sobbing tears and all), but still, I can only imagine sharing what should have been a celebrated morning with a crying lunatic of a woman (yes, that would be me.)

This year I was excited to have the girls for Christmas Eve and the whole morning with Santa shenanigans. Of course they wanted to talk to their daddy last night and I could tell by his voice he was sad and missing them. I don't care how long you've been separated, divorced, whatever...the pain of missing your kids doesn't really go away. Or maybe it does, and I just haven't reached that point yet.

Santa arrived with a ridiculous amount of toys, breakfast consisted of bacon, carbs and cookies, and everyone was happy. The family room resembled an American Girl war zone and while I did my best to clean up as they were ripping open presents, I decided to let it go. My phone was buzzing with text messages, Facebook notifications, and voice mails from family and friends. I ignored all of them because the clock was ticking. I knew I had a limited amount of time with my girls before it was time to say goodbye. Nothing was more important than cherishing this Christmas morning.

Even though they were exhausted, whining and practically killing each other by the time their daddy came to pick them up, I didn't want to let them go. The dark cloud of loneliness was hovering over my head and I just wanted an umbrella to shield my heart. The doorbell rang and I took a deep breath. "Holiday, you need a break...this isn't the end of the world" I repeated to myself. But no avail. The lump crawled into my throat and I choked back tears. As I buckled their car seats and kissed them goodbye I made the walk of shame with my head held low (faaaaarrr different from the collegiate one).

Here comes the shitty part. I walked into the family room, sat down on my couch, and cried (it was the ugly kind). Piles of toys were painful reminders of what was ultimately over. My family Christmas. In what seemed like a flash, the morning was over and my girls were gone.

If you know me personally you're well aware of my flair for the dramatic. Just last week my mom and I watched The Holiday and she giggled as Kate Winslet sobbed inconsolably over her kitchen sink. "Holiday, she reminds me of you!" Thanks Mom...I guess? If you've seen the movie you know the scene...and that was kind of me this morning.

Thankfully this is third time I've experienced this so there were a few things in my favor: 1) I knew it was coming 2) I knew any attempt to fight or deny myself the pity party would be a failure and ultimately postpone the inevitable and 3) I knew I had to get out of my house.

As the leading lady of my own life, I'm happy to announce there is, indeed, a love interest. He invited me to join him (and his children) for Christmas dinner, and I was happy to accept the invitation. Besides the fact that I absolutely love hanging out with them, it was nice to know I had somewhere to go tonight (if you're going through this process always always always plan ahead for times like this so you aren't alone). I was welcomed with big hugs, kisses, and presents.

And then we went to the Waffle House.

Yes. We went to the Waffle House for Christmas. Although it wouldn't have been my dinner location of choice, I quickly realized this was their sacred family tradition. Because, he, too, understands the pain and silence of an empty house, and, well, the Waffle House is pretty much the only restaurant open on Christmas day. Surrounded again by bacon and carbs, I embraced their tradition and ordered a Coke. A real one.

Even though I knew the evening would end with me returning to an empty, quiet house, my heart was full and the lump in my throat was gone. Maybe it was the bacon. Maybe it was something more. Whatever it is I realize Christmas isn't what it used to be anymore...and as sad as that can be I'm also learning time can heal most wounds. The pain of saying goodbye might never go away, but hopefully the empty house part will.

As I sit here solo, enjoying a glass of wine and Skittles, I can only imagine what 2014 has in store for me.

xoxo, Holiday

Our ex is engaged...

It aint over till the fat lady sings. And girlfriend, she's a singin'.

You know you're over your ex husband when he gets engaged and you're genuinely happy for him. That's right...my (actually, our...) ex husband proposed to his girlfriend last week, and I couldn't be happier. And no, I don't say that with any hesitation, bitterness or jealousy. When he asked me for some suggestions on how to propose, my simple request was that he do a better job with her than he did with me. (I couldn't make this up. I promise).

Mission accomplished.

Here's the deal. If I could choose a woman to be a second mother to my kids, I would choose her. This is the kind of girl I would want to be friends with, hang out with, and have a glass of wine with. In fact, I'm 99% positive she would fit in with Valerie and I like peas and carrots. This man has incredible taste in women, if I do say so myself : )

She's a gorgeous blonde with sweet southern charm, and best of all, my girls adore her. I don't blame them. The first time they told me about her their exact words were, "Mommy, she's so beautiful, she looks just like Cinderella!" I nearly ran off the road thanks to a mild heart attack, but I recovered nicely and no one was hurt.

I will never forget the first day we met in person (it was a random run-in ...she was sporting big Texas hair and a hot bikini while I was nothing short of a hot mess in cut off jean shorts (go ahead and make fun...I'm a true bred Florida girl). I stood like a deer in headlights in what used to be my garage, and in an effort to break the awkwardness I gave her a giant hug. She was shocked, but it broke the ice. I proceeded to ramble about how I had heard so many wonderful things about her, blah blah blah. But it was true. I wanted her to feel comfortable with me, and most of all I wanted her to know I was cool with it. All of it. Did I mention this meeting resulted in an emergency call to my personal trainer, requesting the "Operation Cinderella/Barbie"  workout start ASAP?!?!

 

The bottom line? If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

You might be struggling with the idea of your ex with someone else. Believe me, the whole Cinderella thing threw me for a loop. It's never easy, but if your relationship is truly over, the best thing you can do is embrace it. Harboring negative feelings will only cause YOU more pain. And if you have kids, it will make their divorce journey that much harder.

Holiday's top 3 reasons you should entertain the idea of supporting your ex's new special friend:

*Disclaimer: if he/she is a convicted felon or trashy skank this may not apply to you
1. It will make your kids happy.
2. Your ex will be much nicer to you.
3. The chances of you getting a birthday, Mother's day, or Christmas present from your kids will skyrocket if his new girlfriend/fiance/wife doesn't feel threatened by you.

As you're reading this you're probably thinking 1 of 2 things. 1) Holiday, you're full of crap or 2) Wow, I can't believe she's actually saying this. Out loud.

Believe it. I said it. I even gave her a giant hug the other day, welcoming her into our family.

xoxo, Holiday : )

There's no place like home, there's no place like home...

Today's post is my attempt to keep it brief, keep it focused, and impart the biggest lesson I learned from all (yes… all - you are not reading that wrong…) of my divorces.  And this lesson isn't just for those dealing with an unfortunate time, such as divorce, but as a loud reminder to us all about where we have been and where we are thanks to the tick toc tick toc of the clock.  So don't be fooled into thinking just because I am writing "less", that I don't mean "more".  And don't be fooled that just because I am declaring I am writing "less" I am actually going to do that.

Recently I have been receiving a tremendous amount of phone calls from friends of friends (of friends), or running into people randomly, all fresh into contemplating or entering the process of divorce.  They all seem to have the same deer in headlights (some about to get hit by a Mac truck going 90mph on I75 in the middle of the night) that I did just a few short years ago.  I find it somewhat odd the universe has been steering these people my way, and also somewhat flattering.  It reminds me of the profound purpose we all have to help others.

Yes, our one goal with everything we do with The Ex-Wives Guide platform is to share our experiences and knowledge while putting a smile on your face.  If we can save you an ounce of pain we ourselves were forced to survive, well then we have done our job.  If you laugh with us or at us, well then that's just a big fat bonus.

But what I am learning is that when somebody is so hurt, so tortured at the time, and so utterly lost, sometimes it's my job to just listen.  And in listening, I must stand strong to show them by living example the greatest lesson in life for all of us, and not just when it comes to divorce:

Time.  Does.  Heal…

It does.  I promise.  It is the absolute one thing I know to be true in life besides my love for my child, friends, and family.  Oh yeah, and my love for shoe sales and gnomes also.

Three years ago today I was caught in the newly forming tornado of "discoveries" about my marriage and my financial situation.  I was in the stage of "What / Where the hell am I… Why am I in this tornado… And why do cows and cars and debris keep flying into me…  Just let me land!!!!"

Two years ago today to say I was being sucker punched left and right would be putting it mildly.  The tornado had not landed yet, shrapnel was still swirling and I along with it, while constantly having the wind knocked out of me screaming "I can't breathe… Just let me land!!!"

One year ago today my divorce had been final for about 6 months and I was in surgery having a life saving operation on a tumor on my pituitary gland in my head.  The tornado had finally stopped, and the double wide along with me had indeed finally landed.  No, I was not in Kansas anymore.  I had found myself in both a new reality and new "home".  But yes, I had been dropped with my ruby slippers still intact.

Today I sit here writing, perfectly healthy, able to look at the beautiful birds outside my kitchen window as I type.  A far cry from sobbing endlessly on the sofa during the day until my ex would come home three years ago, ranting for hours on the phone with my attorney how none of this was fair two years ago, and continuously praying for just one more minute of life so I could see my little one's smile one last time in the event it was in fact my time last year.  Yes…  Time does heal.

So when I pick up the phone at 9:00pm tonight from a scheduled call a friend of a friend asked me if I could take to talk about her impending divorce (I'm assuming) I will listen.  Not only will I listen but I will remind both her and myself that although she is spinning around the vortex right now, there will be sunny skies ahead and ruby slippers to click again.

When and how will she reach healing?  Not sure…  But as the hands move and the days pass, I know this will be gifted, and I know this as a fact as she figures out where her "home" truly is.  And I think she will find, she was home all along as long as she believes in herself and the healing power of time.

PINK saves Christmas!

My first holiday season post-split sucked big giant donkeys. I realize this isn’t a commonly used phrase, but in an effort to curb profanity, we’ll just say it sucked donkeys…

I moved out on Halloween (talk about scary). Thanksgiving and Christmas were creeping up on me, and I had no idea how I was gonna pull it together… especially with two little ones running around the house, asking when we were going back to Daddy’s (did I mention my desire to give authentic TRUTH during my blog posts?).

While I had brief glimmers of hope life would go on, even the simplest of things sent me over the edge. Above all, I dreaded opening the boxes labeled Christmas. Ornaments, stockings, and memories were a surefire recipe for the mother-load of nervous breakdowns.

So I did what any woman in preventative nervous breakdown mode does…I went shopping. At Target. Shocking, I know.

My mom did an incredible job of making the holidays a magical time (hello, she named me HOLIDAY), and I felt I owed it to my kids to do the same.  

I was going to save Christmas!

During my Target extravaganza, I made the executive decision to ditch the traditional red and green for hot pink, turquoise, purple and anything with glitter.

The result? We’ve had a PINK Christmas for the last two years. 

 As I look back on that time, I realize I was in survival mode. Reflecting on old traditions was too painful, so I made new ones. The girls and I hung our sparkly, glitter, fluorescent stockings with pride, and the tree was perfect. For us.

“They” say it takes about two years to recover from the shock and grief of a divorce. I guess they’re right, because I’m finally ready to open the boxes. We’re going back to red and green this year, and I couldn’t be happier {bonus…it gave me the perfect excuse for a trip to Pottery Barn!}

 

Cheers to new traditions!

xoxo Holiday :)

Cracker Barrel Clarity

Today dear friends, we are going to talk about the expectations of visions.  And not the constant visions we conjure up of our past or future - the seemingly endless "what if" possibilities moving faster than the Riverdancing Michael Flaherty in our heads.  Rather visions put out to us by the marketing masters of the world - the media, the brands, and sometimes our very own eyes on how something should appear.

You know the ones I'm talking about - the happy couple having a picnic with their two adorable children for the Smuckers Jelly ad where the kids don't have a smudge on their face or a dot of jelly on their whiter than white pants.  Or the couple lounging on the Empress deck of a posh cruise ship in a sequined ball gown and tux, every hair in place, truly, deeply, madly in love.  Or more specifically in today's case - the vision of a grilled cheese sandwich with 2 pickle eyes and a french fry smile as illustrated on the kids menu at Cracker Barrel.

A couple weeks ago my son and I while on a 13 hour road trip (each way... did I add that yet?) partook of our favorite road tripping perk - stopping at The Cracker Barrel.  The beauty of the Cracker Barrel is that their bathrooms are always clean, and their shop of everything holiday and whimsy makes us both squeal with excitement.  Gnome salt and pepper shakers - check.  Bright red Christmas vest with skiing snowmen and snowomen - check.  Stuffed animal furry raccoon that chases a battery operated rolling ball - check and now own it. 

So there we were, being led to our table high off our recent purchase of the furry raccoon chasing a ball, when I noticed it.  Every single table at the Cracker Barrel was filled with either the traditional family, or couples over 70 holding hands next to that damn pyramid game I suck at.   Somewhere in B.F.E. Kentucky it him me, my son and I did not even fit the typical patron vision for the freaking Cracker Barrel.

To help ease the technicolor / Norman Rockwell gone wrong vision being lived out in front of my eyes, I quickly ordered 2 biscuits.  Practically a cure all in my book.  My son declared he wanted to order the grilled cheese with the two pickle eyes and a french fry smile because it was smiling in the picture on his kids menu.  But he wanted corn instead of fries.  Yep - just 5 years old and he is picking food based on which item looked the happiest.  Kind of like what I was doing… surveying the restaurant to see which couple looked the happiest and then wishing I could just point and order a vision of love like that too.  

Within moments of the elderly server setting down our food my son screamed out loud "Mommy!!!  This doesn't look like the picture - it only has one pickle eye, and the picture had two eyes, and there is no smile, and the picture looked happy and mine doesn't…  There's no smile - only corn!  What happened to my sandwich picture?!?"  Panicked because my son had clearly blew the hearing aids off of everyone over 70's ears - I quickly replied something like "Honey Bee!  Say thank you to the nice server (we now owe $1000 to for ruining her hearing aids!)."  "Maybe yours is a pirate grilled cheese and only had one pickle eye and it didn't have a smile because you wanted corn instead of fries".  I grabbed my fork and cleverly made a kinda smile shape out of his corn.  Then I smiled a mirror image to his plate and cried out a big "Arrgggghhh Matey!"  Let's just say that went over like a ton of bricks.

Now he didn't cry or declare he wasn't going to eat his sandwich, which quite frankly shocked the hell out of me.  Instead he grabbed his menu, pointed angrily to the smiling grilled cheese, and said "See Mommy - this is what it was supposed to look like!"  And then I saw it - in his eyes - the look of sheer disappointment.  The look of all the visions going through his sweet little head of how the picture of the smiling grilled cheese was going to bring a smile to his face too, and had failed him.  And then I saw it - in my minds eyes - the visions going through my constantly spinning head of how the picture of me smiling holding hands at Cracker Barrel with my husband when we're 70 years old and still madly in love, had failed me.  Only I couldn't point my finger at the couples both sitting and staring at us now screaming "This is what it was supposed to look like!!!"

So as the now really deaf server asked if my son would care for something instead, before I could even do the embarrassed, no no no everything is perfect I swear speech, my son blurted out "It's okay Mommy... I'll eat the pirate grilled cheese instead."  And then he started half humming / half singing the theme song from Jake and the Neverland Pirates and pretending his triangle shaped grilled cheese was a boat and the corn kernels were cannon balls.  Wow - in less than a minute he had both embraced and celebrated the reality of the presented vision of his grilled cheese gone wrong. Instead of looking at what he should of had, he was embracing what he did have.  Wow - in more than three years I had not celebrated or embraced the reality of my true vision, of my marriage gone wrong.  Instead of looking at the vision of what I did have, I was looking at visions of what I thought I didn't have and what I thought I was missing….  When actually, I wasn't missing a damn thing.  How could life get any better than having lunch with a cute little blonde pirate at the Cracker Barrel??

Schooled by a 5 year old on how to let go of the manufactured vision in your head, and make the best out of reality.    Join me in changing the movie and visions in your head of what it is / was "supposed" to look like and celebrate what it "does" look like.  Because every vision can become a beautiful one with just a kernel of corn's insight.

- V 

(Of V and H)

Romancing the Past

Have you ever found yourself thinking about the “good old days”? I hope I’m not alone when I say I have a tendency to romance the past, completely bypassing the harsh truths of reality. I could present the perfect picture of how I gracefully moved on from my ex husband, never shed a tear, and didn’t look back. But that would be a lie.

It could be a song on the radio, an old picture found buried in my desk drawer, a birthday card, or a simple email that will trigger memories of my previous “marital bliss.” Confession: I had to break up with a particular Yankee Candle scent because it was depressing me. Yes, really.

These moments stop me in my tracks. I get choked up, cry, and sometimes even have a mini meltdown. If it’s a picture, chances are I can remember the day it was taken. If it’s a song, I’m probably remembering that time we danced at {insert name here} wedding or party, or whatever it was.

Valerie and I joke about this, but I really think it’s true. We’re professional red flag ignorers. This means we see the best in people. We want to believe what you’re telling us. We want to believe you will do what you say you’re going to do. We even ignore the giant red flags and somehow manage to romanticize how wonderful things used to be. Maybe it’s a chick thing, maybe it’s a human thing. Whatever it is, it sucks.

Over time I’ve gotten better about this (indeed, time heals all wounds), but in the beginning stages of our separation/divorce, this was a constant struggle for me. Nobody warns you about these little mini reminders, and in a way nothing can really prepare you for them.

My one piece of advice for any of you going through it is this: stop torturing yourself. Steer clear of the Yankee Candle store if it’s gonna send you into a funk. Be prepared to cry, remember the moment, and then remember why you are moving on. Don’t romance the past, and don’t ignore the red flags. There’s a reason you’re where you are right this moment, so embrace it, own it, and put those big girl panties on. There is a life ahead of you. A good one :)

xoxo, Holiday

Bra Shopping & Divorce

I think it’s pretty fair to say bra shopping is one of those things most women dread…unless, of course, you’re built like Giselle and can waltz into Victoria’s Secret like you own the place. I have absolutely no idea what that’s like. 

My experiences usually involve an awkward encounter with a saleswoman that resembles my grandma, followed by a sweat (and tears) inducing battle in the dressing room. There’s nothing quite like fluorescent lighting and stubborn back fat to send a girl over the edge.

One of the hardest parts about bra shopping is finding the right size. I don’t care what they say. One size does not fit all. 

You absolutely HAVE to try them on. No bra (or divorce, for that matter), will be the same across the board.  We’re all different shapes and sizes, and our marriages are built the same way. What worked for one person may not be the right solution for you. Just like bra size, all divorce is not created equal.

Top 3 things to consider when finding the perfect fit: 

1. Do your research. Whether you’re hiring an attorney or on the search for the best push up bra, do some homework. Hop on Google. Ask friends for referrals. Be an information sponge and soak it all in.
2. Have a positive attitude. Don’t let bad lighting, back fat, or a threat from your ex throw you off. Keep your goal at the center of your mind, and only look forward.
3. Don’t settle for anything less than what you really want (or deserve). Don’t give in to the granny bra when you really want va va vooooooom. Just like divorce negotiations…stand your ground and keep your cool.

While finding the perfect bra can be a challenge, divorce will totally rock your world. My advice to you is to learn from those of us who’ve been through it, stick to your guns, and above all, stay positive. You will survive, and you never know…that granny in the lingerie section of the department store just might have some words of wisdom for you. Crazier things have happened.

KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON!

-Holiday :)

A {not so} Jerry Maguire Moment

We all know the scene. Renee Zellweger. The angry divorced women’s group. The cute kid with spiky hair and glasses. Roll music. Enter Tom Cruise. “…You complete me…you complete me.”

I was a junior in high school when Jerry Maguire hit the big screen, and I clearly remember dreaming of the day someone would say this to me. It seemed like the perfect thing to say to someone you love, someone you just can’t live without. Someone who…completes you. After all, isn’t this what love is all about? Someone to complete us?

It seems perfectly logical to search for the missing puzzle piece to your heart. And when we find it, the answer is simple. We fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after, right?

Here’s the problem with Jerry Maguire. And don’t worry Jerry, I’m not picking on you…this seems to be an epidemic (I’m guilty too). Unlike the search for the next American Idol, the missing puzzle piece to your heart isn’t hiding in a giant sea of people, waiting for their next audition. Your heart is not a diamond in the rough. You won’t find it in a bar, an online dating website, or on your next blind date.

The fact of the matter is this: the missing puzzle piece isn’t missing at all. You’ve had it all this time…you just didn’t realize it was there. You complete you.

I’ve learned the hard way. Being codependent in relationships is a recipe for disaster, and although it took some serious heartache and a massive amount of tears, I’ve accepted this simple truth.

Until I am happy with myself I can’t be happy with anyone else. It sounds cliché, and believe me, I realize it’s easier said than done…but it’s the truth.

In order to move on from my divorce, I had to take a close look in the mirror. I didn’t like everything I saw. I still don’t. But I’m working on it. I’m committed to completing myself. Then, and only then, will I be ready to share my heart with someone else.

-Holiday :)