Not Exactly Fairy Tale

Let me start by explaining what I'm going to do with some of my posts. A person whom I hope was not just an appearance maker in my life suggested that I write a book. I'm having some difficulties narrowing down my ideas. I thought instead of my picking, I would write the first part of my ideas on my blog and let my readers help me decide. Let me also say ahead of time that these will be fiction stories but will of course be influenced by my experiences in life. I may also write in the first person. Please don't assume that anything in my book writings is true.  My characters will be fictitious. Thanks for helping me and enjoy the read!

I remember the day that horrible thought first swept through my mind. I was curled up in the corner of my bathroom with tears streaming down my face. My chest was heaving as I tried with all my might to keep silent. I had finally broken. I had lost the ability to hold my emotions in check. My family was sitting at the table eating my delicious dinner and I was near hysterical on the cold marble tile of my bathroom floor.

I looked over at my floor length oval mirror and I didn't even recognize the person I saw. My eyes were not only red and puffy from my brief fit but they had a look of pure misery.  Not misery, rage.  I was furious.  I couldn't believe this was happening again.  I had worked all day in a job I was supposed to love but really resented, came home took care of meeting my children's needs and cooking dinner and my husband was going to sit at the table with his phone checking Twitter and Facebook, again.  This after I had kindly asked him to not bring his phone to the table.  

"I want out.  I want to take the kids and leave.  I want a divorce." I was utterly shocked the minute the words silently exited my mouth.  I stared at myself in the mirror.  Who was this person in the mirror?  It couldn't be me.  I took vows and I married the man of my dreams, my knight in shining armor.  I couldn't possibly have even thought that divorce was the answer.  I splashed some water on my face, gave my body a good shake, plastered a smile on my face and walked back to the dinner table to finish eating with my perfect family.

For the next few nights I became very quite and thought a lot about the state of my marriage and how everything had changed.  It felt as if my brain and my heart were at war and I didn't have a clue who was going to win.  My brain was saying my life was falling apart and my heart was saying it'll get better.  I didn't know what to do.  Who do you talk to about your life falling apart when everyone thinks you are the luckiest woman alive? That's what pre-marital counseling should tell you.  They should give you resources on what to do if you start thinking about divorce.  Who was my pre-marital counselor anyway?  Maybe she does have some resources.  Of course if I call her then I would be admitting to someone that I can't take care of my marriage and that I'm a complete failure.  After the week finished, I was still at loss.  

So, here I was stuck in a world that was exactly what I wanted by appearance and nothing at all what I wanted in every matter that counted.  I got out of bed at the sound of my youngest crying through the baby monitor and looked at my husband who had covered his head with a pillow to drown out the sound.  "Must be nice," I thought to myself, "just cover your head and pretend your child doesn't need you."  I made the trip down the hall opened the door and scooped up my third little angel.  Her cries immediately stopped and she snuggled close as we marched down the dark stairs to the kitchen.  Our routine was peaceful.  Sometimes it was the only thing in the day that I could depend on being perfect.  I went to grab a cup from the shelf and there wasn't one.  I looked on the counter, still no baby cup.  I dreadfully opened the dishwasher with it's light that said not clean lit up.  Of course, all of my baby's cups were sitting in a dishwasher that was full and had soap in it but had not been started.  "If I have to be up at 5 in the morning and I don't even have a clean cup for Delilah, then you're going to be the one to get up and wash it...BY HAND," I said in my head to my husband. I stormed upstairs and down the hall with my feet slapping against the bare wood floor.  I flung open the door and was received by the fake, startled gasp.

"Is something wrong?" Robert asked.

"Yes, something is extremely wrong.  Delilah doesn't have a clean cup and if I try to put her down she'll scream and then wake up everyone in the house," I snapped.

"So, you'd rather just wake up me?" Robert said as he replaced the pillow over his head and rolled over.

"If I'm gonna have to do everything on my own like a single mom I might as well be a single mom," I quietly said as I once again slapped my feet down the hall.

Once back in the kitchen I managed to hand wash the cup while holding my baby, got her milk and snuggled down in our favorite chair with a book. She drank her milk and while I was reading her book to her I began wondering how hard it really would be to be a single mom.  I wondered why people even got married in the first place.  Maybe a hundred years ago it was important to have someone to take care of you and procreate legitimately "in the eyes of the Lord" but women fought hard to get people to understand that we can take care of ourselves and who really knows what God thinks about out of wed-lock pregnancies anyway.  Of course my pregnancies were all in wed-lock so I was safe there.

"Maaaam!" My daughter startled me back to reality and signed that she was hungry.  So we went to make breakfast.  As I cooked my favorite breakfast meal of bacon spinach quiche, any excuse to eat pie crust for breakfast, I could feel my anger from the morning melting away.  I knew this recipe by heart and it was effortless to make.  It was one of the only ways to get my family to eat spinach which I guess is supposed to be some sort of super food or something.  It was also one of the only recipes I could quickly manage with a baby on my hip for 98% of the time.  My Delilah smiled and chattered as she watched me cook.  I gave her the fork and let her stir the mixture.  We poured the egg mixture into the pie shell and stuck it in the oven and grabbed a snack while we waited for the quiche to cook.

An hour later, the quiche was cooling, the table was set for breakfast, and I was waking up all my men in the house.  My husband and two sons were silently going through their morning routine as I fed Delilah.  Robert was the first to make it to the table.  Neither of us spoke to each other.  He was almost finished eating when I asked, "do you think you could watch Delilah while I jump in the shower?"  I tried to keep my tone in check but wasn't as successful as I had hoped.

"I haven't take a shower in like a week," Robert responded.

"Okay," I replied while secretly thinking about how gross that was and wondering why he didn't make time for a shower and mentally adding that to the list of reasons to divorce.  Okay, that was a stupid reason but still super gross.  I just got up and took Delilah with me towards the shower.  On the way upstairs I passed my oldest Atticus who gave me a cheery high five, then Bonnie who looked barely awake, and Caleb who had his hands full of "exploring gear".  I gave Delilah some toys and hopped in the shower finishing in record speed with my frustration with my husband mounting equally as fast.

When I got downstairs the kids were ready to go so I snatched them up and we were out the door.  All of the kids said good bye to their father, I did not as I was seriously contemplating changing the locks before he got home, or maybe just packing up the kids and moving in with my father, God help us.