The Dutch Files

Sheesh! Those Mom’s at The Kid’s school n.e.v.e.r cease to amaze me. I go to school the first Wednesdayafternoon, the only day in the week I get to pick up The Kid from school, since the schoolyear started and it’s bull’s eye already…

I have been divorced from The Ex for over 6.5 years now. It’s fine, it was my choice. I don’t get alimony. I don’t want it, never have. Things between me and The Ex ended in such a way that I would never want to take money from him. And besides, even if they hadn’t, I still wouldn’t want to. I can take care of myself. I had already been working parttime when we were still married and since I had The Kid. And with the help of The Chief, bless him, I was able to switch to a fulltime job from about the moment I walked out the door of our family home. I pull fulltime hours át the office and about double it with the work I do aside from that at home, including some extra jobs to bring in the necessary cash.

The Kid lives with me. His dad does not pay any childsupport either. Don’t ask. I don’t even want to go into that one anymore. He doesn’t and probably never will. I am done with that too. I work fulltime, I take care of myself and The Kid, he officially lives with me, we have a nice appartment, I make sure he sees his dad plenty and spends time with him, money is tight but we still have a good life. That’s it. It is what it is.

The number of mothers at The Kid’s school who slam me over the head for that… OMFG! And I think they don’t even mean to that much. It’s just total ignorance. And really, maybe that’s even worse.

We live in a small town, The Kid goes to school in the neighbouring town. He had already started school there before the divorce and as so much was changing in his life, and we decided to keep him there until everything including places to live got worked out. In the end, he ended up staying at the school indefinetely.

So here I am, on Wednesday afternoon, picking up The Kid from school. I am not the regular chatterbox at the school playground, waiting for the kids to get out of school, cuz frankly, past years have already made me realize I don’t have much in common with the mothers that are out there. But nevertheless, I go out there and wait and chat with some of them… but there is always, ALWAYS one of “them” out there… Just waiting for a chance to get on their high horse.

Ignorant Mom: “Ehm… Hi… You are The Kid’s Mom, aren’t you?”
DutchBitch: “Yes, I am. You are [insert kid's name] Mom, right?
Ignorant Mom: “Yes, I am. So ehm… I only see you around here on Wednesdays. Does The Kid go home by himself on the other days?”
DutchBitch: “No, he goes to Edith, across the street, who takes care of him before and after school till I get out of the office”
Ignorant Mom: “You mean you work fulltime!? Seriously! I could neeeeeeeeeeeeeever work with the kids still this young. Not even partime, let alone fulltime. I can’t believe you would do that!”
[OK, here we go... a.g.a.i.n.]
DutchBitch: “Yeah, well, not everyone has that choice”
Ignorant Mom: “Oh, I feel that everyone doés have a choice”
DutchBitch: “I would have to disagree with you there”
Ignorant Mom: “Well, your husband has a job right? He must earn plenty to support your family seeing as you only have 1 child anyway”
DutchBitch: “I don’t have a husband. There is such a thing as divorce. I went through that. I am divorced. I take care of The Kid and myself, by myself. Hence I work fulltime”
Ignorant Mom: “Oh really? But don’t you get alimony? And child support?”
DutchBitch: “Seriously, not that it is any of your business but NO, I don’t. So I háve to work fulltime. I do not have a choice in the matter. If I don’t work, there’s no food on the table”
Ignorant Mom: “Well, I still don’t know if I would go to work fulltime. I mean, us parents have a responsibility to raise our kids right and well, working fulltime…”
DutchBitch: “Look, let me interrupt you here. I am really happy for you that you don’t háve to work fulltime, but trust me, if you were at that point in your life you would háve no choice but to go to work fulltime. And let me tell you something else: the fact that I work fulltime, because I have to keep afloat, does not make me a bad mother. I am as good a mother as any. I cherish the time I have with my kid. There is no way around it. I work fulltime, so he goes to school and daycare, and I spend as much time with him as I can. And honestly, I think I do pretty well as a Mom. Don’t judge things you don’t know anything about, ok”

Ignorant Bitch then walked off mumbling something that kinda sounded like “bitch”… I couldn’t care less, Ignorant Cow! I am really happy for her that she is having an easier life than I am, with a loving husband, enough money to go around and not having to work. She just needs to shut the fuck up about shit she clearly has no clue about. I am not judging her or any of the other Mom’s that don’t work. Whatever their reasons for it and whether I would agree with them. She is just one of many though, that I’ve encountered in the past 7 years at that school playground…

Yes, I do work, fulltime, and some odd other extra jobs when I can. I have to. Yes, I make long hours. Yes, I have to attend office functions in evenings and abroad at times too. I have a good life though. Good enough anyway. Though times are tough, I still feel that way. I’ve learned to cherish the little things and not sweat it too much. I got thru a shitty divorce and 1.5 year being without a place to live after that. I am fucking proud of myself for the way I came out of that. Sure, money is tight and so is free personal time. However, I have the greatest son that I love to pieces and that loves me. I have the most wonderful -though long distance- boyfriend whom I love incredibly, and him and my son get on very well. I have the support of The Sis, The BIL and The Mom, ánd the cutest Lill Niece. I have a roof over my head and -though limited- I can still live my life mostly the way I want to.

And seriously? I think that I do a decent job as a Mom as far as I am concerned, especially under the circumstances. I may not be the best Mom in the world but I do the best I know how. And I would seriously dare those Ignorant Bitches to try all that and succeed…

They just get under my skin with their ignorant remarks. Though I am a tough bitch, those remarks hurt me. Because they imply that my own happiness and satisfaction would be more important to me than that of my child. And that working fulltime means I can’t possibly be a good Mom. I wish people would think a bit more about what they are saying and maybe realize that life is not the same for everyone.

The only thing important to me is that The Kid will grow up to be a wonderful man and that I had something to do with that. And that he will look back at his childhood and feel that I did an OK job, considering the circumstances. I really hope he will someday. Because thát is what matters most to me…

I am noticing something about my body as of late… past few months really… I mean, other than that it’s not tanned the way it should be at the end of summer, goddammit…

Seriously… I think I am falling apart… I think some bolts and screws inside are coming loose…

STFU! I am not joking. I am being completely serious here! My body might be falling apart while we speak and all you can do is laugh? I can see those tears squirting from your eyes, don’t think I don’t see it! Pffft!

Ok, get yourself together and listen to me. My bones are popping… and ya know… my limberability (that is SO a word!) is fading… I used to be able to do summersaults and backflips on the trampoline! Shit! Well, ok, granted, I was 13 at the time, but still. That is only umm… 25 years ago… I mean, WTF happened between now and then?

My knees are popping when I’ve sat down on the couch and get up. And I gotta tell ya, several people around me have suffered the consequences of can vouch for the fact that I absolutely positively háte other people popping their joints in front of me. Popping fingers, toes, whatever joint we are talking about. I hate it! And now, I have started popping myself. And I am not even trying to do so. It just happens, by itself, when I move…

And don’t even get me stárted on my hips! Holy Mother of God! They get stuck! STUCK! When I squat down on the floor or whatever and I have to get up (which in itself is not proving that easy anymore these days either, holy shit, I sound like an 80 year old), I move up, try to stand and then I can feel my hip is not right. Like it’s partly out of its socket or whatever… It doesn’t hurt, well not really, but ya know… it feels weird. And the only way to get it right it to kick out my leg attached to the corresponding hip until it pops back… Whew!!!

And can you even begin to imagine how annoying that is in certain *cough* sexual *cough* positions *cough*? And seriously, WTF is up with all those muscles cramping up during *cough* sex *cough* as a result of trying not to have my hip pop out of place? I mean, can’t I catch a fucking break?

If this is what you get for living healthy, getting pretty regular exercise (hey, even though I don’t do sports, I hike, I bike and I take the stairs every chance I get, and that’s good enough for me) and rest, well fuck my body! OK, maybe that’s was not meant to be addressed to all of you literally… But you get my drift…

*pop* *pop* *pop*

I think I need more sex… that’s the best form of exercise, right? Right? Yeah, more sex! Hon!!!?

Ten more days before my ass will be on that plane taking me from Heathrow airport to Raleigh/Durham airport…

I can’t believe that it’s only gonna be 1.5 week before I’ll touch down and jump into The Guy’s arms.

Then on the other hand, the closer I get to the date that I am departing, the more the wait is killing me. It seems like the closer I get, the slower the days go by. The hours, the minutes, the seconds seem to be slowing down… When at first weeks seemed to flash by, now it seems like the last 10 days are gonna take f.o.r.e.v.e.r.

And it’s driving me nuts…

Words can’t express how much I am dy-ing to see The Guy again, to hold him, feel him, talk to him, even just “be” with him… It’s “only” been a few months but it seems like ages since we were last together. And a shitload has happened on both sides since that time.

Ugh… only a few more minutes passed since I started writing this post even… Gawddammit… I am trying to keep myself occupied and not think about it too much but Gah! How’s that for a challenge… NOT think about The Guy, NOT think about being together again soon. Pffft! Impossible…

I guess once I start work again on Monday days will flash by and I’ll be on a plane to the UK on Friday where Penelope will have the pleasure of my, by that time probably freakin’ out, presence for a few days… and then on Sunday she’ll take my sorry ass to the London airport to fly off to the US…

I guess, maybe, sorta, perhaps, probably, in 10 days, I will look back and notice that those 10 days went by faster than I had anticipated afterall… but for now… the wait is driving me insane and making me miss The Guy even more than I did before… So close and still so far away…

Tick tock… tick tock… tick tock…

Yeah, made you look, huh?

Well, seriously… you missed a chance to see the Royal DutchBitch Boobs in real life though… in public… Granted, they were still packed in a bra, but it’s the closest anyone, well except for The Guy, is gonna get…

On Saturdaymorning, when I went over to the city center of Leiden to pick up my resized ring, I was kinda all over the place. I had hardly slept that night cuz of fucking up my blog server and spending hours to get The Dutch Files up and running again (STFU! I am nót one of those people that can tell herself “oh well”, go to sleep and decide to take a look at it the next day) and some other stuff going on.

Needless to say that my head was not screwed on the right way… Or rather, my sweater was on the wrong way… Yah… running some errands, I looked in a store window and I noticed a little white thingy sitting on the side of my sweater… I reached down to brush it off and to my demise it turned out to be the label! I was walking outside in public with my sweater inside out!!! Sheesh!

We got back to the car and I decided that I didn’t give a fuck who was out on the street, so I pulled off my sweater, turned it back the way it’s supposed to be and put it back on… Well, ok… so I cared a little bit, cuz I did it as fast as I could… I still think, judging from the smirks on their face, a few young students (how the hell, working at a university medical center, could I have forgotten it was Student Introduction Week!) may have witnessed the process… Oh well, my good deed of the day, I guess.

Knowing my luck one of them will surely be in the group of students starting training at the department on September 1…

We drove off, to park the car at the other end of the city for a last errand. I left The Kid in the car, while paying my parking, only to find… while standing at the machine… staring down at my boobs (what woman doesn’t at times stare down her own boobs, right? right?), that I was actually staring at the báck of my sweater… Sigh… I had now put it on the wrong way around!!!

Seriously! This shit does not happen to me… It just doesn’t…

So this time I did the switcharoo at the paid parking machine. No, I didn’t take it off this time. I just flipped my arms out of the sleeves, turned it and put it back on…There was a whole friggin herd of first year students right behind me! Give me a break! I might be crazy, but I am not stoopid!

Some of you might have seen me tweet over the past few days that I felt nekkid without the most important ring in my life on my finger…

Meet the most important ring in my life, it’s back:

No, it’s not my wedding ring. I’ve been pretttty happy not wearing that for the past err.. 6.5 years. I am no longer married and that’s fine by me. Nope, it’s not a ring given to me by The Guy. I mean, WTF? Give him a break! We’ve been together since March. Plenty of time for that…

This ring is VERY special to me though, and no matter what rings I acquire in my lifetime, I am sure that this one will remain one of the most important ones I have. The ring consists of yellow and red gold and the yellow gold comes from my Dad’s wedding band. After my dad passed away on February 21, 1996, we had his weddingband divided in 3 parts and 3 identical rings were made. This is one of them. The other two are owned by The Sis and The Mom. It’s a wonderful reminder of my father and very special to me as it carries the gold out of his wedding band. I have worn it every day ever since…

However, I was about 65 pounds bigger at the time… I used to wear it on my ring finger and had changed it to my middle finger when I started losing weight. For the past years, after reaching my target weight I was still wearing it on my middle finger, but it was about 2 ring sizes too big… Ask The Guy… it was a ridiculous sight… way too big for my finger… and it kept almost falling off…

I was extremely reluctant to have it resized though. As I knew that would mean taking out a part of the ring to make it smaller. A part that too would hold gold out of the wedding band of my father. It just didn’t feel good. Then on the other hand, like The Kid pointed out to me the other day: “But HOW would you feel if one day you would look at your hand and it would be gone?”… I decided he was right.

I also decided to take the ring back to the goldsmith that had actually made the ring. So I did on Thursday. I explained how reluctant I was to have a part taken out of it to make it smaller, but that I would be even more heartbroken if I would lose it all together… He told me that he could resize it, but that indeed he would have to take a few mm out. With an aching heart and a nekkid finger I left the ring at the goldsmith.

I picked it back up from there on Saturday. The ring looks awesome! You can’t see where the piece has been taken out at all. It fits like a glove on my middle finger where I decided to wear it from now on. And it shines like its never done before (well, probably it did the first time it came from the goldsmith as well, but you get my drift)… My finger does not feel nekkid anymore!

And the added bonus? Just when I was ready to make the payment and leave the store, the goldsmith dangled a tiny plastic bag in front of me… It held the piece that he had taken out. He had saved it for me. He had gone out of his way to take it out as “clean cut” as he possibly could (instead of melting out the part as he usually does) and he had saved it for me! So ALL Of the ring went back home with me, just not all on my finger.

That put a huge smile on my face on a day that had not started out that well at all. I love it when people go all considerate on you when you least expect it. It’s a beautiful thing, ain’t it?