The Daily Chai Has Her Bubble Busted

Today's Chai Latte told me that it was getting sick of always having to be available for me whenever I ordered it. Like I thought I was the boss of it. I told it to shut it and then I drank it. That'll show it not to get too uppity with me!

No, I'm not going crazy. I'M KIDDING. Chai Lattes don't talk, silly. They just hum quietly sometimes.

What to write about, what to write about? Hmmm....well. Kate asked me today if Daddy and I really had to get divorced. And I was like, crap, how do I answer that question? Because the truth is, we don't HAVE TO get divorced. Not really. We could continue on and pretend everything is okay and maybe even pretend we still love each other and pretend that the last five months didn't happen. Stop the sale of the house and run into each other's arms like they do in the movies and say, "I'm so sorry," "No, I'M sorry!" We could kiss and everything would be okay. On the surface. But nothing has changed and nothing is fixed and nothing will ever be the same. So doesn't all that fakeness sound like fun? Like an authentic life? Do you think you could do it? I can't. I actually wish I could. I wish I could take everything back and change how I dealt with my marriage when I was unhappy, instead of clamming up and pretending everything was okay, day after day, when it most definitely was not.

The sad fact is, I didn't deal with the problems in my marriage until it was too late and now here we are. So I looked at Kate when she asked this question and I tried to figure out an honest way to answer her that would be the truth without blaming her dad (or me) too much and still be somewhat satisfying to her as an explanation to why some marriages end. If not satisfying, at least something she can understand and accept. Because she's nine. She knows some of the reasons why we broke up, but she doesn't know everything, obviously. To her, we just got in a really big fight and then the next thing she knew, we were living separately. That was one doozy of a fight! And yes, it really was, but that isn't the solitary reason we are headed for divorce. Obviously it takes a lot more than that, but I can't tell her all those things. But...how do I justify the big D without explaining some of it to her?


As I pondered these difficult questions, she said, "Because if you guys stayed together, I could stay at my school and stay with my friends and I wouldn't have to leave my house."

And that, my friends, is how you get told that it isn't always about you.

The Daily Chai Needs to Go to Bed

Saturday. I can tell you where the Daily Chai is. That little fucker is still at Starbucks and it hasn't made an appearance. Thinks it's too good to be consumed by the likes of me I bet. Oh well, I could be a giraffe.

It's actually Friday night, but I can foresee that by the time I post this, I will not have a chai latte in my hand. 

To continue. I decided that my children are partly angelic little darlings and partly sadistic little monsters. Did you know they are both very sarcastic? I mean, Kate, she's almost nine, she's got the pre-teen (please don't ever call her a tween, I might vomit) attitude down pat. She cocks her head to one side and just looks at me, blinking her eyelids sarcastically. That is a feat, blinking sarcastically, but she's a pro. Then she says, "Mooooom!" in the most annoyed way possible. Like whatever I've said is just the most impossibly ridiculous thing she's ever heard. She may have a point as I wax philosophical about the chicken wing I just ate. And then she shushes me and continues on in her story about Minecraft vloggers. I expect this of her, she is right around the corner of teenagehood. She's got to practice now if she's going to get the angst-ridden, tortured soul routine fine-tuned in time for her 13th birthday. 

But Anna. My darling, sweet, little pumpkin of an Anna. She's turned on me and become a little terror of sarcasm overnight. She's four. How is that even possible? She actually ROLLED HER EYES at me today and mimicked her sister perfectly, "Moooooom!" She then put her little, adorably dimpled hand over my mouth and told me it was her turn to talk. But they'd both been talking FOR HOURS already. When is it my turn?

Today was my ex's birthday. Kind of crappy. I don't know, it felt weird not to spend his birthday with him, to not make a big deal out of it, to not make him a cake, or get him a present. I saw him at Kate's end of March Break camp play, we sat side by side and played nice. I saw someone I know and as I was talking to her, I referred to him as my husband, which I haven't done since the first month of our separation. It just sort of popped out because it was just too awkward to say, "my ex-husband" as I gestured to him sitting beside me, waiting for this bloody thing to start. I already felt awkward as fuck, no need to make EVERYONE feel acutely uncomfortable. Oh...I have an idea, let's get into how we're actually separated but trying to make things work for the sake of the children so here we are together, isn't it so very modern and fantastic of us? No, thank you. 

But he heard me say those words, "my husband and I" and I'm sure it made him feel like shit. On his birthday. I'm not a complete bitch, I may not want to be married anymore, but I don't want to unduly make him feel like crap on his fucking birthday. Ugh. This sucks. Amazing how four little words can wrack you with guilt all over again. 

And by the way, to the parents that brought bouquets of flowers for your children for their end of week 30 second skit for acting camp, get a grip. This is how you are making all other parents feel

The Daily Chai Just Got in Shit From Her Mother

I didn't get a Chai Latte today because I'm feeling guilty about lying to my mother when I was ten. It's my punishment. JUST KIDDING, it was frothy and foamy and went down like the sweetest dream you can imagine.

Read this and you will know why I am in shit.

I just got a text from my mother that said, "You need to call me!" Drama queen that I am, I immediately call her expecting the worst, that she's fallen and needs an ambulance or been in a terrible car accident (although why she wouldn't just 911 herself never occurs to me). Unbeknownst to me, my mother, having enjoyed my Daily Chai posts, has decided it would be a good idea to read all my posts, right from the very beginning, starting in 2006, shortly after Kate was born.

"Hello Megan. Are you somewhere that you can talk to me? I need to speak to you about something that has shocked me to my very core. I just read your blog post from July 27, 2006." My first thought is, "What the fuck is she talking about?" but then she begins to read it out loud to me. She gets about three sentences in and I say, "Oh shit." But I can't help it, I begin to laugh like crazy. After all these years, she's found out my big, dark secret all because of a stupid blog post I wrote nine years ago!

Oops. Forgot about that.

I kept my blog a secret for a long time because I wanted to write honestly about my life and didn't think I could if people I knew read it. Clearly, I have gotten over that little foible. Many of my earlier entries seem fatuous to me now and I can hear my younger self so clearly in them, it's almost scary. But I haven't re-read them all, I don't even know what most of them say anymore, it was almost nine years ago that I wrote them after all.

My mother and I had the most hysterical conversation about my deceitfulness and now she's asking me to think very carefully about anything else I might need to tell her, that I might have lied about to her years ago and if it's suddenly going to come to light in another blog entry. I'm wracking my brains and reading previous entries as fast as I can.

The Daily Chai is....Terrified

Today's chai latte was a tall because I have to start watching my pennies. It was too milky and not spicy enough. I'm really going to have to have a word with them about that. SPICY,  I need it SPICY. Otherwise I'm just drinking hot milk like a five year old.

I've had a lot of people tell me how brave I am for striking out on my own, that what's happened isn't easy to endure, but the fact that I'm fighting to make my life right and good for myself and my kids is a good thing and something I should be proud of doing. But I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I'm fucking terrified.

When I was 18, my mom took a teaching job up North and I got my own place so I've been an adult in that sense for a long time. But my boyfriend at the time moved in with me and helped with the bills, so I wasn't on my own for long. When things went south with him, I lived alone for a couple months. I would say that was probably one of only two times in my life I've been really depressed and I withdrew from a lot of my friends. I made $800 a month and my rent was $500. I was broke and lonely. Spent a lot of time drinking alone. I ate one slice of pizza and a coke from Gino's pizza every day and that was it, because it was all I could afford. Always seemed to have money for smokes though. It was around that time I came up with the idea that they should make edible cigarettes. Then you'd always have something to eat and something to smoke. Brilliant!

My mom sent me money whenever I got desperate enough to ask for it, but my pride didn't allow that to happen very often. Eventually I found a roommate and I had a drinking buddy and with half the rent, more money to drink. Met a bunch of people through him (including my ex) and suddenly my house was the party house. It was the place everyone came to pre-drink before the bar and it was the place everyone crashed at after the bar closed. I loved it. I loved having people around all the time. It actually got to the point where I wanted them all to go home and leave me alone! That was mostly because I was usually hungover and bitchy, but we were young and foolish and it was almost always good time. Lots of fucking drama, my god, but generally a good time!

Anyway, my awesome, adorable roommate turned out to be a fraud. He stole our friend's bank card and withdrew all her money. Bought us all Christmas gifts and a flight home for himself to Halifax for the holidays and told us his rich dad sent him money. I bought it of course, I was young and stupid. And I would have never in a million years done that to anyone, let alone a friend, so it didn't occur to me that he had stolen the money. I came home from work one day and there was hammering at my door. I went down to see who it was kind of cautiously (because everyone I knew would have just walked in and started drinking, fuck knocking). It was the cops, there to arrest my roommate for theft and fraud. I was heartbroken at his duplicity, I trusted him, he was my friend and he'd lied to all of us. I freaked out, like really, screaming and crying and saying it was a lie, that he would never do that. Then my ex (who was just a friend at the time) and a couple other friends of ours came and got me and took me away, sat me down at a neighbour's and told me my roommate was a proven liar, that he probably did do it. I was kind of pissed that I hadn't been told this earlier, I'm not going to lie, but they all knew how much I loved him and he seemed like he was a good friend to me, so they never said anything. After all, maybe he had changed for the good. Evidently not. Eventually I calmed down and stopped hiccoughing and crying, but I was still so upset about it that the boys took me out to the bar and we got shitfaced. It's how you deal with everything when you're 19.

After that debacle, I moved with my then boyfriend to a new city where I went to school for awhile, but that all went south too. School, the boyfriend, the whole shebang. I was 20 and coming back from my big, brave move away from everything I knew with my tail between my legs to live with my dad. But then my ex and I finally hooked up after being best friends for about a year. We moved in together after a few months and the rest is history. We were together from that time until just a few months ago.

My point with all this? Through all that craziness, the ex-boyfriends and the fraudulent roommate and the drinking and the partying, I was never really alone except for those few months when I was super depressed. That scares the shit out of me. Because...here I am....on my own for the first time in my life. I have lots of great support, especially my mom who has been simply splendid. But now I have to stand on my own two feet and make an honest go at this thing we call life and I'm terrified. I know I can do it, I mean, I'm not going to die from terror, or starve to death because I can't afford food. Times are a little different for me now, I have a great job and even some assets. I'm a grown up, not a 19 year old kid.

But still. Eep. However, fear not faithful reader, I do believe that it will all be okay because of that quirky eternal optimist inside my brain. She's a bit of a pain in the ass, but I love her. Plus, I believe this wholehearted:

The Daily Chai Misses Her Kids

Today's Chai Latte was fabulous. I'm surprised you're not drinking your own while reading this. They really are the bomb.

So this is where I have the most trouble with my separation: the sharing of my kids. I know, I know, I just said yesterday that solo weekends are awesome. But then the work week sets in, I haven't seen my kids in three days and miss them so much. How is it possible that I've gone three days without seeing my girls? At the very beginning of my separation, I would be a basketcase on Mondays, and it was my bestie that pointed out I was always more emotional that first day back after a busy weekend of catching up with friends. Because while I was busy and distracted and occupied, my kids were not at the forefront of my mind, but reality set in on Monday morning. I would sit at the breakfast table, staring out the window with my Cheerios uneaten and getting soggy while I wondered how I got here and if I was really doing the right thing. That if I continued with this crazy, stubborn, selfish plan, I would miss seeing my kids every day of their lives.

The day after Kate was born, I looked at her and thought, "What the fuck have I done?" I looked at that tiny, scrunchy red creature and started to panic about how I now had a human being dependant on me for her every need. FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. Holy shit. That's a hell of an epiphany I can tell you that and I didn't really think I was up for the challenge. 24 hours later, I would have fought tigers for her had I been called on to do so. That protective instinct and my love for her grew every day until it consumed me. I found out that I was really, really good at being a mother. For a person who has always been just smart enough to know that she is mediocre at best, the realization that I was finally amazing at something was deeply satisfying. I held on to it tightly and I wasn't going to give it up.

So when you feel that way about motherhood, dealing with the fact that you are no longer there to protect them and love them every day can be a bit traumatic. And let's face it, I'm a proven drama queen so I imagine the worst-case scenario about how this is all going to play out and I worry about my girls and how this will affect them long term. My worry is not baseless since you always hear horror stories about kids going off the rails because their parents split. My own life went off the deep end a bit when my dad left me at the age of 15 and I never really forgave him for it. I do, however, recognize that this is a different situation. When my dad left, he was done with us. I saw him irregularly at best because he wanted to screw his new girlfriend and he didn't want a sulky teenager who hated his girlfriend at his house every other weekend. The idea of joint custody and both parents actively raising the children after a divorce just wasn't his thing. I was also old enough and angry enough that I didn't want to see him very often. So I speak from personal experience when I tell you I worry for my girls and how this separation will ultimately affect them.

Obviously my ex and I have figured out a way to continue to be in our kids' lives regularly. We both agreed that if we were going to split up, the only important thing to figure out was how to make the kids feel as nurtured, loved and protected as they have always been. Everything else took second fiddle to that. There are going to be some changes, we are moving after all, but we're trying to make it exciting for them instead of scary. We reassure them that even when we aren't together, we're only a phone call away. And drama queen or not, I'm also eternally optimistic about life in general and I look for the good in the bad, I seek out the positive from the negative and see the beauty even in ugly things. So I might worry, but I also hope and expect everything to be okay.

It doesn't mean I don't miss them like crazy when I'm not with them. I haven't missed a moment of their lives since they were born except for the occasional weekend away. But just like with those weekends away, I feel guilty about looking forward to alone time. Because I really do. I revel in it. I write, I read, I do my nails, I watch movies, I see my friends. And I do all of it guilt free because I don't have to worry that I'm doing these things at the expense of not fulfilling someone else's needs. It doesn't seem like a very motherly sentiment to have, but I've always been the primary parent and having down time to recharge has made me a more balanced, patient and caring parent in many ways. And as good pal pointed out, it's ok to look forward to handing my kids over to my ex because I also really look forward to getting them back. It balances out.

The Daily Chai is Puzzled

I'm just about to go get a chai latte and I will tell you all about it some other time. Right now I have an extremely puzzling situation with my phone that I simply must tell you about!

So...a few weeks ago I did a search on S&M, purely to figure out how to spell Sadomasochism (which I didn't spell right when I first published this post) I can't remember why now. Maybe I was drawing up a contract or something, I don't know. Research. For a story. Or something. Moving on. 

So anyway, my Google search came up with S&M on wikipedia and I clicked on the link. Probably because that idiotic movie was coming out. Yeah, that's must be why I was looking it up. But the weird thing is, now, whenever I pull up the Safari window I keep open for my Blogger dashboard on my phone, I get a very brief flash of the main page for the S&M wikipedia. Every time. It's like my phone just wants to remind me that once upon a time, I searched for this particular subject matter AND IT'S NEVER GOING TO LET ME FORGET IT. EVER. Damn you Bridgette* and your damn moral high ground. 

*Bridgette is the name of the phone. 

The Daily Chai and How to Recharge

Today's Chai Latte didn't feel special because it read all my other posts about the delicious chai lattes I've enjoyed in the past and it felt like it was just another latte to be consumed and tossed away. I felt sorry for it and drank it slowly so it would realize that I enjoyed it just as much, if not better, than all the lattes before it.

What a fabulous day on Saturday, I have to say, probably one of the best I've had in a long time. I met one of my oldest friends for coffee in the park and we froze our asses off catching up. We've texted in the four months since my life has changed, but I haven't seen her since right after the shit hit the fan. That time, I walked into her salon, she asked me how  I was doing and I just looked at her. Her response was, "Oh no." Even though she was shocked that I was actually considering ending my marriage (at the time I was still contemplating "just a break") she wasn't shocked by the stories I had to tell. She's been a friend for a long time and knows a lot of my secrets. Yesterday was another good old catch up about what has been happening in the last four months. I think I talked straight for two hours, poor girl. Thank goodness she enjoys my stories! Anyway, it was a wonderful visit and much needed. That chai latte was so much the better because I drank it with one of my oldest and dearest friends.

Then I had an emergency massage from the rock god of RMTs because I've done something to my neck. I had a friend give me some advice on how to ease my pain, but I really don't think that's going to work (but thanks for the suggestion!) so I went to my massage guy instead. It must be all this writing and sitting on the couch on my computer. Oops. This blogging stuff comes at a high price!

In the evening I met another old friend and some of her girlfriends for her birthday and we had a great time. Girl night is always a good way to recharge. It was a little weird being the "single" gal of the group. Been a long time since I was that! I love this person, she is one of those people I met through my ex because she was dating (and is now married to) a friend of his. There was something about her that just clicked inside me and we hit it off. I remember one work party in particular where we just stood poolside yakking away and oblivious to anyone else there. We were talking about how we weren't ready to have kids yet because we were way too selfish to care for another human being...10 years later and we both have two little girls and I doubt anyone would describe us as selfish.

I also had an email from my brother which was...emotional to say the least. We have a strained relationship at best, but there are times we are in sync and I treasure those moments. It helps that he lives on the other side of the planet, we tend to get on each other's nerves less that way. Who knows, maybe my adventure next year will be to Thailand to visit him.

I ended my day with a long, much needed chat with another friend which I thoroughly enjoyed. Very entertaining. I love catching up with my people. I love my people with every fibre in my being and seeing or talking to them recharges my soul. It also helps that I had nine hours of uninterrupted sleep on Friday night and slept until 10:30 on Sunday (although I was up so late I'm not sure sleeping until 10:30 helped!). I love my girls but solo weekends are awesome.

Love to you all and thanks for reading, all your comments and emails are like manna from heaven to me. 

The Daily Chai Has a Bone to Pick

Today's Chai Latte was delicious. I mean really, why are you asking anymore? I drink one almost every day. It would just be silly if they tasted bad.

If you do any of the things below, you should probably stop reading now. I promise you will be offended but being a dick is part of my blog charm.

Pet peeve #1
People who honk their horns just for fun. Listen you dickhead, car horns are used as a warning that someone is about to hit you. So when you honk it a bunch of times just for fun, you scare the shit out of everyone (me). My driving skills are questionable at best and I don't need you hi-LAR-iously honking your horn because you are in high spirits that day.

Pet peeve #2
Tights as pants. I...can't...even...write...about...this.

Pet peeve #3
People who write "alot". See my post here to find out why.

Pet peeve #4
Similar to #1, people who brake hard in front of you. I don't give a shit about the squirrel you just avoided killing. There are thousands of them. They serve as a distraction and nothing else. See?


Pet peeve #5
Places that don't sell pie. What the fuck? What is wrong with you?

Pet peeve #6
People who wait in line at bank machines or at cashiers and when they finally get to the machine/person they are completely unprepared for what is about to happen. They dig in their purse for their wallet, then dig some more for their card (how can you not know where the fuck your bank card is in your own wallet?) and then they dig around for their point card. All the while you are standing behind them doing lunges because your gym time has now been cut in half. Seriously, how the fuck did you think this process works? You had at least five minutes to get prepared. Don't be a dick.

Pet peeve #7
People who post incessantly about working out. First time back at the gym in months? Awesome! Broke your personal best? Also awesome! But nobody else fucking cares. Honestly, limit it to maybe three a year and we will all let it slide.

Pet peeve #8
People who complain about their lives constantly and never do anything to change it. They don't want your advice. They just want to bitch.

Pet peeve #9
People who swear too much. Just fucking kidding. Obvi.

Pet peeve #10
The Blogger app because it doesn't point out my spelling misatkes. It's just wrong. Can't you see the misatke I made there?

Pet peeve #11
Selfies like this:

#nomakeup #nofilter #justwokeuplikethis #duckfacerules #myeyesarereallythiswideallthetime #isntmyphonecasecute #allbullshit (except for the phone case, it really is very cute).

Pet peeve #12
People who flash their lights at you incessantly on a dark road. Please don't do this. It scares the shit out of people. Even if you think the person is driving like a complete asshole, that doesn't give you the right to also be a complete asshole.

Pet peeve #13
People who cancel plans two hours before they are supposed to happen. Unless you have the flu or you just got into a crippling accident, get your shit together and fulfill the commitment you made. It's just rude. If you think I'm talking about you, I probably am.

Pet peeve #14
Restaurants that don't take reservations so when you get there you have to wait an hour for a table. Just fucking take reservations. You don't need to prove how cool you are by having a huge number of people milling about your doors.

Pet peeve #15
Socks with holes in them. Somewhere, a company figured how to make socks that last forever but they don't manufacture them because they wouldn't make any money once you bought enough socks for two weeks. Those companies are assholes.

Pet peeve #16
Bullies. All bullies suck. They make people's lives hell because they feel like shit about themselves. Some bullies have deeply rooted psychological problems because of traumatic and abusive childhoods and they can't deal but some bullies are just assholes. If you've ever made anyone feel like shit just to make yourself feel better, stop it.

Pet Peeve #17

Redheads. Also just fucking kidding. Obvi.

Pet Peeve #18
People who drive slowly in the passing lane. Who do you think you are? Some sort of moral compass for fast drivers? Get the fuck out of my way! I have to get to the gym for leg day. Just kidding. I don't do leg day.

Pet Peeve #19
People who take pictures of their food. "I really enjoyed that photo you posted on Facebook of your dinner last night," said no one ever.

Pet Peeve #20
When people use the word literally but they mean figuratively. "I like, LITERALLY, shit my pants when that happened, oh my god!" So...I'm just saying...I highly doubt you actually SHIT YOUR PANTS. Because then your story would be about the time you shit your pants and not the thing you are actually talking about. If you didn't REALLY shit your pants then you didn't LITERALLY shit your pants. You only figuratively did, which, let's be honest, just isn't as funny. Stop talking now.

Pet Peeve #21
People who leap onto the elevator before the people inside have a chance to get off. News flash, your meeting is not more important than my meeting. Get out of my way. Similarly, people in the front of the elevator who don't move when the doors open and someone in the back needs out. Or they kind of shift around when someone loudly says, "Excuse me," but they are really still in the way. Just get fully out of the elevator and while you're at, hold the damn door so I don't lose a limb because it took you so long to move and now the doors are closing.

Pet Peeve #22
The number 12. I don't know why. It just seems kind of uppity, don't you think?

Pet Peeve #23
When the Latte machine at work is broken. Again. It's like, omg, such a BURDEN to have to leave the building to walk to a real Starbucks. Jebus.

Pet Peeve #24
When the heel on your brand new shoe breaks off. I had this happen to me right before a job interview and I had to limp into the room with this person I had never met and with whom I obviously wanted to make a good impression. I looked like a complete moron shuffling along with my heel flapping against the bottom of my shoe, trying (literally!) not to break my ankle.

That is the short list of my pet peeves. Please feel free to share yours, I'd love to hear them!

The Daily Chai Doesn't Have Time to Make Pie

But I have time to buy it and eat it. Too bad it's not key lime, but apple is a close second.

Fun with pie

The Daily Chai Celebrates Pie

Today's Chai Latte is still at Starbucks. Be a dear and grab that for me? Thanks love.

Today I will eat pie. Lots and lots of pie. This is possibly one of my most favourite days of the year. I love all pie, although I am especially fond of key lime pie. Today I am going to make a key lime pie and possibly eat the entire thing myself. I will take a picture of it and post it later if it looks photogenic. If not, I will just eat it and take a picture of my face with crumbs on it. Either way, win/win.

My love of pie has been well documented. I would say it is = or > my love of Cadbury Cream Eggs and that's saying a lot. I'm a little irritated with Cadbury to be honest. With all my free advertising on Facebook, I have yet to receive a single complimentary egg. WTF? So I move on to pie in all its glory. I love pie.

Some interesting facts about pie and π.  Did you know the American pie was invented before π was discovered? Just kidding, some American made that up, they are always taking credit for stuff. Did you know that π is a transcendental number? I don't know what that means because I am firmly rooted in reality and don't believe in spiritual numbers. Did you know that in 2013 scientists used computers to extend the decimal representation of π to 13.3 trillion digits, but because most scientific applications only need 40 digits after the decimal, this was performed (with countless grant dollars no doubt) purely to show off how SMRT they are? Did you know that π is used to calculate the circumference of a circle? Which is interesting only because traditional pie is round. So, therefore, if you want to calculate the circumference of a pie, you would need to use π. Did you further know that π is considered an irrational number, somewhat akin to my irrational love of pie. Just kidding, my love is not irrational. Pie is good. What's not to love?

That is pretty much where my knowledge and urge to look stuff up on Wikipedia ends. Enjoy your pies darlings, I know I will. 

The Daily Chai and How to Make a Choice

Today's Chai Latte is swimming in regret and wishes it could have been spicier. Not wanting it to suffer too badly, I drank it fast to ease its unhappiness. Yup, gonna be one of those days.

People have asked how was I 100% sure I was making the right choice? I will tell you. I was not 100% sure and I've wavered a lot over the past four months. How can you ever know that you are making the right choice when that choice means you are splitting your family up and possibly causing deep psychological pain to your children? The choice to leave a marriage is somewhat like starting a new relationship. You leap in, both feet, all in, on the FAITH that this relationship is going to be the right one, the one to end all other relationships. But you don't really know if that person is going to be the right person. You can't see inside someone else's head and we often put our faith in the wrong people. Human beings do it all that time and we get burned. Sometimes we only allow it to happen once, sometimes many, many times. But eventually, we do learn that nothing is 100% sure. Except death and taxes.

So how can I be 100% sure that I'm making the right choice? I can't, but based on the facts and based on my feelings and based on my self-worth as a human being, I'm making a semi-rational choice that I believe to be the correct one for my own sanity and well-being. I wish some higher being could come along and tell me I'm doing the right thing, but clearly that has not happened. I have to go with my gut.

I used to feel like time was running out for me. The thought that I am going to die one day and I'll have all these regrets, regrets that circle in my head like a flock of vultures, that thought nearly drove me mad. I used to go to bed each night thinking, "One day, my body is going to stop working and I will cease to be." And if I couldn't turn that thought off quickly enough, I would start having a panic attack about not existing anymore. I would imagine my heart stopping, my breath stopping and my thoughts stopping. Full stop. Nothing. A shell.   Death is really going to happen to me. Not just to other people, but to ME. It got to the point that I had to force myself out of the house, because I'd rather stay home and avoid dangerous situations like driving a car because I might die. Holy shit, right? But I will tell you something, I have not panicked about it once since I made this earth shattering decision. I have accepted that I will die and I'm not very happy about it, but I know now that my life is my own and I'm not going to die with all these regrets. I know that I will live my life the way I need to live it, without the burden of others' expectations on me. It won't always be the most amazing adventure ever, but I'm going to really, really enjoy the high times and let the low times just roll. Good with the bad, right? I will be the best mother, friend and person I can be, but on my own terms. That is about as 100% as I can be about what I've done.

The Daily Chai Has Writer's Block

I haven't bought today's chai latte, so I will give you a fake review. It was good.

Moving on.

It was bound to happen. I've been writing every day for just over two weeks and now I'm at a loss for something to write about. NOOOOOOOOOOO how will I entertain myself if I'm not writing hilarious hijinx about grammar and insane four year olds?
That reminds me. I went to the mall today with the girls and ate mall food. Delicious. Anna smashed some sushi like a fucking champ and Kate had her normal Subway sub, two cookies (which she always delightfully shares) and strawberry Frutopia. Then we got a banana, strawberry and Nutella crepe. Thrilling, I know!

We bought my ex a present for his upcoming birthday so the kids would have something to give him and then we got rain boots and hot pink converse for Anna.  I loved getting new running shoes when I was a kid, so she better appreciate the fact that I went to two different stores to find the exact right pink for her. At the first store, I tried unsuccessfully to convince her that purple was better than pink. No dice. She knew my game and wasn't falling for it. On to the second store where we were successful in finding two different pinks, both in her size. One on each foot, we walked over to the mirror and Anna gazed with deep satisfaction at the reflection of her feet in the mirror.

"Perfect! Which one do you like best?" I asked her.

"Both of them." If Anna could put charming little smiley face emoticons into her speech, she would.

"Tough, pick one." I replied unyieldingly. She made the right choice and went with the super cool hot pink instead of the lame baby pink. Journeys has the most amazing selection of Chucks just FYI.

She PROMISED me she would wear these sneaks and not rip them off in hysterics and refuse to ever wear them again once we got home. I requested this promise from her because this is what happened last year when I bought her brand new hot pink Vans (please pay special attention to second 12 of the video):

I love my girls. I really do. I'm glad I have both of them in my life and I look at them daily and marvel over the fact that I made human beings from scratch. But there are times, just some times mind you, that I wonder why I had children. Lovely little creatures, but they never stop talking. They are like me in that respect, but imagine, just fucking imagine for one moment, if you had TWO OF ME talking at you, telling you endless stories and asking a constant stream of questions, UNCEASINGLY FOR HOURS ON END. You would pray for bedtime too. 

Some of today's questions were:

Mom! Is the sun really getting closer to the earth all the time? Someone at school said we're all going to die. 

Mom! Why does the word shampoo have the word poo in it? 

Mom! Can we have a treat?

Mom! Is this crepe as good as the ones in Germany?

Mom! Does shampoo have poo in it?

Mom! Why do you have elastic bands around your car's mirror? 

Mom! Can we have a treat?

Mom! Why do I have to wash my hair?

Mom! Why is Elsa's hair yellow and Anna's hair is red?

Mom! Can we have a treat?

Huh, even with writer's block, I manage to have a lot to say. NOW IMAGINE TWO OF ME. Yeah. 

The Daily Chai Goes Apeshit About Grammar

Today's Chai Latte is too milky and not quite hot enough. That's what I get for going to the Bean Counter which only professes to serve Starbucks coffee but not be an actual Starbucks. Sad. 

I have a few things to say about grammar and punctuation. My grammar is pretty good, my punctuation needs work, but basically, I know most of the rules. The rules for colons and semi-colons continue to elude me, no matter how often my mother explains them to me, which is why you will never see me use them here. Lots of people think the rules for grammar are overrated, but it's so bloody important for correctly communicating your ideas and thoughts. Even if you don't know the rules exactly, when you see a word or punctuation used incorrectly, your brain stops for a moment to process it. Most of us can figure out what the person means, but the flow of the words has been lost. Or, worse still, the meaning of the message is completely lost and you actually have to take precious seconds to text back a "?" to get clarification. I know. So brutal, right? Empires have been lost over less, of that I am absolutely sure.

I'm just going to give you a few of my very favourites to make my point.

Your welcome. This doesn't make sense. "Your" indicates possession, therefore, when you use it, you are talking about someone's possession. Your dog is ugly. Your story is boring. Your blog is too long and self-righteous. So the ONLY WAY your welcome makes sense is if you follow it by a possession. Your welcome email was appreciated. When you want to be polite after someone thanks you, please write, "You're welcome." Just remember that "you're" is a contraction of "you are." Does it make sense to say, "You are welcome?" Why...YES IT DOES!

Alot. This is possibly my favourite. You know how I know it's not alot? Because my MacBook keeps fucking telling me that it's "a lot" and I actually have to physically click the "x" to tell my MacBook she's wrong. I'm sure her little hard drive heart shivers in agony just a tiny bit every time I do it too. I also know it's not "alot" because it's not "alittle", "alarge", "abig" etc ETC ETC. Okay? Please stop doing this. It drives me mental.

Basically anything with an apostrophe that doesn't need one. This happens when people are trying to make a singular word plural. Here is an example I saw at Target tonight:

Seriously. Are you talking about more than one bra? I'm going to make a huge assumption here and say yes. Many bras are on sale for 30% off. Plural. One bra. Many bras. This sign indicates that one bra owns something. The bra's strap is too tight. The bra's cup is too small. However, as you can see, the salesperson who made this sign didn't finish his or her sentence and has once again left us all hanging. And just as a little bonus...if you were talking about the straps of many bras, it would be bras'. As in, "All the bras' straps were defective." Isn't that fun?

Anyway, my point is that communication, the SOLE PURPOSE OF THE WRITTEN WORD, has not been served here. You are letting us all down Target. Oh, wait. That already happened when you closed 130 stores and left thousands of Canadians without jobs. Hmmm...with that bit of perspective, I feel a little bad about my grammar rant.

No, I don't.


I'm going to leave you with this highly entertaining and disturbingly vulgar guide to help you avoid grammar mishaps.

You're welcome.

The Daily Chai is Ambivalent

Today's Chai Latte is perfect. I have nothing else to say about it except that my entire day has been made because it started with the perfect drink. Sweet, simple things people, enjoy them all!

Mixed emotions last night as my real estate agent came to take pictures and measure rooms so she can list our matrimonial home. We've been here for six years and I never wanted to move again, but here I am, planning, once again, to move. Balls. God, I hate moving.

We bought this house sight unseen while we still lived in Germany. Lots of people went to look at it for us, but the first time we saw the house was on our final inspection right before we moved in. The bedrooms were a little smaller than I'd imagined, but all in all, I was happy with it. It's an old house in an old town and I loved it. It has some good character, like transom windows above the bedroom doors and some of the original trim has survived. There are windows everywhere and on sunny days it is filled with lovely light in every room. It has a finished attic family room just like the house I grew up in and a creepy old cellar with a working cistern that I have never been fully convinced does not house a crocodile. And I SWEAR I have heard children laughing and running when mine have been fast asleep. Maybe just a trick of the house creaking in its old age, but it doesn't bother me, it just reminds me this hundred year old house has history.

We will leave some of our own history here to carry on. There has been love and laughter in this house and it is the house I brought Anna home to when she was born. It is the house that Kate has grown up in and the only place she remembers as the memories of Germany faded for her. I spent almost two years here as a stay-at-home mom, raising my girls and the happiness of those memories will last me forever.

But it is also a house that has many sad memories for me and my family. By the very virtue of its age and character, it has caused us both stress and in someways, that stress played a part in destroying our marriage. Last spring, I thought if we moved to a new house, a house that we would both love, the stress would melt away, but that is like having a baby to save a marriage. It's a pretty big commitment for a bandaid solution. When I thought about buying something else with my ex and being as house poor as we were planning to be, I backed off the idea. It was yet another indication that my marriage was crumbling. People in a healthy partnership do not worry that buying a house is going to tie them more fully to the other person, they reveal in the happiness of the commitment.

And so, a chapter of my life comes to an end. I am excited about it as well as sad. Last week, I was having a few low moments and I asked a friend to remind why I was doing this again. To remind me the correct path is not always the easiest or the happiest. To remind me that sometimes the things of the greatest worth are the hardest to achieve. He came back with this:

So I, like everyone around me, weathers the storm. I'm even learning to enjoy the storm because I never know where it's going to take me next and I'm always up for an adventure.

The Daily Chai and How I Almost Died Today

Today's grande chai latte was of the fancy Oprah variety. 2% milk in case you were wondering because low fat is for chumps and life is too short to waste time on fat free drinks. I drank it too fast and now I'm sweaty. Damn those hot drinks.

Let the philosophical musings begin. 

I was glorying in the extra hour of daylight yesterday and loving the red sunset. My dad used to tell me "Red sky at night, sailors' delight" I figure sailors have to be  pretty good at reading the weather and the old saying meant that a red sunset at night forecasted a beautiful day in the morning. I've never known this to be proven untrue which makes me appreciate those beautiful sunsets even more. 

However, when I woke up in the dark this morning, I was less than impressed. Forgot about that part of Daylight Savings Time. Oh well, I let the kids sleep a little longer and took pictures of them

After dropping Anna at daycare, I galloped back to the car, singing and doing windmills with my arms, purely just to embarrass Kate who is at the perfect age to be mortified by everything I do, whether anyone is watching or not. Just for fun, I now intentionally do embarrassing things around her. There is a method to my madness however...my goal is to teach her not to give a shit about what other people think of her. It's a slow process and I'm having a delightful time with it. 

"Mom! Why are you doing that? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing Kate! I'm just happy!"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Mom! Why are you happy?"

"Um. I don't know. Because the sun is shining. Because it's only minus three instead of minus a hundred. Because spring is coming. Because the birds are back. I don't really have a reason. Isn't that amazing? I'm me and I'm happy about it. Because baby, I'm alive!" 

"Oh. Well stop doing that, it's  embarrassing."

Sigh. 

So it was rather ironic that on the way to work today, after dropping Kate off, I almost got smoked by a transport truck I was just about to pass on the highway. He decided it would be the perfect time to switch lanes and I literally had to slam my brakes on to avoid getting run over. My car skidded and fishtailed as he quickly veered back into his lane, causing his trailer to wobble dangerously and I pictured him losing control and me slamming into him. Still shaking from that close call. 

So I say again, I am happy to be alive. Life is short, death is long. Enjoy every minute you have on earth because the number you get is finite. I will continue to dance and sing to embarrass my daughter and I will tell her every day of my life why I am happy. 

Because baby, I'm alive. Listen to this song and I think you will agree. 

The Daily Chai Got a Late Start

Today's grande chai latte was shared with Kate who said it was delicious. I agreed.

The girls and I had to go out to the house today to pack and purge and make it look good for the pictures to list it. Things are moving forward in that department at least.

We stopped at Walmart to get some storage containers and we went to the girls' section to look for mitts since Kate has lost hers at the very end of the season when it's impossible to replace them. Thank goodness the warmer weather is coming! It is coming, right?

Wonders never cease, we actually found mittens. Kate is pumped about the awesomeness of her mittens pictured here:

Anna wanted mittens too, but she didn't like the only ones small enough for her so we left them. She didn't really need new mittens, she just wanted them. We checked out and Anna started to cry that she wanted mittens too.

"Why Kate gets mittens and I don't? I WANT MITTENS TOO!" she begins to screech as I'm hauling her out of the cart to put it away.

"Anna...my darling. You didn't want the mittens they had, so you didn't get mittens. You didn't need mittens anyway, you are wearing perfectly good mittens."

"BUT I WANT THEM!"

"Well, next time tell me that before it's too late and you will avoid being disappointed. Now it's too late, we have to go home."

"BUT I WANT THEM! KATE GOT MITTENS AND I WANT SOME TOO" Heartwrenching sobs begin to erupt at the tragic loss of cheetah printed mitts and the absolute bloody unfairness of big sister getting something as special as mitts and being the only one left out of the fun. I buckle her into her car seat as tears stream down her face and I say, "Dear girl. It's okay to be disappointed but you need to understand that just because Kate got something doesn't mean I'm going to buy you something too. I'm simply not going to do that and you need to learn to deal with your disappointment."

"NO!!!" She screams back at me. And she begins to spit raspberries in between sobs. Because that is pretty much the epitome of high insults when you're a preschooler. 

Breathe. Carry on. I get into the front seat as she continues to cry and I begin backing out of my parking spot. Suddenly a small pink mitt is viciously thrown at my head. The effect Anna is going for is probably lost as the mitten flutters harmlessly to the floor. I can't help it. I start to laugh. Like, almost peeing my pants laughing, tears beginning to form laughing, great belly laughs erupt from my gut laughing. 

"DON'T. LAUGH. AT. ME!!!!!!" Comes the shriek from the backseat. And another tiny pink mitt comes fluttering at my head. I laugh harder. Kate begins to laugh. Anna shrieks indignantly, "I HATE THESE MITTENS. STOP LAUGHING AT ME. STOP LAUGHING!" The last word is a shrill scream of frustration and anger that only a four year old human can produce. 

Suddenly, "ANNA, NO!!!" yells Kate, "Mom, she took off her boot and she was about to throw it at you!"

"Anna King, if you throw that boot at me I will spank your bottom and I will put you to bed for the rest of the day and you WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO WATCH A MOVIE." There. That gave her pause. No boot comes flying in my direction but she is still crying. I start to laugh again, I can't help it, it's just so ridiculous how worked up she's gotten over a pair of mittens she didn't even want. 

"STOP. LAUGHING. AT. ME!" She screams again, her voice actually breaking in the effort to maintain the extreme pitch. 

I work my face into something serious and try to keep my traitorous shoulders from shaking in mirth and I say, "I'm sorry Anna. I'll stop now." Meanwhile, I have not stopped laughing at all and I'm pretty sure I just peed my pants. 

The Daily Chai Hates Cleaning

Today's grande Chai Latte was spicy and hot, kind of like me. Bahahahaha, okay, that just had to said. You may be thinking I'm a little conceited and you'd be right, however I meant it in a temperature kind of way. I'm cleaning so I'm dirty and sweaty and gross. And I'm pretty grumpy about it.

I abhor cleaning in all its forms. My philosophy of life has always been that I'd rather be out doing something with my kids than at home cleaning. The dishes can wait, Kate wants me to read a story. The floors can be spot cleaned in twenty seconds because Anna wants me to play with her dolls. The dusting can suck it because it's a glorious day outside so we're going to the park. The bathroom is grimy but there is a good movie to go see. So I have lived my life. The last time we moved my ex was going through the garage stuff, picked up the Bee Mop and innocently (?) said, "Should we just throw this out? We don't use it anyway." To which I replied indignantly, "You don't use it, but I do!"  In reality I'd probably used it three times since I bought it. And my house is proof of that. Holy shit, there is dust everywhere I look and just when I've wiped down one surface, I look around at the 99 other surfaces that need to be cleaned. This fucking sucks. I'm taking a break from being on my hands and knees to thoroughly clean my floors to write this but I'm shuddering at the thought that I need to clean the bathroom soon. Worst job ever. 

This state of affairs is not entirely my fault. When I was a stay-at-home mom, my house was a lot cleaner, after all, it was my job to clean and cook and take care of the babies. I didn't mind that, I may not have been contributing monetarily to the household, but I had a role and a job to do. And I did it gladly. But when I went back to work full-time and started classes up again, damned if I was going to spend my evenings and weekends mopping the fucking floor! My ex felt the same way and I don't blame him for that either. Just the way it was. We talked about getting a cleaning service but you can imagine who's job it was to arrange that and I never got around to it. 

I doubt I'm the only one with a dirty house. Many times I've heard, "We should have people over more often just so the house gets cleaned."  The problem really lies in that most women do not feel they are doing their job properly if their house isn't sparkly, their careers aren't envious, their kids aren't perfect and their husbands aren't happy. Why do we put that pressure on ourselves? I felt guilty every minute I was sitting down. Not anyone's fault but my own, I put that guilt on myself but it's hard to shake. Somehow, even if it kills us, we have to be superwomen and do it all. In the measly 24 hours allotted to us each day. No wonder no one gets enough sleep. 

Now that I find myself on my own, I feel a lot less guilt about the state of my house. No one but me to care if it's clean. The kids certainly don't give a shit. I'm only cleaning it now because we're getting ready to put it on the market. I could not care less if it was actually clean. And I'm taking the kids skating this afternoon whether that fucking bathroom is clean or not. 

The Daily Chai and Kids of Divorce, Part 2

The Daily Chai hates me. It has decided, in its existential crisis that because I didn't order it, it ceased to exist and now, just to spite me, it won't come back. This is what happens when hot drinks start questioning their reason for existence.

I wrote a couple days ago about how Kate is dealing with my separation and the essential splitting of her family as she knew it. Some of you asked, "But what about Anna?" Anna...is a different story. She's only four and she doesn't really understand what's happen or why it's happening. At this stage in her development, she is only beginning to understand cause and effect. Added to that, the world revolves around her and her wants and needs. She understands home and daycare, but her world is pretty small and therefore, fairly uncomplicated. The complexity of adult relationships is beyond her grasp of understanding and she only knows the close, affection bonds between herself and her sister, her mother and her father.  Bonds that have been tested harshly and, in the case of my ex and I, broken. She is striving for independence when she insists on picking her own clothes and getting herself dressed, but she still depends on both me and her dad for the majority of her other needs. She has three feelings: happy, sad and frustrated as fuck. So try explaining that while mommy and daddy don't want to be married anymore, that doesn't mean they don't love YOU! Yeah, right. Really? You guys used to love each other, what happened? Are you going to stop loving me one day? Why don't you love each other anymore? Why don't you live together anymore? Are you going to live together again? I want you to, so you better get on that.

The other night I went over to the house for a visit and Anna came out of the office with a woeful expression on her face and the sad tale of her mean sister Kate not drawing for her anymore because she was doing math. It set the tone for my entire visit, this tearful little face with the trembling chin. She got frustrated when I didn't draw the stick figure EXACTLY to her little dictator's unspoken expectations (I drew it with hands for the love of god, what the fuck was I THINKING??). Then it was time for bed and I do believe all parents will understand the extreme, frightening, nearly bloody tantrum that suddenly erupted at the words, "Okay my darling, bedtime!" Oh well. I carried her writhing, screaming body upstairs anyway and dumped her on my bed to get her undressed.

"But I didn't get to cuddle with you mommy! I want to cuddle!" She screamed in my face. Trying to stay calm, but needing to count to ten, I said, VERY sweetly, "Oh my darling, let's get your PJs on and then we will cuddle all you like!"

"I want to cuddle RIGHT NOW!"

"PJs first, cuddle after," I said, wondering why I had made that stupid stipulation. Now I had to stick to it or be disobeyed forever because my kids will never trust that I mean what I say if I back down one iota from "PJs first, cuddle after."  Why do we put that kind of pressure on ourselves as parents? Jesus.

Well. She started to cry and asked me again, probably for the 58th time since we split up, why don't I love Daddy anymore?

"I do love Daddy, darling, I always will. But it's complicated and sometimes grownups just can't be married anymore."

"Daddy says you don't love him." OH FUCK. Now, I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt here because Anna has been known, frequently, to say that I said things or he said things that were completely and totally untrue. So let's just say he didn't say that to her and move on.

I took that little morsel of human existence into my lap and she wrapped her arms and legs around me like a monkey and lay her damp face on my shoulder while I held her tight and stroked her hair. "I think you may have misunderstood Daddy. We will always love each other. But what's really important my girl is that I love YOU.  You are smart and special and you will always be my girl. I will always, always love you and be there for you when you need me." As I said that last part, I choked a little because the hardest part about this is that I'm NOT always there for her when she needs me. One of us is, she always has one parent available when she needs us, but sometimes you just need your mother. And there are days where I'm no where to be found, so essentially, I just lied to my baby. In that split second, I pictured her, 14 and hooked on crack because she was abandoned by her mother at the age of four and never learned how to form lasting bonds with people which led to a life of crime. Yes, that is where my head goes.

Anyway, she calmed down and I put her to bed and lay down beside her in that tiny toddler bed and sang I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane at her insistence. Fuck, that is a sad song to sing to the baby I have to leave behind.

Later, after Kate and I had spent some time watching this incredibly cute Minecraft vlogger (she admitted that half the reason she watches him is because he is so cute and the other reason is because he has pugs), Anna was crying out to me again. I went to her room, "Anna, Anna, my darling, my love, what's wrong now? You need to go to sleep and you've kicked off your covers," I said as I leaned down to tuck her back in.

"I had a hard day today mummy," God, they know how to break your heart, don't they? So back I went into that tiny toddler bed where she "made a spot" for me and I sang Mockingbird to her. Told her she was my girl, that she was my favourite and don't tell Kate. (don't worry, I told Kate the exact same thing moments earlier, they're both aware of my duplicity).

I have no words of wisdom about how to handle this hard time except to say that I express my deep love for her whenever I see her. There is no point in explaining why mummy and daddy don't live together. She doesn't understand, nor should she be burdened with those reasons at her age. Maybe one day, if she is still interested, I will try to explain it to her. Right now,  I concentrate on developing our bond into something meaningful and unbreakable with the hope that it will be strong enough to keep her from losing her mind as a teenager and becoming a prostitute for drugs.

The Daily Chai Just Saved My Life

Today's second chai latte might just have saved my life. I was going back home from an evening with my kids when this car comes up right behind me and starts flashing its high beams at me. I wasn't texting or weaving or anything ridiculous like that, just driving.  So I check that my lights are on and they are so I'm just like WTF, right? Well this person keeps flashing me and then keeps them on, shining them right in my mirrors. I'm starting to get a little worried but I'm thinking maybe my brake lights don't work or something but really, what the hell do you expect me to do about it right this second? Do you really think I'm going to pull over on a dark highway and say, "Howdy! What's up fucker?" So you can kindly let me know that my brake lights don't work because you've already proven to be such a great person already? NFW.

After a few kilometres I hit the roundabout and the person turns off. Phew. Not following me all the way in thank god! Then I get into town and see this person behind me again. Not sure of course that it's the same person, but the lights are the same. Not flashing but maybe they're now trying to be stealth as they plot my murder? Jebus. 

That's it! I need a latte! I pull into Starbucks because there is no fucking way I'm going home with that suspicious car following me. The car continues on and I'm in the clear. I text a girlfriend to tell her what happened:

I'm still laughing. Because you fucking know I checked my backseat double quick. 

The latte was great. Spilled it on my hand and found out it was fucking hot. Shock.