Tag Archives: Ex Files

The Ex-Files – You Can’t Cut Noodles In A Bowl!

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It had been an extremely busy day! I was running a Day Care in our home so that I could pay the rent and put food on the table. Since CP wasn’t working I really had no choice. He was too good to go out and find a job, any job, to keep our heads above water. He was resigned to sitting and waiting for his last employer to call him back to work. He had been laid off for months! Landlords want to be paid. Kids need to be fed. What the hell is wrong with this man?

On this particular day, I had 7 kids altogether, two of them were my own. I was taking care of kids ranging from 8 months old to 5 years. I wasn’t just babysitting. I ran my Day Care like a preschool. We had planned activities throughout each day. I didn’t want the kids getting bored and I wanted them to go home having learned something and ready to tell their moms what they did at Debbie’s house that day. I didn’t want them just sitting in front of the tv all day.

The last kid was picked up at 5:00pm and that was my time to prepare dinner for my family. CP came home around 5:30pm and normally I had dinner on the table at just the right time. If he decided to eat, that is. More than half the time he just went to bed. There was never any conversation or interaction between me and CP or he and the kids. His job was finished, so ended his responsibilities for the day.

This day, however, he showered and actually sat down to have dinner with us. It wasn’t anything fancy. Grilled cheese sandwiches and ramen noodles, simple and filling. My daughter was about 5 and my son, 2. They were hungry from playing and socializing all day. I always got my son’s food ready first because he was smaller and just couldn’t wait as long as my daughter. I gave him 1/2 a sandwich and a bowl of ramen that I had let cool and cut into shorter pieces. Those noodles could be quite long and hard for little kids to eat.

My daughter was anxious for her food, but her sandwich was still in the pan. The ramen noodles were done so I scooped her up a helping. I sat it on the table near CP and asked him if he could please cut her noodles for her. His answer was remarkably stupid and I’ll never forget it. He said, “You can’t cut noodles in a bowl!” I asked, “Why the hell not?” He just looked at me and pushed the bowl over to our daughter. I was pissed. I grabbed a fork and a table knife and marched over to the table. I proceeded to cut the noodles as if I were cutting a steak. Then I moved the noodles around and repeated the same thing. I said to CP, “That’s how you cut noodles in a bowl. You’d think I could get just a little help from time to time because as you can smell, I’ve just burned SR’s sandwich.” I gave him the burned sandwich and started a new one for SR.

He ate his burned sandwich and as we’ve established in the last posting of The Ex Files, he was too big of a coward to say or do anything. Oh, except pout. He pouted while he ate and then he went to bed. Goodnight, asshole.

The Ex-Files – Cowardice

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The last few months with my ex were a bit stressful but my baby sister was there. She and her son, a baby at the time, needed a place to stay. I don’t recall the situation that led to that need, but she moved in with us. CP didn’t have a problem with it. I figured I could help her and she could help me. It was nice having another adult to talk to. Heaven knows CP wasn’t adult enough to fill that need.

I had enjoyed those first few months of my nephew’s life. I was there when he was born and I felt very close to my sister and to him. When we moved, I hated leaving her behind. She was still living there and I thought CP would at least be polite and kind to her. She wouldn’t be in his way, after all. He would be working most of the day and would possibly not even see her at all. What was to happen still pisses me off to this day and proves exactly the coward that man was and probably still is.

Not too long after we left, my sister had been out for the day and when she got home she couldn’t get the front door open. The key turned, the door unlocked but something was causing it not to open. She pushed and the door budged just enough to find that all of her belongings were stacked in front of the door. Apparently, CP had come home, found her gone, and proceeded to pack all of her stuff and block the door with it.

Not only did he not have the balls to ask her to move out, he never once took into consideration the baby he would be making homeless! My sister had packed a diaper bag when she left the house that day but she had planned to be home that evening so there was no need to bring all of the diapers, all of the baby food, or blankets, or extra clothing, etc. She needed those things! How dare he block the door to prevent her from getting in! There she was, stuck with none of the things necessary to take care of a baby.

I knew CP was a jerk but I never realized how big a coward he was until that night. If he was too chicken to speak to her in person, he could have left her a note telling her that she needed to find another place to live. It would have been better than what he did! Thankfully, my sister was able to rely on the baby’s other grandmother, and she eventually retrieved her things from the house.

What gets me is, how the hell did he think she was going to move out if all of her belongings were preventing her from entering the house? Not only was CP a coward but he was a real dumbass, too!

The Ex-Files – The Electric Bill

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In my home town, our electric company would send a notice to shut off power if and when your bill became 3 times your average monthly bill. So if my average bill was $100 and it reached $300 without being paid, then a shut-off notice would arrive in the mail.

When this happened, and thankfully it wasn’t often, I called them to make payment arrangements. That way, I could keep the power on until CP’s next paycheck, at least. They were good about working with their customers. It wasn’t often that our electric bill would get out of hand because I was the one in charge of paying the bills. Later on, when CP took over, he wouldn’t even open the damn bills!

This particular time I got behind on the bills because of doctor visits and we had to pay out of pocket because we had no insurance. I figured I’d just “rob Peter to pay Paul” as they say and as I had done many times. We were living paycheck to paycheck and sometimes we didn’t even make it. Borrowing money from my Dad or my Grandmother became par for the course.

When the shut-off notice came I really didn’t want to have to borrow money yet again, so I tried the old “rob Peter to pay Paul” bit and I just couldn’t quite work it out. Too many bills that pay period. I was able to extend the shut-off date by about 5 days, so that was something. I explained to CP the situation, and he told me in no uncertain terms that he would take care of it and was sure his uncle would help us out. Of course, I was skeptical, knowing CP the way I did. I made sure he knew the shut-off date, day, and time (which was by 5pm). “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

It was Monday and 2 weeks had passed. We had until Wednesday, 5pm to get the bill paid. I reminded CP. He got that ‘pissed off for being reminded’ look on his face that I wanted to smack off with a cast iron skillet. I knew what I had to do because I knew what was going to happen. Just like always, I was the one who had to take care of everything.

I borrowed the money to pay the electric bill from my grandmother on Tuesday and went to the electric company office and paid the bill in person. I was relieved but pissed that it fell on me, yet again. I didn’t say a word about borrowing the money or paying the bill to CP when he came home that day. He had had 2 weeks to go see his uncle about borrowing the money. He had come home by 1pm nearly every day both of those weeks. What does he do? He waits until the last possible freakin’ minute, just as I knew he would.

He came home Wednesday, a bit later than he had for the last couple weeks. It was 3pm. He went in to take a shower. A good, long hot shower that lasted for an hour, I might add. It was now 4pm. He came out of the shower, got dressed and while putting his shoes on he told me he was going to his uncle’s house to borrow that money. I was so freakin’ angry I told him, “Don’t bother. I already took care of it because I knew you wouldn’t.” He started to raise his voice and say something. I interrupted him, “You and I both know that IF you got the money for the bill, by the time you get to the electric company office to make the payment it would have been closed and our power shut off. That’s what happens when you wait until the last fucking minute!” He was pissed, which I knew he would be. How dare I not tell him I took care of it already? How dare I cause him the extra work of taking a shower! I knew what he was thinking but he knew better than to say it out loud.

You see, he was a coward for such a narcissistic asshole. He knew that if he started an argument he would lose. He also knew better than to hit me because I told him after our second date so many years prior that if he ever did hit me, he’d better make it good because when I get up he’d be the sorriest son of a bitch that ever walked the face of the Earth.

Go me, right? It worked. He never hit me, ever.

The Ex-Files – Milk & The Kitchen Floor

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I ran a daycare in my home for several years when my kids were small. I had to do something to bring in money to pay the rent, keep the lights on, and feed my kids. CP wasn’t doing much working during that time. Mostly he just sat on his ass in the middle of my business, cramping my style, and playing solitaire with a deck of cards that I would have loved to shove down his throat.

One day, I had 7 kids counting my two, for the entire day. I was extremely busy and a bit stressed, mostly because of CP. I always tried to sweep and mop the kitchen floor at least every other day because when you’re feeding a bunch of kids at least 2 meals a day, it gets rather messy. CP was naturally sitting at the kitchen table, playing with his stupid cards and in my way, as usual. I thought, Dammit, I wish you’d go sit in someone else’s way for a change. He did finally leave. He probably went to his cousin’s house.

It was mid-afternoon and the kids were either doing puzzles, napping, or watching PBS. It was calm for the time being so I figured I’d have time to sweep and mop the floor. I swept first, obviously. I had most of the floor mopped when the toddler woke up from his nap. I quickly finished and went to get the little whipper-snapper.

The house was still semi-calm. I sat down to rest and do puzzles with 2 of the boys who were ages 6 and 7. Then I read a funny story about a rabbit who got lost. The day was coming to an end. I helped the kids get ready for their moms to pick them up. When they had all been picked up, I went to the kitchen to start dinner. About the same time, CP came home.

CP decided he was going to finish off the coffee left in the pot. He liked milk in his coffee, so he grabbed the gallon jug of milk from the refrigerator. It was virtually a full jug. I don’t know how he did it, but he dropped the entire jug and it hit the floor with a big crash and milk splattered everywhere. I said to CP, “Good grief. I just mopped the floor!” He laughed and apologized. He said he would clean it up.

He did clean up the mess, mopped the floor again and everything. The problem was that he had to show me how much dirt came off the floor when he mopped. I probably rolled my eyes, thinking here we go again. I knew what was coming and I was right.

He proceeded to tell me how he would mop the floor. He went through the entire process in great detail while I stood there completely disgusted and ready to stick that mop up his ass so far he could taste it.

When he finished this detailed explanation of the process, as if I’m stupid and never mopped a floor before in my life, I told him, “I didn’t do a thorough clean because I had 7 kids here all day, as you well know.” He started to say something and I cut him off, “I don’t have time when the house is full of kids. I have meals to fix, and activities to do, diapers to change, kids to take to the potty. I also take the kids outside to play, read to them, play with them, take them to the park and other various places, all while trying to fit in the household chores that won’t get done unless I do them myself. So, I guess if you’re not satisfied with the way I mop the floor or anything else around here, then maybe you can get off your ass and do it yourself from now on.” I walked away… He grumbled something under his breath and went out to the garage to pout and drink beer… I guess this is how I ‘drove him to drink.’ Ha.

Finally, now I can fix dinner. Geesh!

He did this kind of thing all the time… He always had to tell me how he would do something, how his uncles used to do something, or how his mother did something. Quite frankly I didn’t give a shit how anyone else did anything. I did things my way and I still do.

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The Ex-Files – The Fight

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I’ve just not had it in me to write about the ex for quite some time. I found myself thinking too damn much about him and the things he put me through. Seems like once I start thinking or writing about it, it gets stuck in my brain and won’t let go! I hate that.

I can’t believe it’s been since April 2018 that I last wrote about my ex! If you haven’t read the previous installments, you’ll find links to each one at the end of this post.

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It was a very long 2 months. Dad left in May with our belongings – not CP’s things or bigger furniture because CP was supposed to move those things when he followed us out in August. I knew deep down that he wasn’t going to move out there with us. And I was right.

June rolled around and things were tense. My baby sister was staying with us with her first-born, just a baby at the time. I’m so thankful I had her there to keep me sane. Plus, she was witness to what transpired the week of CP’s birthday.

The kids were so excited about their father’s birthday. They called him “Pop.” They wanted to bake Pop a cake. I thought it was a great idea. On the day of CP’s birthday, while he was at work, the kids and I baked him a chocolate sheet pan cake. It was nothing fancy because I didn’t have the extra money for candles or cake decor. The kids didn’t care. They were excited anyway.

When CP came home from work, the kids greeted him with “Happy Birthday, Pop!” and “We baked you a cake, Pop!” I don’t remember his response. It wasn’t very enthusiastic and he went off to take a shower. When he finished, I reminded him that the kids had baked him a cake for his birthday and he said, “That was nice,” and “I’m tired. Going to bed.” You worthless piece of crap, I thought. The kids were so disappointed and on the verge of tears. I told them, “Let’s have cake!” “Yay!” they yelled. I figured it was their idea to make a cake, they helped (ages 2 and 5 at the time) and why the hell shouldn’t they enjoy the damn cake? Just because their father was inconsiderate and didn’t care that he hurt their feelings doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have some cake!

Three days passed. Each night, CP passed on the cake and went to bed. Each night, the kids, my sister, and I had cake. On the fourth night, he came home drunk, with an attitude and ready to start a fight.

He skipped dinner, but he had cake. He grabbed a big piece of cake – it was at least 5 or 6 inches squared. He put it on a napkin. He walked into the living room and sat down in his chair and ate that piece of cake with NO fork and with a pissy look on his face. I knew shit was going to hit the fan, just by the look on his face. I didn’t like that he was eating like this in front of the kids. What kind of example does that set? No fork, no plate. Seriously. I became more irate as the minutes ticked by…

“Where’s your fork?” I asked, but I didn’t think it was with a snotty tone. He responded angrily, “I don’t need a fucking fork.” I was livid. I said, “So, you’re just going to eat like an animal?” I don’t remember how it went from two big attitudes to a huge fucking fight so quickly. It ended up with him saying something like, “I suppose I’m no longer welcome to go to Missouri?” It was clear at that very moment that he was looking for a fight and a reason to blame ME for him not moving to Missouri with us. I told him, “You got that right, asshole.”

Then, it escalated even more. He just blasted me with hatefulness and things he had never said to me before. I know he was drunk but I firmly believe a drunk person does not say things he doesn’t mean.

He told me that I was a bitch, just like my mother.

He said that I spent all of his money.

He blamed me for his drinking.

He said that I neglected our son because he was a boy. 

He told me I was spiteful.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He had always told me I was nothing like my mother. He always said it was our money, not his money. He said I was a good mother. I couldn’t believe this crap! How could I be to blame for his drinking? Did I twist his arm and pour fucking beer down his throat? No! He says I’m spiteful?? Holy crap. Pot calling the kettle black, I’d say.

Well, that was the end. The ABSOLUTE END. There would be no second chance. I would not accept an apology ever. It would be wasted on deaf ears. I will not be disrespected like that! Up until that night, it was always subtle manipulation and an attitude of superiority – he never said he was better, smarter, etc., but he sure as hell made comments to make me feel that I was stupid. My mother made me feel the same way and now, I realize people don’t do that unless they’re the ones lacking somehow.

I had had enough over the years but was too stubborn to put an end to it before. I say stubborn because I don’t like to fail. I will bust my ass to make something work, to get something right so I won’t have to admit failure. It’s not like I didn’t have feelings for this man. I wouldn’t have stayed at all if I didn’t love him. I wouldn’t have had children with the man if I didn’t love him. He killed all of those feelings in one freakin’ night.

The kids and I got on the airplane in July and I’ve never regretted it once. He regretted it. He regretted ever saying any of those things to me. I know this because of a conversation I had with his mother. I’m sure he put her up to it. She asked me if I would take him back. I laughed and said, “Absolutely not.”

Stay tuned for the next installment…..

This is the seventh installment of a series. If you missed the first six installments, you can find them here: The Break-Up & The Concert, Finding My Own Place, Financial Burden, Spite, Accusations, and Planning The Move.