One Door Closes . . .

Don't you just hate it when you enjoyed reading a diet blog that was self deprecating and didn't take itself too seriously, only to realize the blogger is on a pity-party and now the blog has taken a turn toward "ick"?

Yeah, me too.

I loved coming here each morning after getting the boy off to school. I would drink my coffee and read blogs all morning, supporting all of you as you did (and still do) me. But all that came to a screeching halt on (IN UNISON) "June 25th!"

Since I'm not feeling grumpy these days, I am unable to identify with the woman who started this blog around June 2006. She was stuck in a loveless marriage, raising her children full-time, with the word "diet" always, always on her mind. Through 12 years of yo-yo dieting she was not a very successful dieter. That grumpy lady, sitting in an equally grumpy chair, numbed herself with food and self-loathing.

I, however, don't do that anymore. In fact, I haven't felt more alive and energetic.

So, with that said, it is time to close the door (so to speak) on the grumpy chair dieter.

When one door closes another door opens (hint hint). Please feel free to email me at grumpychair@hotmail.com

Thank you so much for all your support over the last few years and especially to those of you who stuck with me for the past seven months even though I was a horrible blogging buddy.

Goals, Fits and Giggles, Gideon's Army and Faith by George!

2009 Goals

1. Get divorce finalized.
2. Lose approximately 185 pounds of excess unworthy fat. * See number 1.
3. Find a job

Hey, I've met 2/3 of my goals already and it's only January 7th!

Fits and Giggles

Tuesday, I sat in a court room all day long waiting for my divorce trial to begin. We were lucky number "last" on the docket for that day "but show up at 9:30 am sharp!" Ugh.

The lawyers played a silly game of "the respondent is going to offer this to settle it now and avoid a trial and you, the petitioner will confer and accept or counter-offer." We are going to do this back and forth for six hours or until the very last minute before the divorce trial will start. You will be sitting in the courtroom waiting for your turn in front of the judge. Your lawyer and the other lawyer(s) will make head gestures to each other which means "let's talk outside the courtroom in the hallway". For each offer, your representing lawyer is going to come whisper to you, the proposed settlement. He will be excited by this and try to convince you it is a fine offer. Do not budge. Watch your lawyer's face fall. Remind lawyer why you are divorcing and once again tell him what your main goals are for that day. Try to look interested or at least pretend interest when your lawyer tells you the details of the umpteenth offer, even though your eyes are glazing over in boredom. Pull out a David Sedaris book and begin reading. Laugh at his shallow humor. Read another sentence and laugh some more, then realize you should be more quiet in the courtroom, since "court" is in session. Put book down, look up and realize the judge is staring at you, wondering why you are giggling. Seems the case she is hearing involves a mentally challenged young man who is currently addressing the court. Realize in horror that she thinks you are laughing at him. Think: should I hold up my book and shrug my shoulders in an "I'm sorry kind of way" or should I just pretend like that wasn't me giggling and look around for the insensitive asshole. Check your watch. Check the clock in the courtroom and realize you have only been there for 20 minutes and do not realize that you still have almost six more hours to wait. Wait. Play stupid lawyer game. Wait some more. Break for lunch (all that game playing makes those lawyers hungry.)As the second to last trial is winding down, panic ensues and finally, the weaker team (not you) will give in and a settlement is about to be agreed upon. Watch your lawyer sit at the Knights of the Round Table (you have to pass the bar exam to sit at this special table in the middle of the courtroom, which isn't really round but oval shaped) anyway, watch your lawyer look like the Cheshire cat! Watch him look at the clock and look at the "second to last" trial currently being heard. Watch your lawyer stand up very tall , smile (by the way, very creepy when lawyers smile) and swagger out the courtroom to ask if the opposing team is ready to settle because if not, he is ready for trial.

Gideon's Army

Your lawyer is ready for trial because of the army he has gathered: the nice man from June 25th, the lovely lady that you met at the temporary order hearing, the healer, waiting to testify via phone and of course, you. We are, apparently, a very scary and tough "bad ass" army.

The other team surrenders. A settlement is reached.

Cuz you Gotta have Faith by George

Twenty four hours later from that moment when it looked like an agreement would be forthcoming, and I do mean 24 hours to the minute, I am in the car driving, contemplating about Tuesday's events. I turn on the radio and I hear church bells. I think "what the . . ." (I listen to top 40) and look to see "Faith" scrolling on the radio. "Faith" by George Michael. I don't believe that song has been in the top 40 since . . . 1987?

I sang, clapped my hands and boogied in the driver's seat.

What's in store 2009?

Sadly, I have no idea. Does anyone out there have a crystal ball?

Though the end of June brought a horrific shocker; it also brought some freedom and a huge sigh of relief.

But trying to get rid of someone who is not worthy . . . can be very expensive and exhausting.

Yet I refuse to give up.

And remembering that this blog was started as a diet blog and not a woe is me blog, I am going to tell you what getting rid of unworthiness has been like, using a diet analogy:

Insert diet hell analogy tangent ***I'm the overweight lady on a strict diet, walking through room after room loaded with carbs and salty treats. As I walk through the door of each room, it is dark and I am relieved. The further I walk into the room, the treats begin to greet and tempt me.

Large yeast rolls are thrown at me, accompanied by little pats of sweet butter.

I close my eyes tightly and keep walking straight ahead to avoid seeing all the plates of pasta offered me. I think to myself "just get to the door with the exit sign as quickly as possible and maybe, this will be the last room that I have to go through."

Sometimes a room is dark for awhile and I know I am going to make it to the other side, when BAM, a plate of carbs appear out of no where. The plate might make me stumble or try to knock me down but I refuse its contents, and I regain my footing, walking toward the flashing red exit sign . . . where I go through another door and enter another dark room.

Only now, there are no temptations.

Now there are hurdles.

Each room holds lots and lots of hurdles. Tall brick walls, moats with crocodiles, big bad wolves, "Do Not Enter" signs.

When will it end?

***Diet hell analogy tangent is now over.

The past six months, I have gained faith and slowly lost it. I will find my faith again.

I went from not sleeping at all to sleeping like a baby, but have dealt with insomnia over the last few weeks. As my faith gets stronger, I will sleep again.

I have had to go from plan A to plan B. I must have faith that plan B will work.

Soon, I'm going to enter the last room. That room will be a courtroom to dissolve this marriage, among two other important things to be decided that day.

The healer told me I make my own faith happen.

I. Make. My. Own. Faith. Happen.

That will be my new mantra for 2009:

I make my own faith happen.

A Tale of A House, Lifestyles and Two Orthodontists

Keeping with my "A Tale of Two Cities" theme . . .

A House

A week ago Monday, I returned to Houston for a quick meeting with the lawyer and to pick up some of our belongings. I left early in the morning and drove the 3 hour and 45 minute drive south. As I approached the area close to my house, I saw the usual sky scape of planes descending for their landing at the airport.

The house no longer feels the same. No longer a "home".

When we bought it, we put laminate wood flooring in the foyer and formal living and dining room. We put new carpet in the rest of the house. Every room except the bathrooms, were painted deep earth tones, and "faux" wood blinds for all the windows were put up. We switched out most of the light fixtures and put in ceiling fans. (I'm very into "fake" and "faux". . . even the chandelier was fake.)

I thought I loved that house.

Now that I have been away for almost six months, and have had weeks and weeks to "talk it out" with the healer, I know it was just a faux fancy comfortable prison for the kids and I. On June 25th, he made it very easy for us to escape.

Lifestyles

To help lighten the creepy vibe of living in that household, I would buy the kids movies on DVD or pick up a little something fun for each of them, usually every other week.

Mommmm? Can we have McDonalds? Sure!
Mommmm? Can we order pizza? Sure!
Mommmm? Can we go eat Mexican food? Sure!

I had to pick my battles, so it was easier to say "yes" to the children because I was worn out from all the mistrust and bad vibes I got from him.

Today, we live like the Waltons.

Don't get me wrong, because I loved watching the Waltons on television. I mean, we live a much simpler life.

I refuse to buy the kids DVDs anymore. My best blogging buddy forever, Lori, told me about Redbox rentals. One dollar plus tax people . . . per day! My parents have satellite and the boy is always using the DVR to record a movie to watch later. (Okay, so that isn't very Waltonyish.)

And McDonalds is a rare occasional occurrence . . . the workers don't know me by my first name like they did in Houston.

The boy wakes up each morning and feeds his FFA goat and the girl's nanny. (See that is kind of "John Boyish" . . . doing chores before school.) The drive to school is about a 25 minute commute one way and we just started listening to books on CD ("A Long Way From Chicago" by Richard Peck). Gosh, I love the library!!!

The kids come home after school and do their few chores (feeding cats, dogs, goats and horses).

And of course, they are each involved in after school activities.

Two* New Orthodontists

It is actually a tale of three orthodontists. The original Houston ortho (nice and good) and the two new location orthos.

"Welcome to town" said the first new orthodontist who was referred to me from our old ortho in Houston. "I went to dental school with Houston ortho, but he was a few years ahead of me".

This old coot (the first new ortho) had a harem of beautiful young women working for him. Seriously. There must have been eight or ten assistants. When the boy notices, it is very obvious. Our first appointment was in early September. He made a second appointment in mid October, but insisted the boy get a good teeth cleaning first. Couldn't get the boy into the dentist until late October, so our second appointment first week in November. . . where he took expensive x-rays of the boy. X-rays that were already taken at his last appointment in Houston. No tweaking of the boy's braces was performed.

Finally, at the end of November, the third appointment; I get the shock of my life . . . his bill for proposed treatment.

Now, a little back history on the boy's teeth. He had a severe underbite which was fixed this past spring by the original orthodontist. He has been in braces for 20 months. I have already paid off 75% of our contract with the original orthodontist.

First new orthodontist wanted that exact $$$$ amount that I have already paid to the old Houston ortho, just to finish the boy's treatment.

Before he showed me his proposal, first new ortho raved about what a great job Houston ortho did on fixing the boy's underbite.

When I told him he was charging me too much, especially for a problem already fixed, he told me Houston ortho didn't charge me enough. Then had the following things to say to me:

Well, I'm not going to do it for free.
Maybe you should take him back to Houston to continue treatment.
You can find someone else to do it cheaper, but you will not get the same result.
You look angry.

No shint?

That dirty old, asshole coot wasted three months of my time and never tweaked the boy's braces.

Two weeks later:

Second new orthodontist takes us into his office.

Old 1960's decor (orange velvet wing back chairs to sit in and a lime green examining chair). Think: if the Brady bunch wore braces, this is what their orthodontist's office would have looked like.

Welcome to town. What brings you here? Divorce.

Ortho looks at the boys x-rays and paperwork. I graduated from dental school with Houston Ortho.

Me: Groan.

Second new ortho checks the boy, says he has some loose braces and agrees that his underbite is fixed. He looks at my contract with Houston ortho and sees that I was originally referred to first new ortho. He asks me: "what did first new ortho do to you"?

I say: Sir, I'm going to be honest with you. I have already paid 75% of the contract with Houston ortho and I cannot afford to pay another $$$$ to finish his treatment.

SNO (second new ortho): shakes his head sadly and says: I have no idea why first new ortho wanted to charge you that much. I'm sorry. I am going to honor your contract with Houston ortho and include his retainer in that remaining balance.

Me: holding back tears. Thank you.

He then changed out the boy's braces and we made an appointment for next month.

On the way home, I asked the boy what SNO's assistant looked like?

Boy: She was old and ugly.

Time to be Thankful

Well, I could write about the shinty week I had last week, starting with Monday. Or the shinty orthodontist who has wasted my time over the last three months. Or life in general.

But, instead I think I will focus on the things I have to be grateful for.

I'm thankful for:

• My parents.
• My sisters, their families and all their support.
• The 'healers', whom the kids and I talk to once a week. They lift us up.
• My minivan that is new and reliable.
• No longer having to live the life we had for so many years.
• Friends.
• Blogging friends who have been such a big support system for me over the last two and a half years; especially over the last five months.
• My children's resilience.
• Harry, the poodle.
• My sanity.
• And of course, my two beautiful children who are safe.

Happy, Safe Thanksgiving.

November

Gee whiz is it already the middle of November?!

The job search . . . not going so great. In my next life I'm coming back as a registered nurse or a truck driver. Plenty of job openings for those two.

Of course, it doesn't help that the economy is deteriorating, unemployment is high, lay-offs are happening and most companies are on a hiring freeze. I hope all of you are managing just fine in this stagnant/recession economy.

I am staying busy though. I put a lot of mileage on the minivan running everyone around. Also doing a bunch of paperwork for the divorce.

And last week, I got my first pair of old lady glasses. The kind with the progressive lenses. I have worn them for exactly one hour. Had to take them off while driving on a curvy county road and haven't put them back on. Felt like I was on the tilt-a-whirl ride.

Hope you all have a great and productive week!

Recalled to Life

"A Tale of Two Cities" was my all time "forced to read" favorite book while attending high school. Reading Charles Dickens' book for the first time, I recognized symbolism and foreshadowing. I relished in rich character descriptions so unlike my once favorite Jackie Collins or Sydney Sheldon's one dimensional characters. And speaking of Sydney, Sydney Carton was my favorite character in "A Tale of Two Cities" but looking back now, most likely it was because I loved Ronald Coleman's voice in the old black and white movie my ninth grade class was forced to watch.

Lately, I feel a kinship with Dr. Manette.

Buried how long? Eighteen years, repeated Dr. Manette.

Buried how long? Thirteen years, repeats Alicia.

My prison, of course, was not the Bastille. Mine was the layers and layers of self-doubt inter weaved into the layers and layers of fat put on during those off and on thirteen years with someone. Years of trying to force a marriage into normalcy, while fighting all the justifiable doubts. Anger at myself for knowing better, yet forced to admit that "I settled".

In stressful situations, Dr. Manette would return to his cobblers' workbench, hammering away at an unknown woman's unfinished shoe.

In stressful situations, Alicia would return to her pantry, munching away at pringles and doritos, hoping each bites swallow would ease the burning anger and pain.

Buried how long? Thirteen years.

Learning to accept and deal with anger while not rushing to the pantry is something new and liberating.

Learning to not obsess and seethe for hours over a situation that has caused anger is so much more healthier for you.

Learning to not lose any sleep over a situation is so much more restful.

Learning to step back from emotions and look at the situation is something I haven't quite mastered yet, but I am on the right path. And it is getting easier each day.

But I'm still not perfect.

Yesterday, I was angry at someone and also mad at my lawyer for taking the easy way out and mailing me the information instead of informing me via fax or telephone what was going on. I was justified in my anger at both of them.

Did I run to the pantry? Did I nervously obsess over the situation for hours and hours and let my anger seethe? Did I lose any sleep over it?

No to all the above.

But I did fail to leave my emotions behind when I was told of the situation. The total energy expended on the situation was less than 30 minutes.

Before the burial, I was a healthy, slender, fun-loving and witty woman. But as I reached 30, I began to feel inadequate because I wasn't married. No one made me feel inadequate, it was a ridiculous feeling I conjured up all by myself. I'm an old maid. If I don't have children within a few years, I won't be able to have children because I will be too old.

At the ripe old age of 31 . . . I settled.

Buried how long? Thirteen years.

The past five years have been the last nail, slowing being hammered down on my coffin.

I didn't realize it right away, but on June 25th, a stranger rescued me from my grave. Four months later, I'm still shaking off thirteen years of dirt and grime. My reflection is almost unrecognizable in the mirror . . . aged and sad. But I'm alive and getting healthier each day.

The selfish thing that someone did this past week to spark a little anger in me is over with. I can't control that person and demand that they do the right thing even though someone knows that the decision made, in no way benefits his children.

Sydney Carten was a narcissistic and boorish character who knew he had squandered his life away. But he loved Lucy. In the end, he did a heroic and selfless act which benefited Lucy and her family.

Is someones recent decision redeemable?

Only in a Charles Dickens' novel.

A Lesson About Things

Had my situation been a phone call saying someone wanted a divorce and was leaving me . . . things would have been a wee bit easier . . . I would have packed his bags and left them by the front door. And the kids and I would still be settled in our home in Houston. Except, should that have happened, we would be sitting in a dark, hot house with no electricity right now.

But the above is just a pipe dream scenario that I have promised myself, I will never think about again.

Instead, I got handed the scumbag phone call of which, if I say so myself, I handled very nicely. Panic only ensued after I hung up the phone.

So, in my frenzy to get the heck out of Houston, I packed the car with a few clothes for the kids, some clothes for me, the girl's bike, Harry's dog cage and two plastic containers with all of our important papers. For the first 15 minutes, I ran around in circles on the phone with my mother. I had to finally hang up with her so that I could focus and concentrate.

After about 45 minutes, the mini van was packed, (by the way, he had just bought me a new 2008 mini van the last week in May - so score one for me and the new car . . . though I did get stuck with the car note). I was ready to head to my parents' house in northeast Texas.

On my way out of the neighborhood, I noticed a man in his wheelchair, struggling to get out of the road and up his driveway. I stopped the car and asked him if he needed help. So I jumped out of my car, pushed him up the driveway and into his house. Waved goodbye and headed north.

I got about 30 minutes away when a nice person called me asking for my help. He was at my house, so I turned around and went back home . . . reluctantly. I was afraid because of the decision I made regarding the phone call, that someone might be very displeased and try to hurt me. I told this to the very nice person and his two friends. After a three hour interview, the nice man walked away with what he needed and I, once again hit the road.

By the way, I looked like shint! I had been to the YMCA and did an aerobics class that morning. Afterwards, at home I blogged and drank coffee for a raging headache. Instead of showering, I took some sinus meds and tried taking a nap, when I got the call. So I did not feel pretty around the nice man and his nice friends. But they were very nice and tried to reassure me that the children and I were victims of someone.

The following Tuesday, my dad and I went to Houston where I retained a divorce lawyer, packed up most of the food items in the freezer and pantry to bring back to my parents' home. We were in my dad's truck, so we were able to bring back my son's bike and his TV and Xbox 360 stuff.

One more trip down with my son at the end of July for his last ortho appointment and I was able to bring back the rest of the kids' summer clothing, my summer clothing, another TV, my blender and a handful of toys for the girl. The mini van was jam packed full.

Currently, I would say that 90% of the kids' and my personal belongings and joint property that I have requested, are still in the house.

I was giving him an update on the kids once a week, as he is unable to have contact with them at this time. But I am not obligated to do that. And after a glowing report two weeks ago on how well the kids have adjusted to living here, going to school and all the fun after-school activities, someone felt mad and decided to be even a bigger shint.

So I am now, not allowed entry into the house (per him) that I made a home, unless he is there with me to "supervise" what I take. He has offered to meet me halfway with the items I have requested (the kids' winter clothes, my winter clothes, my Sunbeam mixer and some of the girl's toys) but I have no intention of meeting him halfway anywhere.

When I hung up the phone I was angry. Blind fury. But once I took a quick minute to think about it, I begin laughing hysterically.

All of those items we want and think we need are just things. And things can be replaced. Maybe not right away, but eventually.

All those things . . . we will eventually get, once the division of property has been approved by the judge.

All those things . . . that are safe in my house which wasn't destroyed by the hurricane mean less to me now, as I see the destruction of Galveston and all the things lost in the hurricane.

And I think about that nice man who works and lives on the coast; I hope he and his coworker (a lovely lady I met during the temporary order hearing) and their families are safe and their homes were not destroyed.

Until the day of reckoning (otherwise known as divorce finalized day . . . which I have no idea when that will happen), someone has to go home to a house full of things; his wife's personal items in the bathroom drawers, clothes still in her closet along with all her exercise stuff and hand weights. His children's bedrooms are fully furnished with all their toys in tact. Other than sparsely clothed closets, you would never know a family doesn't live there.

Someone's family is now a triangle.

Wife, son and daughter.

The three of us make a very strong, three-sided triangle family.

We don't have our things but we have each other.

The 90's called. They want their music back.

I have been researching and organizing my great 2008 job search for the last week and have stayed away from the blogging sphere for far too long. In fact, I didn't even recognize my dashboard!

Thanks to all who offered to look at my resume. But the truth is, nothing is going to make "sold boiler tubes" sound sexy. Though, I might reconsider all the offers of resume critiquing should I not be too successful in landing any interviews. Now I just need to dye the gray streak in my part line, get a nice haircut, buy a pair of grown up shoes (I have been living in flip flops for the last five years) and practice answering the tough interview questions so I don't look like a deer caught in the headlights when asked them. Sounds easy enough.

Another thing I have been up to, is reading a book that I happened to have bought seven years ago and never read. I grabbed that book when I was in Houston in late July . . . in fact, I grabbed all my "self-help" books (all never read) when I was in Houston that day.

Anyway, I picked it up a couple of weeks ago, when someone (he who shall not be named) called me codependent. Someone said "codependent" like it was the filthiest and worst thing in the world to be.

Well guess what? Not any more.

Melody Beattie's "Codependent No More" is a real eye opener. I mentioned this book to another blogger who came up with an interesting thought: "how many stay-at-home-moms fit the codependency description?"

Probably most.

If you have never read it, I suggest reading it. We'll all discuss later.

Now on to the 90's music. I think the early 90's was one of my favorite times as a single woman. Gosh I miss my long flannel shirts and Doc Martins.

I noticed that I have been listening to a lot of music in the car from that time frame (Pearl Jam, Dave Mathews Band, Stone Temple Pilots, The Cranberries, Concrete Blonde, Counting Crows and Blues Traveler). Their music makes me happy.

One song hit home for me and it is this week's anthem. I think of the words being said by the getting stronger current Alicia to the grieving Alicia (I know, weird) but it makes me feel good and who doesn't want to feel good?

On June 25th, I had to make some hard choices. Immediately. Those choices meant I had to leave behind my home and way of life. It also meant my children would have to adjust to new surroundings, like going from the suburbs to the rural life.

And as of today, I am so proud of all the decisions I made on that "independence/freedom" day and since then.

So to steal from Wendy, who always leaves her blog with a phrase or two from a song . . .

Just Wait

words and music by J. Popper

If ever you are feeling like you're tired

And all your uphill struggles leave you headed downhill

If you realize your wildest dreams can hurt you

And your appetite for pain has drinken its fill

I ask of you a very simple question

Did you think for one minute that you are alone

And is your suffering a privilege you share only

Or did you think that everybody else feels completely at home

Just wait

Just wait

Just wait

And it will come

If you think I've given up on you you're crazy

And if you think I don't love you well then you're just wrong

In time you just might take to feeling better

Time is the beauty of the road being long

I know that now you feel no consolation

But maybe if I told you and informed you out loud

I say this without fear of hesitation

I can honestly tell you that you make me proud

Just wait

Just wait

Just wait

And it will come

Just wait

Just wait

Just wait

And it will come

If anything I might have just said has helped you

If anything I might have just said helped you just carry on

Your rise uphill may no longer seem a struggle

And your appetite for pain may all but be gone

I hope for you and cannot stop at hoping

Until that smile has once again returned to your face

There's no such thing as a failure who keeps trying

Coasting to the bottom is the only disgrace

Just wait

Just wait

Just wait

And it will come

. . .

Boo Hoo! Yahoo!!*

*Title stolen from Grumpette's kindergarten.

Yes, today was the long awaited, first day of kindergarten and darn, if I didn't forget to weigh this morning. I'm hoping for a 12 pound loss since June 25th. My next goal will be another 12 pounds by Turkey day (also known as Thanksgiving).

Still struggling to exercise, but now that school has started . . . no more excuses.

I have oodles of paperwork to do today, so I hope you all have a great Monday.