Hair Color

Color –noun
1. the quality of an object or substance with respect to light reflected by the object, usually determined visually by measurement of hue, saturation, and brightness of the reflected light; saturation or chroma; hue.
2. the natural appearance of the skin, especially of the face; complexion: She has a lovely color.
3. a ruddy complexion: The wind and sun had given color to the sailor’s face.

After being a blonde for most of my life I am now sporting a beautiful head of black hair. It is also much shorter than it used to be. Why do you ask have I done this?

Well first it started with the birth of my children. They were amazingly born with red hair. My husband had brown hair and based on the color of my roots when they grew in I assumed that my hair was probably a light brown or at the least a dirty blonde. Dying your hair since you were 10 with either sun in, or whatever you could find that would lighten it up can give you cause to pause and reflect when someone asks what your actual natural color is.

After hearing the question, “Where does your daughter get her red hair?” about a hundred times and after seeing that my husband thought it was less than amusing when I said “The UPS guy” I decided to dye my hair to match hers. This new strawberry blonde color I was sporting lasted for a long time.  Then after baby #3 I decided I wanted to try to cosplay as Lara Croft to Akon. Well we missed Akon, but I dyed my almost 10 iches of length hair a wonderful dark brown. And while I thought I would hate it, it turned out that this new color really looked great on me. So I decided to keep it. In fact, a couple weeks later I just went ahead and went all the way black. It is what I have it now. Though I am in current contemplation on what some blue highlights might look like. That is another post I am sure.

Now while there are lots of things that I still can post to bring you up to speed on my life in its current state I will leave you with the comment that my estranged spouse said about my hair and the transitions that it made over the almost 14 years we were together.  It is amazing what people associate with change. Just see for yourself:

Blonde haired wife: I loved my blonde haired wife. She was great. Loving and kind.

Red haired wife: She’s okay. She gives me less attention now that we have kids. Not as good as blonde wife.

Black haired wife: She’s a bitch.

Why does my hair color matter? Not sure. Maybe it represents a transition in my life where each color is an example of how something around that time changed. I do say this. Blonde wife for him is dead. She died and she is really never coming back.  Here are my personal definitions of my hair color change:

Blonde haired wife: Doormat, says yes to everything (yes I mean EVERYTHING) always does what she is told.

Red haired wife: Has more responsibilities with taking care of offspring, can’t always say yes now, can’t seem to please the husband.

Black haired wife: Stong, independent woman. Mother, Daughter and friend. Still here to help but knows when to say no, and when to say yes.

These definitions are I am sure up for debate for anyone who knows me or the afore mentioned estranged spouse. But for now I am happy to finally after 14 years feel like I can be happy to be me.

Always Me,

Lady X

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Furniture

You want to know what sucks about moving when you have lived in the same house with the same man for 9 years? Dividing your stuff up. Now this sounds terribly daunting right? Not so. I had no problem leaving most everything there.

Why you ask?

Well first I was moving into a tiny 2 bedroom apartment. Why would I want a ton of crap to put into it?

Second, I really didn’t want to take more stuff to remind me of what a failure I was as a spouse and how no matter how hard I had tried I just couldn’t make it work.

So when I sat down with my husband to discuss what I was taking it was simple. Or at least I thought it should be.

I am taking the washer and dryer, the sofas, and my personal belongings. You (mr. fired husband) can keep everything else. What does everything else look like? The king size bed and its pretty frame I chose, the dining room table, our new fridge, microwave and stove. The house, oh and the really big one, the RV.

So what do I get in return for leaving him with almost everything else? Complaints that I am taking the washer and dryer. I picked them out, so why shouldn’t I get to take them? Plus the thought of taking 3-5 children’s worth of laundry to the laundry mat sickens me and makes me almost need medical attention.

He tried to argue that I can’t take them. They are a fixture of the house.

Why are they a fixture?

Cause they plug in.

Is that the stupid or what? After some arguing I of course win, and the prize? Well the Washer and Dryer of course.  So we move on and he doesn’t care that I am taking the sofas cause he hates them anyways. I leave lots of the girls toys and the big tx, the ps2, our big king sized thousand dollar bed. I let him keep the RV, his truck and of course the house. So what is the point of this particular post? Not sure it has much of a point other than me wondering why I am again hearing through the grapevine (I must stop listening to this) that I am selfish and that I left him with nothing.  I took hardly anything when I left, I cleaned the house afterwards since his disability makes it hard for him to clean. Probably why he hasn’t cleaned hardly a thing in 6 years.

I just wonder why no matter what I do to be kind, and helpful and make the transition from married unhappy family, to a separated happy family is for nothing. It doesn’t matter what I do, I left, therefore I am the bitch, and that is my new forever title.

 

So I end this post with the knowing that if you are the one that leaves, no matter what you do to make it easier, and even if its the only thing you can do, you are still an asshole.

I am okay with that.

With love the asshole,

Lady X

The First Night

First –noun
10. the person or thing that is first in time, order, rank, etc.
11. the beginning.
12. the first part; first member of a series.

I left my husband on the 1st of the year. I thought it was poetic to start my life over with my kids on the 1st of 2011. After what an epic fail 2010 was I really wanted to feel like I was going to do something memorable and wonderful with 2011. So my memorable act would be me, the quiet and meek lady that I am “showing my children how to be quitters” (words from my X) by quitting my marriage of 9 years and putting my big girl panties on and leaving. Now I am just hunting for something wonderful to do and I want to make sure that I do it with my kids.

So when I told my kids that we were moving out and that Daddy wasn’t coming with us they were unfazed. Is this the moment when I should be concerned? Does this just tell anyone who reads this that they were happy to not see their parents hating on each other day to day? You the reader may puzzle this out on your own.

The week before we moved out I told their dad. Get ready for this. He was shocked! I know what you are thinking. Of course he was shocked, you just told him you were leaving in a week! That isn’t much time at all. Well can I say that in the 3 months previous to that he had told me at least 3 times that I should get a job so that I could make our savings last longer (he’s disabled and doesn’t work and has no intention of trying to either) and that if I didn’t like it here I should just get my own place. So he actually told me to leave.  Not only that but when I asked him about it he told me that it was a test (him asking me to leave) and that I failed by getting my own place. Wow, what a stupid test. How did that blow up in your face?

Now my oldest is 7, and the younger ones are 5 and 2. So I know that honestly they are too young to understand much.  I didn’t want this to seem like a big deal. I don’t hate on my kid’s dad to them. I try to even puff up his image when he is being a selfish ass. I wanted this to be a simple move, that was predicated on me not wanting to fight anymore. So I took them to see the apartment the day before we were to move in. They were very excited to say the least. I was glad of that. And of course their dad was very unhappy about the move. He even asked if we would stay home one more night so that he could make it memorable before we left.

Well I said no. I never say no by the way. I spent years being the yes lady. So finally saying no felt good.

I am sure after reading all of this drama and then reading the title you are wondering what the purpose of this post was. Well here it is.

Our first night in our tiny apartment was great. My 2 oldest kids have suffered night terrors for years. And since moving out, leaving behind the stress of the unhappy fighting and tense environment my kids slept all night. No nightmares, no night terrors. So while occasionally I feel guilty for taking away his kids, for being a quitter, for not finding a way to make it work, and for creating a situation of drama with the whole separated, divorce on the way, and of course the visitation scheduling. I can say with good conscience that I know what I did was for the best because it is reflected in how much better my kids are doing. That my peeps is the only confirmation that I need that I did what was best.

Always,

Lady X