The Sidelined Wife(34)

Chapter Twenty-Nine


For an hour, I lay in my bed contemplating my life. And not just the  surface things or the weekend's events, but the whole of it. The good,  the bad, and the ugly. I turned to my blog for comfort and snuggled  under my covers on my bed, already in those frumpy pajamas as I waited  for my son to come home. For some reason, I gained strength when I let  my feelings out in words. It was like drawing poison out.

The self-loathing reached new heights today due to some unforeseen  circumstances this weekend. One being running into my ex-husband, who  apparently wants to start a middle-aged boy band by the way he looks,  and his gorgeous, half-naked, pregnant girlfriend. The other event,  let's just say, reminded me why my ex now lives with a woman that will  probably pop his baby out in the morning, hit the gym that afternoon,  and be back in her skinny jeans before dinner.

These unfortunate events had me thinking about everything that I'm not  and why I'm on the sidelines instead of in the game. But then it hit me  that if it wasn't for the people on the sidelines, there would never be  any game. The coach, who some might consider the most important person  in any game or team, does her work from the sidelines. She directs the  game and calls the plays. She's always strategizing and looking ahead.  She helps others believe in themselves and keep things in perspective.  She knows there is no room for ego.                       
       
           



       

For example, if my ex would have come to me and said, "I'm thinking  about a new look; what do you think of this?" and held up a picture of a  man twenty-five years his junior in pants that probably had him singing  soprano, I would have laughed. But then I would have told him that  while he wasn't a fashionista, I always appreciated that he didn't dress  like a slob. I also would have told him he really should learn to iron  his own pants and shirts. I don't even want to think about all the time I  wasted ironing his clothes for work. But I digress.

My point is that perhaps my work on the sidelines was far more important  than any play in the game. I would have kept him from looking like a  classic mid-life crisis wrapped up in a whole bunch of ludicrous. So  maybe he didn't think I was an all-star on the field, but I kept a lot  of stupid plays from being made, aka hair plugs. And once in a while, I  had a genius plan, like when I convinced my ex we should invest in  Netflix ten years ago. I bet he used his half of that money to buy his  alter-ego sports car. At the very least, I kept things in perspective.

Ladies, I wear frumpy flannel to bed. I gained weight while I was  pregnant and loved every minute of it because I knew what I was creating  was far more important than getting back into my tight jeans. Not that  sometimes I don't miss that firm butt. I may not be sexy or give the  kind of kisses that keep men begging for more, but I can keep a clean  and organized house, make well-balanced meals, and budget. I can help  with homework, even the complicated math equations. And when called  upon, I can throw a lovely dinner party. I even know how to fold fancy  napkins. Inconsequential things, I know. But you and I need not let  anyone make us feel like what we do on the sidelines is menial. It's  important work. It's not for the faint of heart or those who think more  of themselves than others.

And don't worry about getting back in the game, because there will  always be another yahoo who wants to sideline you or ignore you because  you aren't a supermodel or because you laugh at inappropriate times.  Guess what? You don't need them to validate you. You never did. Now go  eat a cookie-I mean, protein ball. (See earlier post for recipe and  thank me later.) And don't forget to thank your lucky stars that you no  longer have to clean up their pee on your toilet seat and that you get  to sleep in a snore-free zone.

Sidelined Wife in Chief and Loving It. (Or at least trying to.)

I threw off my covers and did what I did best: I made lunches and  breakfasts for the week and even organized my pantry while I waited for  Cody to come home. I also ate a protein ball or two. After all, I didn't  have dinner. In the midst of it all, I answered texts from Avery and  Delanie asking if I was all right. I was sure trying to be.

Cody walked in a little before nine, all smiles. I figured it was  because the Bears had won. I had listened to the end of the game on the  radio while I indulged in domestication.

He headed straight for the fridge like he hadn't eaten a thing in hours and grabbed a couple of cheese sticks. "Hey, Mom"

"How was your night?"

"Awesome. Coach brought me home and he let me drive his jeep."

"What?" I looked up from the grocery list I was making on the breakfast bar. "Why didn't Grandma or Grandpa bring you home?"

"Coach offered since he was coming this way and Grandma scares me when she drives and Grandpa was tired."

Ma was a terrible driver; she was always pointing at things like sale  signs when she drove and paying attention to anything instead of the  road.

"Oh, well, that was nice of him."

Cody, instead of pulling apart the cheese stick, just took a big bite of  it. "Yeah," he said through a full mouth. "He wanted me to tell you he  hopes you feel better and you should expect a call from him about  selling tickets at the school." Cody grimaced. "You won't embarrass me  at school, will you?"

After that question, I had no time to wonder why Reed needed to call me  about tickets or why he needed to call me at all. Or why he would,  considering he ignored me today, and how stupid he must think I am after  last night. I had other things to worry about.

"When have I ever embarrassed you?"

He leaned on one leg, just like his dad. "Rory thinks you don't like her."

"Why?"

"She said you ignored her when she tried to talk to you when you were selling tickets."

"I didn't ignore her. She said she loved you. How was I supposed to respond to that?"

Cody's face burned red and his eyes looked anywhere but at me. "She didn't mean it like you think."                       
       
           



       

My eyebrow raised. "How did she mean it?"

"That's just the way girls talk."

"Uh-huh. Do you love her?" I hated even saying the words.

"No."

Oh, thank goodness. I believed him, I think. "She caught me off guard.  The next time she comes to talk to me, I'll say, ‘my son doesn't love  you.'"

His head whipped my way and was met with my evil grin.

"You know you're not funny."

"Whatever, your lip is begging to smile. But don't worry, I'll be totally cool around her."

His face scrunched. "Don't use words like cool."

"What about gnarly, tubular, dynamite? Do those work for you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm going to play one game and then go to bed."

"Okay, I love you my Cody Bear. Remember when I used to call you that? I could mention that to Rory."

He walked past me shaking his head, not bothering to respond to my idle threats.

I finished my list and stayed up with him until he headed off to bed.  While he played, I enjoyed reading the responses to my post from  earlier.

Yes! Yes! And yes!

My ex decided to have every inch of hair on his body waxed after we  split up. He developed a terrible rash, which turned into an infection.  His new girlfriend was really into home remedies, so she ran him an  oatmeal bath and didn't tell him. He has a rare oatmeal allergy. Too bad  she called 911. I was still the beneficiary on his life insurance  policy. At least I got to enjoy the pictures his little barely legal  girlfriend posted online.

I giggled to myself. These women were hilarious.

I crawled into bed feeling much better than I thought I would about my  day. Then my phone rang. I wasn't keen on answering Reed's call. I knew  we would have to see each other from time to time, but I wasn't ready to  laugh over our date yet. And as much as I knew I wasn't that woman who  turned heads and made men lose their minds and other body parts, I would  be lying if I didn't acknowledge that part of me wished I was. I truly  was coming to terms with being on the sideline, but there was always  that little part of you that wondered if you could be the star on the  field. I debated too long and he hung up. That worked out well. Or so I  thought.

Sam, please call me. We need to talk.

What did we possibly have to talk about? He could email me about tickets, or I'm sure Lisa, who was in charge of them, would.

He didn't even give me time to call before my phone rang again.

This had better be really important. "Hello?"

"I'm sorry," were the first words out of his mouth.

"For what?" I found myself annoyed with him.