It's been a two-trip-to-the-gym type of day.

Today is one of those days I desperately want to write about.  I want to let the emotion flow and write things I know I shouldn't.  I don't care about punctuation and I really don't give a crap about the other party, their representation, and how they feel or what they want to interpret.  I just want to yell and scream and jump up and down and force them to make it over.

My kids are feeling all of this negative energy.  They can sense how tense I am every minute of every day.  They want to know why their parents never talk at all.  They keep asking why Daddy won't come in to see their new hamster.  And they don't understand why we can't just all meet for ice cream or pizza.

On top of all of the questions I can't answer, the boys are acting out more than ever.  Crews, who has been totally potty trained since February, has now decided to pee on the floor.  Any floor.  In any room.  Once, he even peed on his brother.  Teague pooped in a Target bag and hid it in the closet.  It literally took me hours to figure out where the smell was coming from.  He also hid the remote to the tv in my bedroom after I put him in time out for throwing a box at Crews' head. 

I could go on and on about the ridiculousness I've witnessed in the past week or so, but really, what's the point?  The kids' negative behavior is escalating.  Hurt is hurt.  Divorce sucks.  And some people just refuse to let go.

By the time I wake up tomorrow, I'm sure I'll have some scanned, stupid letter telling me to cease and desist talking about this and that's fine.  It won't be the first and surely won't be the last.  But I'm tired of sitting here waiting for something, ANYTHING, to happen so I can move on and get my kids back to the closest version of normal as possible.

I've never been more ready to type the the words, "THE END."