Pain in the Booty? Try Budda.

I’m kinda crabby.

And this is why.

I truly am a perpetually positive person but I have this sabotaging force in my life called “the ex-husband” whose presence is as constant and unwanted as a hemorrhoid. Which personally, I feel is a perfect analogy considering the anatomical geography of such an affliction.

Unfortunately, this patooty pain is the father of my wonderful children, a fact that requires me to smile politely and nod when he says or does something completely and absolutely asinine instead of saying, “That was completely and absolutely asinine!” I have to bite my lip, say nothing, and instead be satisfied by simply thinking to myself:

“That was completely and absolutely asinine.”

Yeah.

Not so satisfying.

I am a Christian, Catholic actually, but I really think that divorce (when children are involved) should require a person to temporarily borrow from the Buddhism buffet when times are trying:

I’ll take the “every other weekend” helping of nirvana, please. And why yes. A dash of grated enlightenment sounds wonderful. But just a sprinkle.

You see, I am well aware that Christianity is founded on a plot line all about endurance and suffering, one that leaves we believers subsequently touting “we all have our cross to bear.”

Yep. We sure do.

And mine is about 6’2” and 195 pounds.

But in this divorce situation, I think I may have to start practicing a limited version of Buddhism. Because the gurus aren’t so much down with cross toting as they are with tolerance, which is just a fancy way of telling people to just ignore something. (If this is true, Christian mamas everywhere are preaching Buddhist doctrine on a very regular basis. After all, who ever heard their mother tell them to forgive their little brother’s incessant irritation? Nope. It’s more like, “Just ignore him!”)

So if I am going to be a weekend Buddhist, that conveniently means I don’t have to forgive my ex-husband's challenging moments. Instead I can simply say: Not my problem. My peace and happiness is not going to be driven by your unpredictable insane train. Enjoy the ride, I am not buying a ticket, stopping at the station, or even watching you chug on past. I am going to:

Ignore you.

The philosophy is quite liberating actually. Because life is just far too short for crabby pants and crazy trains.

(Or six foot tall hemorrhoids . . . ouch.)