A Good Man

Per yesterday’s post, today’s topic on the little rolled-up slip of paper is, “What quality do you admire most in your father? Why?”

Well, like most girls, I admire my father for a lot of things – and those things have changed over time. When I was really little – like 3 or so, I used to love the smell of coffee on his breath in the morning (actually, I still do). I may be the only person in the country who actually likes coffee breath!

When I got a little older, I admired how physically strong my dad was – how he could pick me up and swing me, or get down on the floor and wrestle with me, and I could pound on him with my little chicken arms to my heart’s content without fear of hurting him. As I got into school age years, and beyond, I admired (and still do) how smart he is, how hard he works, how willing he is to drop whatever personal things he has going on to help someone he loves, and how he still opens the car door for my mother – every single time.

But I didn’t discover and/or realize what I admire most until I was well into adulthood. I knew my father had an unhappy childhood – we were never particularly close to his side of the family, since they all lived “back east” and we lived “out west.” He would talk about how many chores he had on the farm as a boy, and how his mother had to sign a waiver to let him enlist in the Air Force at just 17. He left home then, and never looked back.

For awhile in my early 30’s, my father and I carpooled to work together. As we sat in bumper-to-bumper commuter traffic, more details about his childhood emerged. He told me how his father (my grandpa) had a terrible temper, and would beat my father regularly. Sometimes, when “Harold” (as we refer to my dad’s father - often with the word "Weird" in front of it...but that's another story!) would be “on one,” my grandma would give my dad a sandwich and tell him to get lost – to go spend the night in the woods, and don't come back until his dad had calmed down (usually the next day). My father was only six years old at the time.

We recently saw a picture of a razor strop – a long piece of leather used for sharpening razor blades in “the olden days.” My dad said something about it making a good “whuppin’ tool,” so I asked him if his dad had ever beat him with one. “We didn’t have one,” he replied, “or I’m sure he would have. He beat us with everything else.”

I also asked him if Harold just wailed on the kids, or if he beat Grandma, too. “Oh yeah,” dad said. “He beat her, too.”

Recently, with the events of my divorce and the ample evidence I have that The Tool is definitely not the kind of man I want my daughters to grow up to marry, I have begun reflecting on the qualities that make a good man. Largely, they are the same qualities that make a good dad, too. I have been very worried that my girls, who pretty much adore their father the way most daughters do, will think that their dad can do no wrong, despite evidence to the contrary. I worry that they will accept the things he’s done, and the choices he’s made, as “OK.” Worst of all, I worry that they will grow up to select someone with equally shifty character traits as the father of their children, and thereby have to endure some of the hurts I’ve suffered over the last year or so. I would desperately like to save them from that pain, if it’s at all possible.

So – back to the topic at hand. I realize that many abusers are people who were, themselves, abused. I don’t have to look much beyond the character of The Tool’s family to figure out how he came to be the way he is. So the thing I admire the most about my father, is that despite the fact he came from an abusive household, he never, ever purposely hit me or physically hurt me in any way. Oh, sure, sometimes he’d give me a playful swat on the butt that stung more than he intended it to, and there were some times when we were wrestling that things got out of hand (Don’t they always? I can still hear my mom saying, “OK, that’s enough! Somebody’s gonna end up crying!!”).

But the point is, long before “breaking the cycle” became the buzzword for preventing child abuse, my dad made a conscious decision not to raise his own family the way he was raised. He didn’t want to put us through that drama/trauma. He made that promise to himself, and he kept it – no matter how disobedient or whiney or smart-alecky us kids were, or how tired or mad or edgy he was. I can’t imagine the kind of self-discipline and strength of character that required, over and over and over again, for the 30-some-odd years he had kids in the house.

Witnessing his triumph, even when I didn’t completely understand the struggle, gives me hope for my own situation on two fronts: one, that the cycle CAN be broken. Just because my girls have a father who turned out to be not as good of a man as I had hoped or wanted (let alone as good as I once thought he was) doesn’t mean that they will automatically accept character traits like their father’s as being indicative of “a good man.” The kind of man he is doesn’t have to mean that he will automatically be the kind of man they want to marry or be with as an adult. And two, since my girls can know my dad, know what he’s done for us, know where he came from and where he is now, they will know what a REALLY good man is all about.

Finally, since this turned into kind of a Dad Tribute Page (and it’s not even Father’s Day!!), I will leave you with this poem, attributed to Hilda Bigelow:

I had a father who talked with me --

Allowed me the right to disagree,

To ask questions – and always answered me,

As best he could, and truthfully.

He talked of adventures; the horrors of war;

Of life, its meaning; what love was for;

How each would always need to strive

To improve the world, to keep it alive.

He stressed the duty we owe one another;

To be aware that each man is a brother.

Words for laughter he also spoke,

A silly song or a happy joke.

Now time runs along, and some say I'm wise –
That I look at life with seeing eyes.

My heart is happy, my mind is free,

For I had a father who talked with me.

Geez, Louise!!

HOLY CRAP I can't believe it's been six weeks since I've written anything!! In my defense, though, it has been a really crazy six weeks. Let's see, we've had health scares (weird mammograms and colonoscopies and junk like that), mortgage paperwork problems (being almost divorced apparently requires three times as much paperwork as being either completely divorced or completely married), fights with children (what else is new?), turning 40 (sigh....), having my purse stolen (from the DI, of all places - shouldn't there just be a bunch of good LDS people hanging out there, instead of thieves?!?), moving to the new house (a lot of work but with A LOT of help from my most excellent family, we got out and in all in one day!), having the sewer back up and flood the basement two days after moving in (seriously - I am not making this up), moving Cyd back out of the basement and upstairs with me while repairs are made (I am no longer fond of having a room mate), and having not only my homeowner's insurance but also my home warranty company BOTH refuse to cover any part of the flood (seriously, I am not making that part up, either)...yup, I think that about sums it up. You'd think my life could be a country song lately!

Seriously, I was thinking about asking this Native American woman that I work with, if she would come out to my house and burn some incense or something to chase all my bad juju away. Or that maybe I needed to light some candles, or sacrifice a chicken, or go to church, or something to break this crazy cycle of craptastic luck I've had lately!

It may be too early to say, but it turns out that the chickens are safe from me, for now. Things seem to be looking up. My insurance agent persuaded the insurance company that after only being in the new home two days, he hadn't had a chance to finalize my policy so they couldn't assume that I had declined sewer and drain coverage. So, they are going to cover putting things back to rights, after all. Yay!

And, I picked up the rough draft of the final divorce settlement and stipulation from the attorney last week. There are a couple of little errors (mostly typos) that need to be corrected, but still - we are VERY close to that being final, too.

And, my new place is kind of getting squared away, little by little. I owe a HUGE debt of gratitude to my parents for all their help. I truly don't know what I'd do without them.

So all in all, I think the destruction and dismantling portion of my life has about run out of steam (knock on wood!), and I can finally concentrate on the rebuilding and creating part. I am holding out for nothing but good Karma from now on!! However, if you want to light a candle, say a prayer, or perhaps even have a chicken that is on it's last legs, anyway - I think I could still use the good thoughts. I'm just sayin'.

Summing Up

My favorite movie in the entire world, is "The Princess Bride." It is over 20 years old, I've seen it a million times, I have the regular DVD and the Anniversary Edition DVD, and yet I will still watch it on TV when it comes on. And I will still laugh! I put that thought out there so that you will understand what the voice in my head sounds like when I say that much has gone on in the six weeks or so since my last post, too much to catch up: "Lemme 'splain. No, there iss to mauch. Lemme sum up."

So here I am, summing up, in no particular order:

I had another one of those "Worst. Day. Ever." kind of days yesterday, based mainly on the fact that The Tool can't get his act together to give me a schedule of when he's going to take the kids, and how upset the ensuing uncertainty makes the kids and makes me. And also the fact that Cyd was mad because they are having her attend a couple of "functional skills" classes next semester, and she wanted to take Art, instead. I said, "Are you going to cooperate and try your best to listen to the teacher and do the things teacher tells you to do, when you're told, and in the way the teacher says, no matter if you want to or not, every single time?" She said, "Well, I'm not sure about that." And I said, "That's why you don't get to take Art!" So after that, I was a "jerk mom." But then Mindi came over and helped me pack and we talked and I cried and I went to bed (too late!) feeling a lot better than when the evening started out.

The Tool is taking over the house - YAY! He should close, hopefully tomorrow but if not, sometime next week. Then I can close on my new place, three days later (we have to wait for the title to the old place to record before they can rescore my credit to put the loan for the new place through....). That is why Mindi and I were packing last night.

I had my gall bladder out on December 30th. I think I had unrealistic expectations about this surgery. Everyone told me, "Oh, it's so easy now, with the scope," and, "This will be a piece of cake! You'll bounce right back!" I'm hear to tell ya, there ain't no bouncin' goin' on around here! Anyone who knows about the problems I've had with my knee, knows that I am no stranger to painful surgeries. So it's not like this one was the worst I've ever had - far from it. I'd put it in my Top Five, though. It's just - truly, I think I just thought it would be easier than it has been.

My parents usually have both our family's Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve parties at their place, but since our extended family has grown so big, and my parents' house has been in the process of being remodeled for the last two years or so, I had both at my house this year. I've been having the New Year's party for years, and will most likely continue to do so. But I haven't had the Christmas Party for a long time. I remember I used to get all twisted up in knots at the idea of people coming over, wanting everything to be just so and all the cleaning and prep and everything. This year, I didn't even take a shower or put make-up on for the New Year's party. I guess when you have a lot of crap going on that you worry about, SOMETHING has got to give, and for me, it has been fussing about what my house looks like. Either that, or I have r-e-a-l-l-y lowered my standards....

That pretty much brings me up to date. Christmas was one of the best ever - not nearly as traumatic (for me, at least) as Thanksgiving (Thanksgiving by myself was hard). The kids are all doing pretty well, all things considered. The divorce is almost a done deal - The Tool and I have pretty much agreed on a settlement, and it is with the attorney being finalized right now. When he is done, Jeff and I will each sign it, then the attorney will file it with the courts, and just like that, nearly 20 years of marriage will be undone. Whatever. Now it's on to bigger and better things.

And at Mychael's request, I have an old story about her comments regarding the propensity for cheese to bring on constipation, that I will share in an upcoming post, plus I want to do a "100 Things About Me" post. And, if you get a chance, you should check out another Natalie Dee post (not for those easily grossed out or offended by foul language) - this one regarding getting relief for a poor constipated preemie, the 11/20/08 post, here: http://blog.nataliedee.com/

So there. Now I have 'splained. Or at least, summed up.

Worst. Day. EVER! Well, Almost.

OK, can I just say being a single parent sucks?

Yesterday, I was supposed to go to Cyd's school to meet with her counselor to discuss her classes for next year, then take Mychael to the orthodontist. I printed out Cyd's appointment when I made it on-line, but for whatever reason, did not write it down in my little appointment book. I remembered to call The Tool (easier to write than "my Soon-To-Be-Ex") to tell him about the appointment, though.

And, the orthodontist's office is really good about sending reminder e-mails and phone calls before the appointments, too. And, just as a safe guard, I did write this one down in my appointment book.

So there I was, just going along with my regular day, when I get an e-mail from my friend asking me if I want to go to lunch or dinner one day this week. I get out my appointment book to see what I have going on, and realize that I have completely spaced the orthodontist appointment! No worries, though - I still have about an hour and a half or so before I need to leave work to grab the kids on the way to the ortho.

I am working, working, working, and as usual, leave it until the last possible minute to squeak out of there and race to get the kids. I belatedly realize that I so entirely, completely, just plain forgot about this orthodontist visit, that I didn't even remind the kids about it! So, I hurry and text Mykie on the fly. Or at least, as fast as I can, given my limited texting ability during the best of times, let alone while walking to the car.

Just as I hit "send," I remember Mychael has lost her phone, and won't get the message, anyway. So, I think, "No problem! I'll just call Bretten!" Which I do, and she answers as she is on the bus home. I tell her to tell her sister to be ready as soon as she gets off the bus because I'm on my way to get them to go to the orthodontist.

Bretten says, "Well, Dad just called and says he already has Cyd and he's going to meet us at the first bus stop and take us from there."

"What? Why?" I say. Bretten starts to explain, but I can hardly hear her for all the background noise of the junior high bus. Frustrated, I say, "Nevermind. That's fine. I just wish someone would tell me what's going on," and I hang up.

I build up a head of steam as I call The Tool, all ticked off because, no matter how many times I have asked him to communicate with me directly, it seems he is prone to make plans with the kids, and none of them remember to tell me what's going on - or, I get bits and pieces of things from the kids that I can't decipher and then they feel like they're in trouble when I quiz them to try to figure out what is happening, when. I hit "send" and wait for him to pick up, ready to pounce as soon as he answers.

"Hello?" he says.

"Hi," I say. "What's going on? You're taking Mykie to the orthodontist?"

"Well, yeah," he says. "I figured I'd better. I tried to get ahold of you earlier to see what was going on when you didn't show, and I couldn't find you, so I just planned on doing it."

"Didn't show? Didn't show for what?"

"Cyd's appointment with the counselor."

It had completely, and I mean completely, slipped my mind. The appointment was there, written down on a paper, and I had totally, 100% forgotten about it. Suffice it to say, I was mortified. I hate messing up. I am not good at it. I am not gracious about it under the best of circumstances, though I manage to apologize to The Tool and figure out what's going on now and what I need to do to get back on course.

The Tool takes the kids to the ortho, and shows up at the house about an hour later. We exchange information about Cyd's appointment and Mykie's next ortho appointment, and then he says, "By the way - I forgot to change the direct deposit on my travel checks. They have been going in to your account, so I am just going to deduct that amount from the child support check I give you this weekend."

Not that I don't trust him, but I don't. I went and looked at the bank account, and sure enough, there is a deposit that is just labeled "Federal" but it is a weird amount - obviously not my regular salary. So yeah, I owe him the money. I never did the bills when we were married, and I have been really trying to get the financial crap all squared away because he always told me I wasn't good at it. I had kind of been thinking, "See? I can, too, do it!" because I've gone five months now with no late payments, no bounced checks, etc., etc. I even managed to pay for San Francisco and fit Christmas shopping in there, too, with minimal impact to my savings. And yet, here was evidence that I am not nearly as good as I thought I was, as I will only have half the money I was counting on for December.

So after absorbing that blow, he leaves and I turn to the girls to tell them the plans for the rest of the day. Before I can even open my mouth, one of the twins (I won't say who, to protect the guilty), says to me, "Where were you?!? Why did you forget?!?!"

Well, I'd had it. I got all teary (I usually try to do my crying in private) and just said, "Well, excuse me. I've had kind of a crappy day!"

And of course, the sight of me in tears immediately has her crying, too.

So now I am thinking I can't manage the kids' scheduling crap, I can't manage the money, and I can't even manage to be "The Mom" without falling apart! It seems I can't do anything right today!!

But then I remember some wise words from one of my cousins, who was born and raised in the southeast (North Carolina). "It's okay," she said. "Tomorrow is another day, Scarlett."

It's true. Oh, sure, it feels like the most totally craptastic day, ever. But I'm alive, I'm healthy, I have a house to live in and food to eat. Most importantly, I am surrounded by people I love and who love me back - who remind me that tomorrow is another day, when I need reminding. What would I do without them all?

So it was not the Worst. Day. Ever. Just almost. ;)

It's Been A Long Time - Next Time Will Be Better, I Swear!

I have been so busy at work lately - I have sort of fallen out of the habit of posting. I know that I am being paid to actually work while I'm at work, and believe me, I feel plenty guilty that I don't give it my all, all the time. But let's face it: between the stuff at home (kids, cars, house, etc.) and the divorce crap, a half hour or hour at work is really the only time I have to do it, when I also have the energy to do it! I could give you a list of stuff that has happened lately, but it's all gross and I don't want to think about it, let alone write about it.

Suffice it to say that my car broke only 6 weeks after the warranty expired, and it cost me over $200 to get it fixed - it was possessed by something otherworldly, which caused the lights and dials and gauges and stuff to go on by themselves, even when the switches were off. Oh, yeah, and it wouldn't start. On the bright side, it turned out to be a relatively simple problem which was corrected by replacing the battery, and it didn't cost the $400 that the dealership told me it would. But it was still a lot of running around for parts and stuff, and I had to make my dad help me (I still suffer guilt because he is 70 and I should be helping him, not him still taking care of me...).

One of the twins is not turning in her math homework again. On her first junior high school report card, she got around a 2.9 or 3.0 or something like that. Which I would say was fine, except that I know she can do so much better than that. Her sister got a 3.9, fer pete's sake - all A's and only one A-! I know that one just "does" school better, but still - I would've thought their grades would have been a little closer. That is the downside about having multiples - the regrettable tendency to compare them to one another, and always find one of them "less than" the other. Don't get me wrong, I love them equally! But I catch myself thinking, "I wish this one was as organized as that one," or "Why can't that one be as accommodating as this one?" For me, at least, it is a constant struggle to appreciate them each for their own individual strengths and not always be wishing that each had the other's strengths, too. And this is not helped by the fact that THAT one won't do her math homework!!!

And since I am complaining about school stuff, I might as well tell you that Cyd growled at her Foods teacher (sigh...). I guess I am used to it when Cyd goes "Urgggggh!!!" at me, and I just laugh it off. However, I can see how a teacher might be shocked if she got that noise, just for asking Cyd to copy down a recipe. So, now I can't laugh about it anymore; I need to train Cyd to realize that growling is not "socially appropriate."

And then there's the whole divorce thing. We are still battling over finances and assets and all that. I long for the day when my description of "me" can just be about me, and not include "soon-to-be-divorced" as one of the qualifiers.

I am truthfully less angry with Mr. Soon-to-be-Ex about all the mechanics of the divorce than I am about the idea he seems to have that you can divorce your kids as easily as you can your spouse. Sure, we have been squabbling back and forth about possessions. I continue to doubt his continuing denial of the existence of any type of "inappropriate relationship" with a woman he works with. I am irritated that I have just now discovered a mysterious multi-hundred dollar expenditure in an out-of-state jewelry store that occurred back in April, especially since the person he is NOT having a relationship with (yeah, right!)happens to live in the town where said jewelry store purchase occurred. Hmmm, I think I would remember if I were the recipient of anything from such a store, don't you? But that's all petty crap which, in the long run, doesn't mean much.

However, I am completely bewildered as to how Mr. Soon-to-be-Ex either is not aware, or just plain doesn't care, that his slavish devotion to his own happiness has so negatively impacted his own children in one way or another. I have had to explain to Cyd more than once that the whole concept of divorce means that Daddy doesn't get to have a birthday party at Grandpa Bob's this year, even if Dad's birthday is in December, because that was Daddy's choice. Do you think he's even explained that once?

I have another child in therapy now because she is struggling so much. All the therapist had to do was ask her where her dad lived, and the shaky hold she has on her emotions just burst. She could barely choke the words out through her tears. Why doesn't he get to witness this, and feel the knife twist in his gut the way it twists in mine when I see how miserable they are? The therapist asked her what her dad was like, and the only answer she could think of was, "He's in the Army." You know, I think I could tell you a dozen things about my dad, and never once mention what he does (or did) for a living.

Granted, I am an adult with supposedly better communication skills, but still....I would be embarassed if my kids ever thought of me as such a one-trick pony. And I'd be ashamed if any child of my own grew up to be that way, too. How could I have lived with and loved a man such as this for all those years? Were those years a lie, or is who he is now the lie?

Oh, now look: I wasn't going to write about any of this crap because it was just all too gross, and here I ended up doing it anyway. Next time, if I can't think of anything more fun, I am going to borrow a cute idea from my cousins and make a list of 100 things about me which WILL NOT contain anything about car trouble, kid trouble, or divorce crap.

Returning To Your Roots and Karma

Some things have happened lately that make me realize that who you are as an adult, has a lot to do with how you were raised. You can fool yourself for a little while, trying out different lifestyles, etc., but you generally return to your roots, I think. For instance, if as you were growing up, your parents emphasized honesty, responsibility, charity, kindness, etc., chances are that you will emphasize those same values in raising your own children. Or, if you were raised to believe that you've always got to be looking out for Number One and you are perfectly justified to plan and scheme every weasel-ish way to work a situation to your advantage (like someone who shall remain nameless - but I bet you can guess who it is!) then you will eventually go back to that, no matter how many years you tried to live your life a bit more honestly/generously.

I know that I was not nearly as nice of a person 20 years ago as I am now. Not saying I'm nice now, mind you, but I'm nice-er. Case in point: when Grandma Jean was still alive, we were at the park celebrating a birthday. I think it was my brother, Elj's, but I'm not sure how old he was at the time - maybe 10 or 12? Anyway, my grandma was diabetic and diabetics tend to have a lot of circulatory problems in their extremeties, so she had been having trouble with her feet. So here we are at my brother's birthday - a big day in the life of a little kid, for sure! My mom (Pegge) is rushing around, organizing the big "Happy Birthday" song and trying to light candles and everything, but my grandma was like, "Pegge? Come look at my toe. What do you think, Pegge? Do you think it's OK, Pegge? How does it look? Pegge? Pegge?"

My mom dropped everything to go look at my grandma's toe, and for some reason, it irritated the crap out of me. I was like, "Geez, Grandma - this is Elj's birthday! Can't you wait a minute? Gosh - why does everything have to be about you! Can't you see my mom is busy? Don't you realize a kid's birthday ought to center around him, and not his grandma's toe? Can't we at least sing to him first? Fer cryin' out loud!" I didn't say anything like this, of course, but I was having a lot of uncharitable thoughts about Grandma and my mom, too, for getting sucked in to Grandma's "poor me" quest for attention. I thought to myself, "Man, I'm never going to be like that with my mom, or anyone else! How would anyone know that that is inappropriate behavior, if I reward them with attention? Grrr!"

Skip 18-some odd years into the future, to a day earlier this week. I was telling my mom about a recent visit to my counselor, and how she had talked about how easy it is to assign value/give worth to others, but how hard it was for me to find charity in my soul for myself. The counselor gave me an assignment: how do you determine the worth of human being? What is their intrinsic value, not because of who they are or what they have or what they've done, but just because they merely exist, and just are? This is a topic worthy of it's own separate blog post, to be sure, and I'll get around to it, eventually, but I was telling my mom how difficult of a question I thought this was to answer.

My mom proceeded to tell me, for at least an hour if not longer, how she would answer the question. Oh. My. God. I thought I would die from boredom. I kept blanking out, as unfortunately, her voice was like the hum of an air conditioner, or the sound of far-away lawn mowers on a sunny summer day: just a distant, steady, droning of "Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz. Buh-bzz, bzz, bzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz!" If I was still the same person I was during Grandma's toe incident, I would have been all, "Uh, yeah, OK. Thanks, Mom! Gotta go! Buh-bye!" about 10 minutes into the monologue - afterall, this was a question about me, from my counselor, that I was supposed to answer for myself - NOT my mother's views on life!

But, I forced myself to practice charity and listen generously, even though I didn't particularly want to, because I knew she was enjoying having the chance to have an intellectual discussion and a willing ear. I was surprised at my mom's depth of insight. She's actually quite a philosopher, in her own way, and rather wise for someone who never got a college degree or ever, according to her, even felt particularly intelligent.

And I realized, also, that not only will who I am now listen to an hour's worth of "speechifying" from her mother and try to find value in it, even when it's difficult - who I am now would've stopped the party to pay attention to my grandma's toe, too, if I had the chance.

I guess my mother raised me right, after all, even if it took me a while to figure it out. I must have learned, unintentionally, from my mom's example, how to be a kinder, gentler person. I did come back to my roots - or at least, I'm in the process of it. Perhaps the Karmic pay-off to my mom for listening to Grandma's toe complaints all those years ago and making her feel valued, was me learning to listen to my mom now and making her feel valued. And one day, my surly pre-teens will (hopefully!) learn to do the same for me, and that will be my Karmic pay-off.

So, yeah, I was raised to be nice, and I think I'm nicer now than I was. But - I am not nice enough, to not sincerely hope that the Karmic pay-off for individuals who return to their weasel-y roots, will come back to bite them in their weasel-y little (bleep!)!!

Why Divorce Sucks

I'm sure anybody who has gone through a divorce - or even a bad break-up before - could give a list of a million of their own particular reasons for why divorce sucks, but here is one of mine:

I had a meeting with the attorney the other day and it was very stressful. It went as well as that kind of thing can go, I guess, but after it was over, I was totally drained. Wiped out. Exhausted. Just plain pooped. And yet, at the same time, I was also antsy, keyed-up, and just a little bit wired. The twins had gone to a Young Women's activity with the neighbors, and Cyd was off doing her own little thing, so I was just sitting there, twiddling my thumbs, going a little bit crazy.

Thankfully, my next-door neighbor called just then and told me her daughter's friend was over at their house with some beaded bracelets she had made, and would I like to come over and see them? I about jumped at the chance to be distracted by bright, pretty, shiny things, so I walked over there. Before I left, I told Cydanie to make sure she told her sisters that I was over at Kerry's house when they got home, and she said she would. I also happened to see Mychael across the street doing her Young Women's activity and waved to her as I was walking up to Kerry's front porch.

Well, the night was fun. Kerry's house is always full of stuff going on - she has three daughters who all have at least two or three friends, each, coming in and out, and Kerry is very social, herself. So, for someone like me who doesn't do idle chit-chat all that well, I can just find a chair and observe. I listened to their stories, laughed at their jokes, and generally, was very effectively distracted from the day's earlier stresses. I even bought a piece of jewelry from the friend.

I looked at my watch at one point and it was 9:40, and I thought,"Wow! I'm going to have to leave pretty quick to get the kids in bed!" Then I kind of let myself get lulled back into listening to a few more stories, following the banter back and forth between Kerry and her kids, and being distracted by bright, shiny objects. Then I looked at my watch again: it was 10:20!! "Oh, crap!" I said. "I've got to go!"

I ran home, and of course Cydanie was in bed. Bedtime for her is 10:00 PM, and she goes to bed at 10:00 PM come hell or high water. In fact, if she is tired at 9:15 PM, she waits to go to bed until 10:00 PM (all part of the joys of autism). Anyway, Mychael was on the computer, so I was going in to tell her to get off and get ready for bed. Bretten met me half-way there, arms folded across her chest, toe tapping, and a ferocious scowl on her pretty little face. I stopped short.

"Where were you?!" she burst out.

"I was at Kerry's - I thought you knew. I told Cyd to tell you guys when you got home, and I saw Mychael on my way over there, so I thought you knew. In fact, I was kind of surprised I didn't see you over there." I explained.

"Oh, I knew you were over there. Why are you so late?!?"

That kind of caught me off guard. "Uh," I stammered. "Well, I lost track of time. I was just talking with Kerry and stuff and looked at my watch and it was 9:40 and I was thinking I needed to leave soon, but then the next thing I knew it was after 10:00, so then I came right home. I'm sorry I'm late."

She grunted and stomped past me in a huff. I hollered in at Mychael to get off the computer and go to bed, and followed Bretten to the stairs.

"What's the matter?" I asked her, reaching out to turn her around. "Why are you being so grumpy to me?"

"Because!" she stormed. "I don't LIKE it when you're out past bedtime!!"

A million thoughts were going through my mind just then. What was this all about? She stays by herself all the time! I go places without her and even stay out late sometimes, and I don't get this reaction. What's going on? Then it hit me.

"Honey," I said, in my most patient, sincere tone. "I will never, ever leave you forever. Even if I ever have to go away for a little bit, I will always, always come back. I promise. Never doubt that for a minute."

And then she buried her face in my chest, wrapped her little arms around me, and just sobbed for all she was worth. The whole time she was crying, shoulders shaking, soaking my shirt, etc., I was thinking, "Damn that man for giving her this separation anxiety. Even if he came back, he can't take back this 'gift' of worrying about being left behind. This is an 'issue' she'll carry with her throughout her whole life, and who knows what kind of crazy company she'll end up keeping, just so she can feel secure; or how many times she'll shoot herself in the foot just so she can do the leaving instead of being the one who gets left."

I calmed her down as best I could, and we all went upstairs and got ready for bed.

But that, dear friends, is just one good reason why divorce sucks.

Where Did That Man Go?

I am warning you ahead of time: today's blog will be a divorce rant, of sorts. If reading all that angst, etc., makes you uncomfortable, you probably ought to skip this one.

It doesn't rain, but then it pours. I have had plumbing problems, cat-odor problems, clutter problems, pond problems, wasp problems, balcony problems, and so on and so on, in trying to get my house ready to sell so I can move to a place that is more "psychically soothing," and Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex can get his all-important share of the equity from our house. Anyway, it seems like I just get one thing crossed off my list, only to add two or three more to the bottom. It's been very frustrating because even though I have had A LOT of help frommy wonderful family, I have still felt no small amount of stress just thinking about the sheer magnitude of the thing, and about being responsible for it all, all on my own.

Technically, the stress comes not just from ME feeling solely responsible, but is also due, in part, to no small amount of frustration with him (i.e., Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex). I have to say it hardly seems that he is pulling his fair share of the load. He spent a couple of hours once doing yard work one day, and he patched a hole in the ceiling, too. But that's it. That's all he's done. And, the hole in the ceiling was caused by the plumber, that I researched, hired, found someone to be at the house for while he came and worked, and who ultimately, I paid for (although, to be fair, Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex did give me a check later to help with some of the expenses). I also researched, hired, paid, and took off work to meet the guy who did the gardening and the carpet cleaners (twice). And it has been me and my family members who have repaired and cleaned the windows, cleaned out his junk-filled office and laundry room, found the attorney, paid the filing fees, found the realtor, signed the papers, etc., etc., etc. Yep, me, me, me. Honestly, I am feeling like it was his idea to leave and dissolve our family, but I am doing 95% of the work it takes to make that happen in such a way that leaves no more scarring on any of us than is absolutely necessary.

The latest crisis occurred the night-before last. I had finished up packing, sorting, and cleaning for the night, and was just going to put a few dishes in the dishwasher and start it before going to bed. Well, the dishwasher door wouldn't shut! I looked at it, but couldn't see any way to fix it. So I just said a few choice words and went to bed.

The next morning, I called Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex to see if he could either tell me what to do, or come look at himself. This is approximately how the conversation went:

Me: The dishwasher door is broken, and I don't know how to fix it. The latch won't work - is there anything in particular I should try?
Him (with irritation): Well, I don't know. What do you want me to do about it?
Me: Well, didn't it do this before?
Him: Yeah, but it just had something stuck in it. Just look at it and see if you can get it unstuck.
Me: I looked already, and I couldn't see anything. I couldn't even see anywhere where you could stick a screwdriver in it to pry it up or anything.
Him: (heavy sigh) Wellllllll........
Me: Do you think you could look at when you come over to pick up the girls?
Him: (long, exasperated sigh) I guess. I mean, I don't know how to fix those things!
Me: Well, you certainly know more than I do!
.....long silence.....
Me (cont.): Or do you just want me to call my dad and see if he can come look at it?
Him: (quickly, and with noticeable gratitude!) Oh, well, yeah, sure! I mean, if your dad wants to, you might as well just have him look at it! I mean, he's better at that stuff than I am, by far!"

Geez. Thanks a lot for nothin'.

By this time, I am all for dissolving our union. I just want a little help with making the dissolution happen, for heaven's sakes!

And, I want it to be fair. Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex has told the attorney that he no longer does much business on e-bay because he is "too busy." However, I have print-outs from e-bay showing that he continues to pull in $2-3K per month. So I guess what I want, is a little help, and some equity.

Contrast the man I just described, with one who, about 16 years ago, told me that the little girl we found out we were having and had decided would be named "Cydanie Marie," should really be named after my grandma, instead. My grandma had been in poor health and it meant alot to me that he would be the one to suggest such a way to honor her. When my grandma passed away almost three months to the day of what would've been her first great-grandchild's birth, I was doubly grateful that he had suggested the change, and that we had had a chance to tell "Grandma Jean" about it before her death - I know she was touched. And that is why Cydanie Jean is Cydanie Jean, and not Cydanie Marie.

What I want to know is, where did that man go? He's not the one I've seen lately - maybe not even for the last few years. And that is what is most depressing of all.....

The Incredible Shrinking Problems!

The kids started back to school this week - Cyd in high school, and the twins in junior high. It has been kind of hectic, to say the least, as we have reviewed, read, and/or signed lists of school supplies, class disclosures, permission slips, bus schedules, and so on. Cyd has had a hard time trying to decide which pictures to take to show her teachers. Bretten has had to figure out how to get her violin to third period out in the armory, after her second period Spanish class that is upstairs and clear on the other side of the building, since she doesn't have time to visit her locker in between. And Mychael has had to figure out how to see the board in her algebra class, since she is so tiny and, thanks to the teacher's seating chart, has ended up sitting behind a much-bigger eighth grader (one with an afro, no less).

As I talked with each girl over the past few days about these "problems," I found myself thinking about my own days in junior high and high school. Remember when your biggest problem was finding something "cool" to wear? Or whether that cute boy in 4th period would actually talk to you today or not? Back then, it was the absolute end of the world if your best jeans were in the laundry, or if Cute Boy didn't even look at you that day! I compare those problems to the ones I have on my plate today - things like, "When will this @#$! divorce ever be final?" "Will I ever find someone I trust enough and care about sufficiently, to marry again?" "And if I do, what if, 20 years from now, he turns out to be as big of a jerk as the first one?" "Will my house ever sell?" "How am I going to get all the crap and clutter out of my house in time for my yard sale?" "How am I going to get the kids through this first holiday season without their dad?"

Those kinds of "heavier" concerns made it especially nice to set them aside for a little bit, and concentrate on possible solutions for my girls' issues. Those school-girl issues seem so light in comparison!! However, in the process, I also realized that 20-25 years from now, my girls will look at the problems of choosing pictures, getting classroom materials to the right place at the right time, and seeing around large afros as being relatively minor problems, too. On the one hand, that's kind of sad because one of the reasons those formerly major issues become minor, is because you now have larger issues to compare them to! However, I also think the human brain is designed to forget trauma. Otherwise, who would ever be pregnant more than once, or get back on a bicycle after a particularly nasty fall, or make peace with someone after an argument?

Whatever the reason for big issues shrinking with the passage of time, I can only hope that it will eventually apply to my current problems, too - I want to look back at them and realize that they really weren't as big as I think they are now. It just better not take 20-25 more years for that to happen - I am not that patient!