multi-Fbombs in paragraph 8

I had stopped watching Dallas by the time this particular episode aired, but the howls of outrage from loyal viewers were loud enough to catch my attention. Evidently after an entire season of soap opera craziness about Bobby Ewing being dead, they were now going to write off the whole thing as a dream sequence and pretend like it never happened. Maybe their ratings went down, maybe the contract negotiations worked out for their actors after all, maybe they simply thought what the hell, but the bottom line is that they just went ahead and took the whole damn thing back. Can you imagine? The nerve! You can't just take something like that back, can you?


Yes. Yes, you can. Isn't that weird?


My disappearing act in the last week has been completely necessary to my mental health, absolutely crucial in getting some things worked out in my own head. I've always known that I would come out of this divorce a stronger, more self-reliant person, but I had no idea of how that all actually worked. It's one of those things that you don't understand until you're in it. And even then it takes a lot of time and effort to actually figure out. But when things started to fall in place earlier last month, it set off a chain reaction that really threw me. I reacted in ways that are very out of character, and in ways that really confused me. I know who I am, and I know what my point of view is. And now, after a week and a half of intense soul searching, I think I know how to present it. And to whom.


A little more than a year ago, I wrote this post, asking people for opinions on which direction to take this blog. The verdict was clear at that time. We want to go with you on this journey. We don't want you to write fluff when there are more serious things on your mind. So over the last year I've written a lot of stuff about my marriage and my divorce and my kids and all the things that have been in the forefront of my mind. And I know for a fact that some of you are sick to death of hearing about it. I know that there is a faction out there that thinks I've become bitter and whiny and basically lost both my sense of humor and my mojo in one fell swoop. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hurt by that opinion, but I can see where it could come from. I'm not the person I was a year ago, certainly not the person I was two years ago. When life throws you a great big curve ball, the best people manage to change and adapt. For the better. It would not say positive things about me if I were just carrying on with my life as if the last year never happened. The underlying person hasn't changed, but my world view sure has. How could it not?



But the absolutely incredible thing for me over the last year has been the universal element of what I've been going through. When my mother wryly said Welcome to the Club last Spring, I had no idea of what all that entailed, but I've found out. I can't express what a relief it has been as I've grappled with various issues to realize that this same shit is happening everywhere, and in frighteningly familiar ways. It comes across in comments, it comes in emails and IM chats and phone calls - there are a hell of a lot of us who already have or are still in the process of navigating these same waters and we tell amazingly similar stories. It's like David Letterman doing Stupid Ex-Husband tricks. You think yours is bad? Honey, I can top that! And then they DO! Incredible. Who knew?


It also seems to me that it may look like I spend most of my time ruminating about the end of my marriage, which simply isn't the case. I hate to bring this up, but here goes. A few road bumps notwithstanding, I am the happiest I've ever been in my entire adult life. My only regret is that we didn't do this years ago. And...I work full-time in a fairly demanding job. I have three kids who run me ragged. Three dogs who think they're all that. A 122 year old house that is actively trying to kill me - in more ways than one. I have friends, I have hobbies, I have meals to cook, bills to pay and toilets to clean. In short, I have a pretty full life. This blog, much as I love it, maybe touches on 5% of that life. All of you who have blogs know this. There's only so much you can write about on a regular basis. The rest just doesn't fit in.


So where am I going with all of this? What is my own particular Bobby Ewing moment? Well, to start with I'm opening up the blog publicly again. I have a few reasons for this, including the fact that I just want to. But the main one is this. Making it private never felt authentic, never felt like me. I did it because I didn't want my ex to be able to access my thoughts, didn't want him to think he had any insight into what I did or didn't do, even as he insisted he didn't read MY blog to hear about ME. So much has shifted in the prairie tidal wave of the last few weeks and I say what I'm about to say with open heart and clear mind.


Fuck him. If he chooses to he can read my thoughts all day long, but he can't touch me. Fuck him again. The reason that I vented in my "personal" blog was to be able to keep that anger out of our at the time civil relationship. Fuck him a third time. I refuse to give him the power - through his words or his actions - to impact something I love as much as I love doing this blog. And fuck him once more while I'm at it. Because I don't ever have to worry again about what he thinks. Fuck him one last time. Because I'm done.



And now... (finally)...



on with our regularly scheduled programming.

arc three/unexpectedly free

I learned a lot about myself during that conversation.


Some of the things I learned from me:


It's not that I fault the FX for being human and reading my blog even though he swore not to. It's that one of the things that has kept me going the last year is the idea that the he has had absolutely no access to my thoughts or feelings. I've got a great poker face and for the most part don't engage in conversation with him. This is all, unfortunately, moot when all he has to do is boot up his computer to climb inside my brain. It's too bad he's a liar, but that's not exactly news. Strike One.


I'm almost less upset that he was reading it than about the fact that he had completely forgotten that he had promised me he wouldn't. Even though I told him at the time that it was really important to me, it had totally slipped his mind. Once again, a perfect illustration of our marriage. Strike Two.


I realized that I'm a lot more like my dad sometimes than I really want to admit. My dad could cut people off cold - and without a backwards look. When he was done, he was done. I always thought that was cold and unfeeling. But that was before I was done. Strike Three. You're out.



Some of the things I learned from the FX:


I am hopelessly stuck in the past, destined to repeat past behaviors indefinitely. When I get my act together and put the work into myself like he has, maybe I'll be able to move forward.


I'm narcicissistic and self-absorbed and it all has to be about me. The blog is a perfect example, and so is the fact that I always have to be right in every situation. My favorite thing, for example, is to not warn him that bad things may happen if he does (or doesn't do) certain things, just so if/when he fails I can tell him "I told you so".


The fact that he is in a "very serious relationship" and I'm not even dating is just more evidence that I'm the damaged goods here and he's the one who has finally gotten the wonderful relationship that he deserves.


I could go on, but really...why bother? Surely you get the point.


As long as he's in the hot throes of a new relationship he really could care less what I have to say. About anything. My feelings and needs are completely irrelevant to his life, and everything I say or do reinforces his image of himself as the put upon good guy. It takes a lot of work to get a relationship off the ground, and his relationships with everyone else were just going to have to take a back seat. I could care less about letting him in on my needs, but I mistakenly thought that after twenty four years together my feelings might still mean something to him. Stupid me.
What the hell was I thinking?



About five minutes into raving about his new girlfriend, about how she supported him in all his endeavors, how she let him be him, and allowed him to be free to pursue his own hobbies and interests, how she understood that he was "a work in progress" and that she "was there for him" at all times, and even that they "took care of each other", he told me that he had never expected to be in this serious a relationship this quickly. You can't choose, he said, when you meet someone. Then he asked me if I was seeing anyone. Pre-blog reading I would have told him it was none of his business, but that seemed kind of stupid now. If he's been reading then he already knows what my story is. I figured the hell with it and went with the truth.


"No, I'm not," I said. "Ask me why".


"Okay," he said. "Why?"


"Because I think you came out of our marriage with a much higher opinion of human nature than I did," I answered. "And if you shoot down anyone who asks you out, you can virtually guarantee that you won't meet someone who will turn serious too fast."


I wasn't done.


"You know what absolutely kills me?" I asked. "It's the idea that you fucked all four of us over completely with your selfishness and 'I'm the top priority here' attitude and you're the one who gets the happy ending. And you can rationalize all day long that you were completely blameless in our marriage because you've somehow managed to fall into a relationship that lets you feel like you're a good deserving person who just happened to spend twenty years with a castrating bitch like me."



The blog was a keg of dynamite, too. He insisted that he only read it to see what was going on with the kids. I said that was ridiculous, since I made a point of always keeping him abreast of kid happenings. Then he made the "You were a much better writer before you threw yourself a pity party" comment, which absolutely enraged me. On so many levels. "Well, which is it?" I asked. "Any posts where you might get the pity party idea aren't posts where kid events would be mentioned. So what's the truth? Did you just read the "pity party" posts to get off on my pain and anger? We already know you're a liar. Could you be just a little sadistic, too?And, by the way, if you were only in it "for the kids" how come you never called to check up on them when I wrote that they were having a hard time?" I also pointed out that the fact that he had to keep up with my writing indicated to me that he might not be as emotionally detached as he claims to be, an idea that he contradicted mightily.


There was more, but I'll spare you. It seemed that every time either one of us opened our mouths we drew blood, and we weren't going for small veins either. It was artery time, and eventually I felt like I had bled enough.


"You know what?", I said, "You just aren't good for me. In any way. And I know this is a really stupid thing to say considering that we've been divorced for six months, but I'm done. I'm completely done dealing with you. From here on out we discuss the kids and the house and that's it. I have nothing more to say to you and this will be the very last conversation like this that we will ever have. You can't hurt me anymore. I'm finished with you".


We ended the conversation right there. And in spite of the fact that I had, in the heat of battle, given him that glimpse of myself that I don't want him to have, it felt really good. Like a clean start in a way. I walked away from it knowing that we were both way beyond each other's reach. And that that was a very, very good thing.


I don't have to like him and I don't have to deal with him on anything other than my terms. I don't have to let him dictate my life and screw with my feelings and my kids. I will support the kids in every way I can, but I won't be the middle man anymore. He's on his own, and I sincerely hope he is smart enough to realize what he's thisclose to losing.


It has also become apparent to me with dazzling clarity that in spite of everything I've thought in the last year...I haven't lost anything valuable at all. And that it's time to let go and move on.


I'm ready.

arc two/almost through

My finger hesitated over the send button on my email, but no matter how much I hated to hit it, it had to be done. It was the Tuesday after Easter and all of my kids were still dragging. Gumby had spent most of Monday lying lethargically on the couch and Surfer Dude and Sasquatch were still uncharacteristically quiet. I didn't want to get into this with the FX, didn't want to have a conversation with him in any way, shape or form, but my conscience was screaming. My kids were hurting. The reason was clear. I had to confront the cause. This was the email I sent -


Per his request, I'm making an appointment for Gumby to see a therapist. I'm obviously going through your insurance, so you may see paperwork on that. Yesterday was the third Monday in a row that he woke up too "sick" to go to school after his weekend with you and we have to get to the bottom of this. I'll let you know when the appointments are when I know. Unfortunately, it's not just Gumby. I'm extremely hesitant to get into any of the rest of this with you, but for the greater good of our children I'm (very reluctantly) giving it one more shot. I had honestly hoped - after our heart to heart in the driveway - that you understood what I was saying, but it's obvious that you either don't, don't want to, or are somehow living within the delusion that you are. Whatever the reason, it's not working. For any of your children. If you have any desire to discuss this, you know where I am. If you feel you're doing fine with the way things are going, then by all means carry on. I've heard you tell me too many times that I'm influencing the kids and projecting my emotions onto them, but I need to be very explicit with you here. If you truly believe that this is all my doing, you are carrying your trademark denial to new heights. And all of you will lose. I won't do this again, FX. You're on your own from here on out.



My phone rang twenty minutes later. Guess who?


I don't know what it is with me and the FX and phone calls, but we seem to be far more comfortable saying what's really on our minds when we're not face to face. Much like the conversation we had last summer that finally broached some kind of understanding between us, this was a long conversation. 153 minutes, if you want to believe the timer on my cell phone. Unlike the conversation last summer, this discussion lobbed cherry bombs at our oh so tenuous bonds, and, at least from my point of view, effectively destroyed any chance of the divorce relationship I had hoped to be part of. It started out civil and with both of us attempting to be accommodating. It ended up as a gloves off brawl where things were said that can never be taken back, never be forgiven. It was 153 minutes toward the end, and by the time the ride was over I was shaking and exhausted. On paper our relationship ended October 17, 2008 when our divorce was final. In actuality it ended two days after Easter 2009 when the emotional dams burst, and the ensuing flood washed away every trace of respect and empathy we had.


I addressed the issue of Easter and the girlfriend first and, as I had expected, got nowhere. I told him all about what had happened when the boys got home, leaving out the impersonation routine because I thought that would be flat out cruel to pass on. I pointed out to him that the boys see him every other weekend and would like to be able to spend some time just with him. I said, yet again, that he ought to be able to manage his love life in the twelve days out of fourteen that he doesn't have the kids. I told him - honestly - that the kids seemed to like his girlfriend, and had nothing but nice things to say about her. (I have no problem with her. My problem is entirely with him.) But that doesn't erase the fact that they want to spend time with their dad being themselves, not paraded around as some kind of accessory to make dad look better with the chicks. If he wants a poodle, he can go buy one. That's not what my kid go over there on weekends for. Well. That's not what my kids want to go over there on weekends for.


The girlfriend has grown kids and, judging from the food she cooks and schleps over to the FX's house for him and the boys, has quite the maternal streak. I asked him if he had ever considered changing his plans on Easter when everything went to hell in a handbasket. What about, I asked, if when you and Sasquatch realized you had your wires completely crossed, you asked your girlfriend if you could just change plans and have a boy's day instead. She could have headed home and the four of them could have hung out and celebrated dad's birthday. If she is one zillionth as fabulous as he continues to tell me she is, something tells me she would have understood. The idea had never occurred to him, which doesn't really surprise me. He's a big picture guy, you see, and the details often escape him, particularly when they impact other people more than they impact him.


We shifted out of that and onto the next thing I wanted to bring up.


"Are you still reading my blog?" I asked.


"No," he answered immediately. "I'm not."


Someone less used to the way he communicates would have let that go, but I've been down this particular road before. You have to ask very specific questions, allowing as little wiggle room as possible, to get a straight answer.


"When is the last time you read it?" I asked.


"About three weeks ago," he said. "I stopped reading when you called me a narcissist for getting involved with (the gf) so quickly."


I was about to open my mouth to bring up a) that he'd have to get a little more specific than that and b) the fact that he had promised me that he would stop reading last Spring when he continued.


"Ironic, actually," he said, "that you would call me narcissistic on your blog. Seriously. How narcissistic can you get?"


I took a deep breath and peeled off my gloves. This was about to get ugly.

arc one/almost done

I've never been overly impressed with the FX's ability to be efficient, but I'm guessing I may have to rethink that one. He really managed to outdo himself on Easter, by any standard you care to apply. In the period of about two minutes flat he managed to convince all three of his children that his girlfriend was more important to him than they were. And judging by their reactions to this, I think he's facing a real uphill battle to regain ground.


This episode is important on so many levels - the children obviously foremost - but for me it was the trigger that led to the end. In spite of my promise to myself to shut up and lay low, I just couldn't, and believe me when I tell you that I paid the price. My children, however, took the brunt. At first I would have said one child in particular, but a week later I'm not at all sure about that. The devastation was fairly equally distributed.


That was the day that the boys were going to celebrate the FX's birthday, the day they had been looking forward to. The younger ones had been with him since Friday night, Sasquatch had been in and out at home, with plans to meet up with them all on Sunday morning. Saturday at soccer Gumby had said something to me about their plans for the next day, plans which included an IMAX film about half an hour away. As soon as I heard this, I knew the girlfriend would be going, since this theater is right in her neck of the woods. Sasquatch is the only one who has never met her, partly by his own design. At home later, just Sasquatch and I, I asked him who all was going to the movies on Sunday.


"Just dad and me and the boys," he replied.


"Are you sure?" I asked.


"Positive, " he said. "Why?"


"Just curious, " I answered. "Surely dad would let you know ahead of time if his girlfriend was going with you."


"Of course he would," Sasquatch replied. "Dad would never trick me like that."


And there we left it.


I had just finished my Easter potluck lunch at work when I got a phone call from a sobbing Sasquatch. The kid was beside himself, talking in hiccupy spurts, breaking into fresh tears every couple of words. We all know he drives me to the brink of insanity at times with his attitude, but not this time. His pain was palpable. And this was the story he told.


He had spent the night at a friend's house (one of my best friend's sons), and had gotten a call that the FX would pick him up there and then head out to the movie. What he wasn't expecting was to be picked up in the girlfriend's car, with his dad driving, and the girlfriend riding shotgun. They stopped at a store to buy some snacks for the movie, and the younger boys went in with the girlfriend. Sasquatch took that opportunity to tell his father that he wasn't going with them and that he wanted to be taken home immediately. The FX asked why, claimed that he had told Sasquatch ahead of time that the gf would be coming along. His exact words, according to Sasquatch were "I told you it was just going to be us." Sasquatch said they had a very different definition of "us" , and then told the FX flat out that he didn't appreciate the way this had all come about. I'm imagining he was fighting back tears even then, but I don't know this for a fact.


Okay. So some wires were crossed. Neither one of them can communicate for beans on a good day. Maybe he did tell him. Maybe he didn't. This was still (sort of) salvagable, if handled properly. All it would take was a lot of finesse and some changing of plans.


It didn't happen. The FX told Sasquatch that he was really sorry, that he was sure he had told him - and then he drove him home and headed off to the movies with the younger boys and the girlfriend. Sasquatch was devastated. It took me fifteen minutes on the phone to calm him down. Then I called my friend Laurie to enlist her help. We have a ritual on Easter, families we always get together with. This year, for the first time ever, I was working and the boys were scheduled to be with their dad. A quick phone call later, it was arranged that Laurie's family would pick Sasquatch up on their way to the festivities and he would spend his Easter the way he always did -surrounded by fabulous extended family.


I did a slow burn for the rest of the day, and when I got home minutes after the FX and the gf had dropped off the younger boys, I went up to my room to cool off. I had a brief word with Sasquatch to assess his mood, which was quiet but okay, and then I sat on my bed and tried to breathe. Minutes later Surfer Dude and Gumby came up to chat about their day and their weekend.


"Sasquatch is still pretty upset," Gumby said.


"I know he is, " I answered.


"Did you hear what happened?" Surfer Dude asked.


"I did," I replied. "How are you two with it?"


Two blank faces looked at me. Two shrugs. No answer. I'd never before noticed how the two of them have become this kind of united front lately. Two boys. One persona.


"Listen, " I said. "You know you can always talk to me if you're upset. You can always talk to Sasquatch. He's always there. So is dad. You can always talk to dad, too."


Then they both looked at me and laughed.


"Right," they said. "Sure we can talk to dad. Just like this."


And then, so help me god, they launched into the most dead on imitation of the FX you can imagine, caught him squarely in the act of attempting to listen and take part in a conversation, but not quite succeeding. In about thirty seconds, they nailed him. It was eerie. When they were done, they looked at each other and chuckled. It was clearly not the first time they had performed their two man show for each other. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was a really tough call. In the end, I went with neither.


"So what's your point?" I asked. "You don't feel like you can talk to dad?"


"Oh, come on mom," they said. "We just smile and do what we're told."


"Why would you do that?" I answered, outraged. "Why in the world don't you tell dad what you really think? What you really feel?"


They shrugged.


"We just don't," they answered. "It's easier that way."


"So are you saying you just nod and smile like puppets?" I continued.


"Pretty much," they said. "Goodnight."


And off they went to bed.


The next morning Gumby woke up clutching his stomach and crying. Said he felt terrible and asked if he could stay home from school. I checked him out carefully. He really did look kind of crappy, so I told him to lay down and take it easy.


A while later I dropped Surfer Dude off at school. As he got out of the car he turned to me and said in a very off-hand way,


"Have you noticed that every Monday after we're at dad's house Gumby is sick?"


And as I watched him walk into the school all I could think was...


Oh, my god. He's right.

now I get it

We're taking a little breather today before it gets kind of dark around here for a day or two. After the darkness, it's going to get light - nice, bright, sunny light. And with any luck, it's going to stay that way. For a good long time. I'm ready for daylight. It's been dark long enough.


I've said this before and I'll say it again, but the learning curves of divorce are really interesting. When you go looking for an answer you're very likely to still be standing on the curb six hours later, with not an insight to be found. But sometimes the cylinders all fall into place with no warning, and you're clutching a wall to stay upright as the ramifications of it all wash over you. It's been one of those weeks, all right. It took me sixteen months from the first time I was made aware of my ex's discontent, but this week I finally hit bottom. All of my good intentions, all of the behaviors I held dear...all by the wayside, in puffs of hot volcanic ash and swirls of smug deception. This week, for the first time, I was finally pushed too far.


This week, for the first time, I finally broke free.


It all came down to one simple little misconception I was laboring under. Not a completely unrealistic notion, especially considering that I was married for 21 years, but not a really likely one either. Now where I got this idea I can't honestly tell you, unless there was a sale at the Human Decency Store and I saw an ad somewhere. Barring that, it came from my own preconceived idea of what a "good" divorce should be, and maybe even what good people should be.


My mistake was thinking that the FX would give a shit about my feelings in any way, shape or form. To be fair, this idea came about during the Great Wishy Washy Spring of 2008, when he would alternately rage at me for ruining his life and then hold me tight and tell me we'd get through this. It was reinforced over and over again, in many ways, up until fairly recently. We didn't necessarily like each other much, but we played nice and even put on smiley faces with little difficulty when we had to. It had almost become comfortable, at least for me.


Well, things change. I realized with a bang this week that it's impossible to have a decent, honorable divorce when you didn't have a decent, honorable marriage. I understood with startling clarity that my feelings are absolutely a non-factor in the FX's life. And I finally, finally, grasped that I can talk all day long about issues we still have and it doesn't make a damned bit of difference, because whenever I talked about our issues when we were married it never got me anywhere either.


And so I did a few things. Just for me.


I decided that from here on out we will discuss the kids and the house and that's all.


I relieved myself of the responsibility of being middle man between the kids and their dad. This is not a relationship I can fix. My input will no longer be offered, even when requested. If the kids ask, obviously that's totally different.


I allowed myself to be angry over certain things. But I also encouraged myself to let it go.


I gave myself permission to not care one whit for his feelings either. This was the easiest of the lot, and the quickest one to get the hang of.


As ah-hah moments go, it was right up there at the top of the list.


I can't believe it took me that long.


Sometimes I can be a little...slow.

the magma diaries

Reading your comments after a day at work and a school orchestra performance, I feel like I need to clarify two things. Just for the sake of being on the same page.


#1. It IS written in our divorce agreement that the FX is responsible for half of the upkeep of the house. His name is on the mortgage, his credit is on the line, and he signed off on this without a blink in his frantic attempt to become a free man. The problem is the way it's written. When we sell the house, before we split any profits, he has to do two things. First, he has to reimburse me for half of any work I've put into the house that I've paid for. Second, he has to reimburse me for half of all the mortgage payments I've made since he moved out last June. On paper, and in a better economy, you could say he got screwed, although I would dispute that mightily. (I had plenty of opportunity to screw him and I chose to take the high road. Some days I wonder why.) In reality, and in the financial world we live in, this is going to work for him, because it removes any motivation he may or may not have to sell the house at the largest possible profit. Why bother if the lion's share of that profit will go to me? And if, god forbid, we have to sell the house at a loss, in a perverse way he comes out ahead. Knowing him as I do, in this instance he thinks he's got me backed into a corner. Pity he's never given my brain half the respect it deserves. That may possibly come back to take a chunk out of his posterior at some later date. It all depends on how he handles it. Because, really...I'm not half as stupid as I look.


#2. I don't depend on him for anything. Period. I wouldn't ask him for help if my head was on fire and there was a water shortage. I have no false illusions of him rescuing me, or even attempting to look like a nice guy anymore. We've moved past his guilt and solidly into the "The money I'm paying you is now interfering with my new social life" phase. He still continues to try with his children, and I have to be grateful for that. That may be all he's capable of, but it will be enough for me. I may be furious and he may be self-absorbed, but at the end of the day it's still about the kids. And they seem damn well adjusted. So somehow, we're both doing something right. That has to be enough. It just has to.


Oh, wait. Three things. That wasn't a picture my basement yesterday. That was a google pic. My basement is far worse.


Alright, back to the story.


So I was already pissed going into last weekend, which was too bad, because it was a loaded weekend. Last Saturday would have been our 22nd wedding anniversary. (No presents, please. Just boycott independent films for a year as a personal favor to me.) And then Sunday was his birthday. And his damn birthday opened yet another can of stinking worms.


Long story short: Last year, during that awful pre-moving out stage, the kids all forgot his birthday. This isn't really anything against him - they're just clueless. I didn't really give a shit that they forgot it and just let it go. This, evidently, hurt his feelings and he asked me if we could please, in the future, remind the kids about upcoming "special days". He then demonstrated his superiority over me by having them make me breakfast for Mother's Day, and going to the supermarket himself and buying me a pair of black velour sleep pants in size 3X and then having the kids present them to me - with the 2/$10 price tag still attached. Oh, man, don't you just live for moments like that? I could fit my whole body in one leg, price tag and all. Brings a sentimental tear to my eye, even now.


Even so, I've been making sure the kids knew about his upcoming birthday. Several weeks ago, I called him to discuss Sasquatch and asked him to make sure to talk to the kids about what they were going to do for his birthday. The kids were wanting to do something on his exact birthday, but I was a little leery of encouraging that, worrying that he might be planning something a little more adult in nature. He said he wasn't even sure he was going to be in town for his birthday and that he and the kids would work it out that weekend.


When the kids got home from their weekend the subject had never come up, and as far as I was concerned, I was done. I'd done more than my fair share on this already and I figured the rest was up to him. His birthday fell on my weekend with the kids, but I had already told them that whatever they wanted to do with him was absolutely fine with me. But there were issues. Gumby had a two day academic field trip. And one of his best friends was having his all day birthday party/sleepover the actual day of the FX's birthday. Gumby asked my opinion, and I said he should call his dad because I still didn't know if he was even going to be around. Or available. I said if you all want to, why can't you celebrate dad's birthday next week when you're already with him for the whole weekend?


So Gumby called him and the FX said that was just fine and they left it like that. But. Surfer Dude was mad because even though he had also been invited to this birthday party, he said he'd rather spend the day with his dad on his birthday. I said if he felt that way he should call his dad and let him know that. I've got to tell you, that wasn't easy to say, but I felt it was the fair thing to do. Because I had no idea what his birthday plans were. Maybe he'd be sad that he wasn't with his kids. Maybe the party would be the new girlfriend and a can of whipped cream. Maybe he really was going out of town. Who the hell knew? But SD had that stubborn little look on his face and I had to encourage him to follow through.


That was really stupid on my part.


I watched from the next room as the FX shot him down. Surfer Dude's shoulders slumped and his voice lowered on the phone. When he finished he came up to me with abnormally bright eyes and a really defiant look on his face and said, "Dad thinks it would be better if we all celebrated his birthday at the same time next weekend." And then he stomped up to his room and slammed the door.


All righty then.


Now I'm the first to admit that this is a classic case of Damned if you do, Damned if you don't. Maybe the FX was trying to be considerate. Maybe he was trying to make all the boys happy. Maybe he was trying to be a 2009 Flexible Dad. Or maybe he was just clearing the evening to get laid. With a clear conscience. But I knew how bad SD wanted to go to the other birthday party. I knew what he had just tried to do. And I knew what his father had - for whatever reason - denied him. My blood, already sitting at a rolling boil, became just a little more heated.


And that's basically where I've sat. Magma. Mt. St. RC. Oh, I've let it out in various ways. I had a long playground chat with one of my dear friends who happens to be male. And divorced. And a mutual friend of both myself and the FX if truth be told, although I've honestly always thought of him more as my friend and he doesn't deny this. (Here's balls for you. When he was leaving me, the FX brought this guy's name up and suggested we get together. The two of you seem, he explained, to understand each other really well.) Well, that playground chat - with someone I trust implicitly - coincided almost exactly with my hitting the absolute end of my rope and I completely and totally blew. For a solid ninety minutes I blew, and if there was a secret or skeleton, no matter how despicable or humiliating, in the FX's closet, I threw it on the table. My mouth was possessed by a demon and I wouldn't have stopped it if I could have. I was enraged. By the end, I was exhausted. And it felt good. There's nothing like trashing an ex to give you a sense of well-being and renewed vigor. It's like a day spa without the calming music and 200 calorie meals.


And that brings us to today. Wait. Let's go back to last night. Sasquatch and I had a knock-down drag out fight over personal responsibility. In typical form he tried to turn it around and make it my fault. I went ballistic. This is his father's trick and I've had enough of it. He continued to dodge, divert and deflect and I marvelled at the cruelty of the genetic pool. We did not end on good terms, he and I.


Then this morning at work I got a call from the FX who had gotten roped into Sasquatch's web. Hook, line and sinker. I won't bore you with the story because this damn post is too long already, but bottom line is that Sasquatch is using the FX's own tricks against him, and what's worse, the FX is so a) self-absorbed, b) oblivious, c) shockingly without any self-awareness, that he doesn't even see that he's doing it. I made sure to point it out, just for the greater good. And then I said this,


"The thing is, he's gotten your ability to take a tiny kernel of truth and bury it in a huge mound of bullshit. He can twist the facts all day long. This way he can delude himself that he's telling the truth and then he can deflect all the responsibility onto someone else. And in the process, he can completely kid himself about the fact that he's a bald faced liar."

He did not like hearing that. I, on the other hand, rather enjoyed saying it. And in spite of the fact that we sat within three feet of each other at Gumby's orchestra performance tonight...


I don't feel mad at all at the moment. And it's a good thing, because if I can read the man at all - and read between the lines of what he's unable to communicate - I think I get to meet the girlfriend at Surfer Dude's soccer game on Saturday.


This could be really good. Don't you think?

I think we've moved out of the guilt phase

I've been fighting this for weeks but it has finally happened. I've hit a wall. A big one. And from the way I feel, the wall hit back. Harder. I feel paralyzed, where every move is like walking through molasses. All I want to do is sleep and hide out. Well, there are other things I want to do, but unfortunately there are laws.


To make it even worse, I'm in magma territory again. I'm furious. At the FX. For something that happened almost two weeks ago, and yet my anger just keeps growing. My periods of hating his guts come a lot less frequently than they used to, but they make up for it in intensity. And, as usual, it involves one of my two hot buttons: the kids and the house. Actually, this time it involves both.


It all started with a funky smell in the house. The weird thing was that the smell kept moving. First we'd smell it in the computer room downstairs, and then it would be in my bedroom upstairs. Gumby was convinced it was a dead mouse and I kept searching for a well-hidden doggie pile. No results on either end. The stench got worse, and finally I was forced to concede that the only place we hadn't checked was the basement. On a Friday afternoon, Surfer Dude and I braved it and headed down to look.


There's no way to adequately describe how perfectly horrendous my basement is. First you open a trap door in the laundry room. Then you have to contort yourself like an Olympic gymnast because the stairs are backwards, and have a wall at the head of them. The walls lining the stairs are crumbling limestone littered with spider carcasses. When you get to the basement itself, it gets even worse. Three rooms, each more dank than the last, lit by two bare pull cord lightbulbs. Surfer Dude made it halfway down the stairs and called it a day. I didn't have that option, unfortunately, although I sure wished I did.


My fear was that there was some kind of plumbing leak down there or that the basement had somehow flooded and the water was rank. So when I came to the first room and saw a dry floor I was relieved. Second room - dry floor. The third room is down a small step and when you enter, it's into pitch black until you can get to the pull cord. (Do not ask about a flashlight. I have three boys, remember? I've hidden more flashlights than I can count, and for some reason they're never there when I go looking for them.) Well, when I got the light on the only thing I saw was a small puddle of murky water on the floor - and it smelled foul. Nothing about the puddle indicated sewage. There were no drains near it, no pipes that I could see - just some standing water. And not much of it. There's a window in that room that leaks and it had rained pretty hard the week before, so my thought was that some water had gotten into the room and gotten stagnant, leading to the smell.


At this point I did my head in the sand routine and went back upstairs, relieved that the problem didn't seem bad, and hoping that as the puddle dried up it would smell better. Yeah, yeah, I know - rub a lamp. Hope springs eternal and all that jazz. When I took the kids to spend their weekend with the FX a little later, I mentioned it to him, and asked him if he would mind checking it out when he took the kids home Sunday night if he was able to still smell it. He said he would and that's where we left it.


That was Friday night, and Saturday morning I started three days in a row at work. Late morning, I got a phone call from the FX. It went something like this:


FX: YOU have a problem.

RC: What do you mean?

FX: I just took Sasquatch home and when I opened the door the smell was unbelievable. I went downstairs and you have a basement full of sewage. There's toilet paper and other disgusting stuff floating around the back room.

RC: But I was just down there and it was a little puddle. And there was nothing at all that looked like sewage.

FX: Well, there is now. YOU need to get someone to come and look at that NOW.

RC (imagining her small savings acccount - the one that enables her to sleep at night - flying away at warp speed): Alright, well, let's talk about this for a second. This could potentially be the first big house expense that comes up post-divorce. How do you think we should handle this financially?

FX: Well, how do YOU think we should handle this financially?

RC: Well, I think 50/50 would be fair.

FX (chuckling): Well, it may be fair, but I'M never going to see any money out of that house. Why should I pay anything toward keeping it up?

RC: speechless

FX: Let's talk about this later, okay? Just get someone out there to look at it.

RC: Do you not understand how badly I want out from underneath this house? Do you not see that it's taking every bit of the child support just to keep us in this house? How am I supposed to do the work we need to do to sell it on my own? And FYI - your children LIVE in that house.

FX: I'm not talking about this now. Just get someone out there to look at it.


And there we left it.


But wait. Sasquatch was having a birthday sleepover that night, with anywhere from 15 to 20 boys coming over. I didn't know where this "sewage" was coming from, and I certainly couldn't take the chance of having a houseful of people to possibly make it worse. Or breathe the fumes. I called him to tell him that I was going to try to get Kevin (aka Man of the Year) out to look at the basement, but that I had absolutely no idea if he would be able to get to it or not, and that if I couldn't do that, we were going to have to reschedule his party. Good Lord. The kid went off on me. This was the only date he could do it. It was all planned. I was only doing this to ruin his birthday. What the FX had started...he finished.


When I got off the phone I laid my head on the counter in the nurses station and wept. With about eight people around me who had heard both conversations and had absolutely no idea of what to do. I'm not a whiner at work. And I certainly don't cry. Within minutes I had a fresh Diet Pepsi in one hand and a Butterfinger bar in the other while everyone scurried around to take care of my patients. My charge nurse came over and gave me a shoulder massage. I picked up the phone and called Kevin.


Who dropped everything he was doing, left his family on his one day off and headed out into the pouring rain to figure out what the hell was going on in my Silence of the Lambs basement. As soon as I heard his voice on the phone, I swear to god my blood pressure went down fifty points. And when he told me not to worry and that he would take care of it, I actually stopped crying and believed him.


Bottom line? A misplaced downspout was sending rain pouring into my basement, explaining why the FX saw more water Saturday than I did Friday. However, there wasn't much more water down there and there was no sign whatsoever of sewage. It was just water that was picking up something funky (including a mouse carcass or two) off of the 120 year old floor and, as Kevin so delicately put it "activating some nasty smells". He fixed the downspout while he was there and checked out all the plumbing and drains. All clear.


They let me leave work early and I went down there with a forty pound box of kitty litter and some bleach. I spread the kitty litter around, let it absorb and then scooped it all up into a five gallon bucket. Carted that to the trash, sprayed most of a bottle of Febreze and we've been scent free ever since. My feeling of accomplishment was huge. Sasqutch felt so bad about his behavior that he actually offered to help - all on his own.


And the FX? Has no idea of the outcome and has not said a word about it since. Why should he? It's not his problem. Right?


to be continued

floodgates

Rather than do an immediate Mt. St. Helen's impersonation, I met my friend Stacey for some emergency lattes while we hashed this out. The kids were at home (MY home) with their dad, and I was climbing higher on my anger scale by the second. I'm not one of those people who believes that anger is a bad emotion, but I do fully understand the thin line between productive anger and volcanic eruption. I was aiming for the middle ground, but I was missing. I was all magma. And that wasn't going to get me where I needed to be.


Because here's the fine line. All of my justifiable anger, all of my legitimate and reasonable issues, could, if one chose to look at it this way, be chalked up to jealousy. Jealousy of the new girlfriend. Jealousy that he had someone and I didn't. Jealousy that he had "moved on" while I was still "locked in the past". I had to find a way to say what I wanted to say without making him feel that I was doing this because I wanted him back, that I missed him, that I was feeling left out. I knew the true story behind those ideas and I somehow had to convey it to him.


But how?


I knew one thing. I was tired of pussy footing around the whole issue. It was (again, for the love of god), like the floodgates had opened and I would not rest until this was on the table. I went home to take Gumby to a drama class, and as I was getting ready to leave, I asked the FX to come along with me. For the ride. I don't think I said it in a terribly nice tone, for what it's worth, but he agreed and climbed in the car. He knew something was up, but couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was a three minute drive to drop Gumby off. My mind was on auto-pilot in preparation.


Gumby had not been out of the car thirty seconds when I played my opening card.


"I have two things for you - a question and a favor", I said.


He looked at me guilessly and said, "Okay, go ahead."


So I did.


The question shouldn't be a surprise. Why did you feel it was necessary to tell the kids about your new relationship at this stage of the game? Well, let me rephrase that. It may not be a surprise to anyone reading this blog, but it sure seemed to be to him. He was silent for quite a little bit before he answered. And while I don't think a lot of his reasoning, it's not really out in left field for him. In a nutshell, he and the gf have been hanging out mostly in the town where she lives. They want to be able to hang out here without the fear of accidentally running into the kids or their friends and freaking them out when they see Dad holding hands with a woman they don't know. He figured it was better to give them a heads up.


I told him how upset I was that they had all come home stressed out after he had told them, and said that I really believed it might have been smarter to keep it under his hat for awhile longer. Told him that I had spent two days doing damage control and cleaning up his messes. He said they hadn't seemed at all stressed out when he talked to them., and that they all seemed to take it in stride. That's when my (ahem) floodgates opened.


"You know why they didn't seem stressed with you?" I asked. "It's because they are afraid to show you how they really feel. They put on a good face with you all the time because they don't want to upset you. You left our marriage with almost no warning, and they're terrified that you're going to leave them too. What do you think they're going to do when you tell them something like this? Tell you they don't want to talk it? Or just smile and not rock the boat?"


There was more. A lot more. I pulled no punches on the fact that he was on the verge of totally blowing his relationships with his children. Told him that he was going to have to be especially careful with his new situation that the kids didn't feel like they were coming in second place. Pretty much everything kid related that I'd been wanting to say for quite a while got laid right out. There was no sugarcoating whatsoever on my part, nor was there any exaggeration. By the time I was done he looked a little sick. Fine. If that's what it takes, that's what it takes. We ended up having a long and hopefully productive talk about steps he needs to take with them, and then he really surprised me by thanking me. I know it wasn't easy to be so blunt about this, he said, and I want you to know that I really appreciate it. You can show me that you appreciate it, I replied, by doing what it takes to make it better. I know you want to be a good dad. Now just go and do it.


And then we came to the favor.


I want you to stop treating me like a friend, I said. That's the favor. I'm not your friend. I'm your ex-wife, and if we didn't have three children together we probably wouldn't have anything to do with each other. His face was assuming that stunned look again, but I kept right on going. I don't want to chat on the phone, I really don't care about your day unless the kids are with you, I'm not interested in your new relationship or the fact that you've just now told me you think it could be a long-term thing. We were friends once, but we won't be friends again until you do two things. First, you'd need to apologize to me for the absolutely despicable way you treated me all year last year. And second, you'd need to be able to look me in the face and accept responsibility for all of the ways you destroyed this marriage while blaming it all on me. I want specifics. Man up. I've said this before, I'll say it again. I don't hate you that you wanted out of the marriage. I hate you for making it all my fault. Until you accept your share of the blame, I really have nothing more to say to you.

And to my absolute amazement, he apologized. Said of course it wasn't all your fault, accepted more than the lion's share of responsibility and stated once more that he just hadn't known how to handle the whole situation. This turned into a conversation in which I was able to say a large percentage of the things I'd been formulating in my head for a year, and the two of us had a really decent talk about our marriage and our lives. We sat in my driveway for over an hour while my children quietly starved to death waiting for dinner inside.


We had one of these discussions last July, and I mistakenly thought that one talk like that would be enough to clear the air, but I realize now that I was looking at it the wrong way. I was looking at the divorce talks as one big clear the air type of eruption, but it's more like a bunch of zits. You get them, they come to a head, you pop the suckers and you move on. There's a whole bunch of them, but they don't have to be huge. They just have to be dealt with. One way or another.


And the whole jealousy issue? Very early in the conversation I brought it up, and he almost cut me off with a snort. I don't think for a second that you're jealous, he said. Why would you be? You've already told me that you've been miserable for years.


It's true. I have told him that. And I meant it, too. We were just not good for each other, not right for each other, too different, too much the same. I'm happy, he told me. And I want you to be happy too. Oh, but I am, I said. You have no idea how happy I am with my life. But there's this one thought that pops up sometimes...


You can't imagine what I would give to be laying in my bed crying myself to sleep all night because I miss you so much. So lonely I could die. Sobbing because I wanted the marriage back so bad. Because that would mean that I hadn't thrown 21 years of my life away on something I don't even miss.


I'm sorry, he said. I wish I could give you 21 years back. I had no idea you'd been that sad for that long.


But in the game of blame, I have no one but myself to blame for that.

this post is for stacey...thank you for talking me down

So the roller coaster continues.


If anyone out there is interested in writing the definitive book on divorce, please dedicate at least one chapter to the Roller Coaster. More would probably be better, but at least address it somehow. It's the black fly in the Chardonnay of divorce, and very few people warned me about it.


All emotions are good in their own way and all emotions are valid. Don't you agree? Now - that said - I've had a really rough 24 hours. And it all came down to one emotion. Anger. From me. Lots and lots of it.


I've spent the last day going over my mental checklist.


Am I having ambivalent feelings about the divorce? No. Check.


Am I unhappy with the life I have now? No. Check.


Would I want to go back to the marriage we had? Hell, no. Check.


Am I upset that the FX has a girlfriend? No. Check.


Am I mad that I had to do damage control with my kids this week? Yes. Check.


Wait a minute. What was that mad word? Because I feel a lot more of that coming on. Mad. I am mad. Furious. Livid. But in a quiet and controlled kind of way. No head spinning or glass breaking. No yelling or screaming. Not necessary. I'm far more dangerous when I'm quiet.


I'm sure you're all getting really tired of my Ah Ha moments, but I had another one yesterday. A big one. I'm not mad that the FX is moving on. I'm mad that he's moving on with a clear conscience. I'm mad that he's moving on never once having acknowledged that he was an absolute and total shit to me most of last year. I'm mad that I never got to do my final summation in which I got to tell him exactly what I thought about the whole thing. It just moved too fast. First I was blindsided, then I was frantically kissing butt to stay in the game, then I knew it was over and I started pulling back and then it really was over. All in the course of eight or nine weeks.


When you're in a relationship and you have a fight, you get the chance to explain yourself when you make up. You get to say "good point" or "that was really uncalled for" and all of those things. But when you're fighting like mad for your marriage, you don't get that chance. You start choosing your words very, very carefully. (And wasn't it Erica Jong in Fear of Flying who said that people always try harder to save loveless marriages? I can't remember what her reason was, but I'm not about to argue with her conclusion). But I had listened to some of the most amazing things coming out of the mouth of this man I had been married to for so long, and they all were some variation of the same statement - "RC, this is all YOUR fault". And now, this same man wanted to be "my friend". He wanted to sit and chat over coffee. He wanted to keep me up to date on the office politics that had always bored me silly to start with. He wanted to have me ask about his day. Well, I don't know about you, but my friends don't treat me like that. They wouldn't be my friends if they did. And now, with no effort whatsoever made to even attempt to clean up the mess he had made here, he was off to do it again somewhere else. I just snapped.


I was sitting in my dining room trying not to explode when there was a knock on my front door. And lo and behold, there stood the FX to help Surfer Dude with a science project. He thought I was at work and I never knew SD had asked him over. We eyed each other warily.


And all of a sudden I realized that there was no way in hell I could carry this anger around for another day.

give me a frickin' break

Just because I'm not bothered by something doesn't mean that I don't want to know the motivation behind it. And even though I have made a concerted effort the last year or so to not over- think things, I'm still curious about this one.


I'm talking about the FX and his new girlfriend, of course. But before I get into the rest of the story, I have to go back and fill in a detail I left out earlier, because in the interest of getting to the meat of the story, I chose to not put the veggies and potatoes on the plate. (This takes on added significance when you factor in that I really don't like meat, but I digress). The detail is this -


The reason he told me this, said he, is that he wanted my opinion and advice on how to a) tell the kids about this gal and b) get them all together in a stress-free kind of manner. It's moments like these that make me grateful for the poker face I've cultivated all my life, because without it I'm afraid I may have hurt his oh so considerate feelings a smite. My answer was short and to the point. You're on your own, said I. This is something we're each going to have to work out for ourselves. I don't have the magic answer and even if I did I'm not sure I'd share. I am, as you have repeatedly pointed out to me, not your mother. The only thing I did say was that I thought if he told the kids he should make sure they knew that I knew, so they wouldn't feel like they were having to keep secrets from me.


That's where we left it. Oh, he had to tell me all about her and ask me about my love life and make chit chat like we were friends or something, but the reason for this charming little catch up session was already on the table. So there you are. The end.


But.


I can't help but wonder why? Why is he doing this? What is the ultimate goal, the hidden purpose? Why does he want the kids in on this? And this is the direction my thoughts keep going off in. First off they've only been going out a couple of months. (And I believe this, for reasons I don't really want to get into now). Second off, he only has the kids every other weekend, and even that has been getting shortened as the kids are asking me if they can go there Saturday morning instead of Friday night. Third, they've only been going out a couple of months. Oh, wait. I already said that. Never mind.


If we had split custody I could understand it. If the kids were with him seven days out of fourteen and he was in the heady throes of getting a new relationship off the ground, I can see the point of telling them about it. I wouldn't do it if it were me, but I can see where some people would. But if you're seeing your kids one or two nights out of fourteen, can you not take care of your love life in the other twelve or thirteen? Do you really want to spend the few nights you have with your kids on a "date"? And what if it doesn't work out? Then what? Will you make sure they meet every woman you go to a movie with? Why is this necessary to their lives?


Then there's the option that he believes that this gal is the one, the Steven to his Spielberg. That he wants them to start in immediately on the happy integrated family routine. (She does have kids, but they're "grown", whatever that means). I sit somewhere between awe and horror at this thought, with a heavy right shift. I may be wrong, but it seems to me that his major preoccupation has been trying to find someone to be with, rather than doing a little introspection about his issues - the issues that two separate therapists assured him would follow him from one relationship to the next unless he sucked it up and addressed his problems. Perhaps I'm still smarting from being told repeatedly that I single-handedly killed the marriage with all my issues, but there's a little part of me that hopes this gal has a clue of what she's getting into. I know for a fact that he's quite presentable on paper. I have the paper to prove it.


I even, out of the goodness of my heart, started a little mental list for her. Ten Things You Should Know About Him. A minute or two later, I had to upgrade it to Twenty, because that's how I am with these lists. As a matter of fact, I've integrated my love of lists into this book I'm writing that is kicking my butt. I shouldn't complain, because every time I think I'm running into a wall, I just keep getting more material thrown my way. Anyway, these lists started with one I wrote last Spring. I couldn't write it now because I'm just not in that place anymore, but if I do say so myself, my Ten Things I Won't Miss About You List (quickly upgraded to Twenty), may be the best piece of writing I've ever done, in an Alannis Morissette You Oughta Know kind of way. You wouldn't be wrong if you imagined a fair amount of overlap in the Things You Should Know/Things I Won't Miss lists. Of course she isn't asking for my advice like he is, but here's a freebie just because I'm nice that way. Absent minded men who misplace everything they touch should never be allowed to take erotic pictures of their women. And that's all I'm going to say about that.



If you're sensing a little hostility seeping through my words, you're right. All three of my kids came home last night very subdued after having this news sprung on them. One of them has been stomping around the house, snarly and surly, one refuses to even admit he heard it, and one looked at me really tentatively and asked if I'd heard about Dad's news. I said I had, and asked what he thought about it. Yikes. And that's all I'm going to say about that. Empathetic dad that he is, has he called to check in on them to see how they're doing after his little sound bite? Come on. What do you think?


Where the hell was I? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I sidetracked myself.



Why did he feel he needed this on the table? Who has something to gain here? Possibly the woman is pushing for this for her own reasons, but it's hard to imagine why. The kids, in my opinion, have nothing to gain by this. I'm simply a bystander to this particular car wreck, except for that pesky little bit about my children's psyches and the newfound need to patch them up. And that leaves the FX. What does he have to gain from this?


It's taken me four days, but I think I've finally figured it out. No, scratch that. I'm pretty damn sure I've figured it out. And I'm not being coy, but I'm going to wait just a bit before I write about it, because I want to see how this plays out. Sometimes I think he still checks in here just because he can, and even though I think that's a pathetic thought, I can't rule it out. I'm not tipping my hand on this one.


Even during the last days of our marriage when we loathed everything about each other, he was still forced to admit that I knew him inside and out, knew what made him tick and why. And if I'm right about this - and I am - he doesn't even know he's doing it. He certainly hasn't gotten as far as the why.


And I think that's a little...sad.

what a difference a year makes

Valentine's Day has never really been my holiday, so it wasn't exactly something that could be totally ruined for me. Even so, last year was a doozy. That was the day I was pushed so far in our "marriage" counseling session that I threw in the towel and said I wanted a divorce. It took me a few hours to calm down and remember the promise I had made to myself - that if the FX wanted out that badly, he'd have to be the one to man up and do it. I wouldn't do it for him. And I didn't.


So when he chose today to tell me that he's been seeing someone for the last few months, it didn't come as any kind of surprise. Truth to tell, I'd have thought it would've happened a lot sooner. He's a man with a strong need for an audience, and it was pretty clear that he'd keep looking until he found one. I wish him luck, and hope that this past year has been as incredible a growing experience for him as it has for me. At the very least, I hope he's been able to clearly see the negative and destructive behaviors that he brought to the table in our relationship, since if you can't see something you're far more likely to repeat it. I've spent the last year being introspective in spite of the pain it caused, and would like to think I'm on solid ground with this train of thought.


But even thought I knew this announcement was coming, I still spent the rest of the day waiting for the sucker punch feeling to my belly that I somehow felt should happen. The feeling of loss. The feeling of jealousy. The feeling of betrayal. All the things I felt I should feel, based on what I have no idea. Aren't those feelings the norm?


Um. Evidently not. Or maybe I'm not normal. Who knows? All I know is that this has caused not the tiniest ripple in my calm, not upset my emotional boat in the slightest. My mood is virtually unchanged from the last several months - I feel almost giddy with anticipation of the future, and don't think I've ever been this mellow in my entire life.


Damn. Maybe Celine Dion was on to something after all.

lost time

The sound of the helicopter landing outside was growing louder as all of us in the room scurried around. The man on the bed had woken up this morning the same way he always did, with no clue that the day would take the turn it did. In two minutes, we would load him into the chopper for the fifteen minute ride that would, hopefully, save his life. His wife stood watching, her fist pressed against her mouth. I gave her a map and directions to the hospital he was headed to, and suggested that she might want to get a jump start on him and leave, since it would take her considerably longer on the ground than it would take him in the air.


She leaned in toward him and said, "Don't leave me. Please. We have three boys. We aren't done yet, you and I."


My eyes filled with tears and I had to turn my head quickly to the back wall. It wasn't an unexpected reaction on my part. This job makes me tear up more than I like to admit. What was unexpected was my next response.


I was furious. In the unlikeliest of settings, I had accidentally stumbled onto what it is that is making me so "blue" at the moment.


I am really, really angry at the FX, and don't have any problems saying so. The reasons I'm angry at him are not, I'm sure, the reasons he would expect me to give, but I think we've proved repeatedly this year that he doesn't know me nearly as well as he always thought he did. How telling it is that he never thought I was worth the effort of figuring out. Just as telling is that I never trusted him enough to show him the real me. Should I be surprised that my reasons to be mad would be perceived differently?


Here's why I'm NOT angry:


I'm not angry that I'm not married to him anymore. I am - honest to god - more at peace with the world now than I've been in my entire adult life. It's like I'm me again. He's been out of the house for six months, and in that period of time I haven't missed him one single time. He's fine in small doses, but then he starts doing the things that always drove me crazy, and I'm thrilled that I don't HAVE to deal with them anymore. That's not anger. It's relief.


I'm not angry about his job success. Lately, he has had some accolades for a couple of the projects he's done recently. I have mixed feelings about this. The first thing that popped into my mind was "Oh, yeah. That film you're thinking is such a big deal? Wasn't that the same one I had to listen to you scream and yell about, about how much you hated doing it and that you were ready to quit? Who was it who held your hand and calmed you down enough to think rationally about what you were doing? Who was it who talked you into staying on this project? Huh?" But then my calmer side comes into play, and what I end up thinking is this. I'm happy for his success. Truly. I think that for a person who measures his worth as a human being based on how other people perceive him and his success, this is a very necessary thing. Imagine what it would be like if he threw everything else away and then didn't even have a career to fall back on.


I'm not angry that he continues to want to talk to me. He wants to chat, he wants to gossip, he wants to shoot the breeze. Why? Do you not have any other friends to play with? Why in the world would you ask my opinion about anything that doesn't involve the children? Why do you care what I think - now - when you never did before? What's the purpose? This one baffles me. I just don't get it. But it doesn't make me angry. It just makes me scratch my head.


And here's why I AM angry.


The kids.


The kids.


And the house.


There was a comment made here a couple of weeks ago that I've carried with me since. I think it was Frances who said it, and what she basically said was that the kids had a right to be angry, because their father had deliberately chosen his happiness over theirs. Short and sweet. Devastating. And so true. I watch them all, watch the way they deal with their hurt and their anger, and I wonder. Does he see it? Does he see all the ways they compensate with him to hide what they're really feeling? Surely he does with Sasquatch, because he has the subtlety of an onion sandwich. But the other two? Does he just think that because he's okay they're okay? Or worse yet, is he so caught up in his own world that these things never even occur to him?


The house speaks for itself, too. Tonight, my saviour Kevin came over and fixed my sink and my downstairs toilet. On a work night and with one day's notice. Toting a kid along with him while the rest of the family did some holiday stuff. And wanted to charge me a whopping $15, which was exactly what he paid for supplies. (Even called me a dumbass when I argued). When I thanked him profusely, he stopped me in my tracks. "Listen," he said, "we both know this is not how this was supposed to be. You would never have bought this house if you thought you'd be trying to do this all on your own." Short and sweet. Devastating. So true. And so anger inducing.


The woman today was speaking out of love for her husband, and how much their kids needed him.


For some reason it reminded me of one of our earlier blow-ups back when we were "trying to fix the marriage". I have to put my needs first, the FX told me. Well, I replied, I have to put the kids needs first. To myself I said, Wow. Someone's needs aren't being taken into account here.


I think I'm making up for lost time.

shades of grey

Sasquatch and I had to have a long discussion today about the concept of "black and white". He's sixteen and he's male, so I completely understand that he sees the world in a very cut and dried way. I'm not sixteen and I'm not male, and I've learned that more often than not, grey is the overriding hue in the world. Things aren't usually cut and dried, they aren't usually all good or all bad, all right or all wrong. Life can be murky, but I think the ability to understand that comes with experience. Today, he got some experience.



It's no secret that he is very angry with his father and has been since March. He barely talks to him, and has spent only a couple of nights at his father's new house. The other boys go and hang out, but not Sasquatch. He stays here or he goes to a friend's house. I've talked and talked - to both of them - and finally realized that there's only so much power I have. At this point it's up to them. I can't do it for them. I know the FX wants to make it right, but doesn't know how. I know Sasquatch thinks he could care less about his father, but I don't believe it for a second. I know the two of them are so similar it hurts, but neither one of them see it. I'd laugh, except that it isn't remotely funny.



Sasquatch did not want the FX to come here for Thanksgiving. He's been saying for weeks that it would ruin his holiday. At first I tried to reason with him, then I tried to appeal to his better instincts, and then, having no success with either of those, I just started ignoring him. It was already a done deal. This was very important to the other two boys. I was beginning to suspect that it was more important to the FX than I might have initially thought. I was okay with it. I'm in this for the long haul, and was looking at it as the first of many such situations that I have to look forward to in my life. It's not negotiable. We will have an amicible relationship for our children. Period.


This isn't to say that we'll spend all of our holidays together. Far from it. But this is the first one (second if you count Halloween, and we did that together too), and I think the younger boys felt really good having it to look forward to. Not Sasquatch. So this afternoon we had another come to jesus talk in the kitchen while I was peeling potatoes. He was not happy, still convinced that his father's presence would ruin his day. Doesn't he have anywhere else to go, he asked? Does he not realize that he gave up family holidays when he decided to leave his family? How could he show up at your house and expect you to be happy to see him after the way he treated you? Don't you see how awkward it's going to be with our other guests? Can't you just call him and tell him not to come?


Black and white. Black and white.


It was hard to even know where to start. Our other guests were my friend Stacey and her family, and we've celebrated lots of holidays and occasions together. She and her husband are grown-ups, and I knew there would be no angst caused by them, even though they have stayed "my" friends. Your father did not divorce the whole family, he divorced me. I'm sure there are plenty of other places he could go, but he'd like to come here. Do you have any idea, I asked, what it must be like to go from living here to living all alone most of the time? Do you not think he knows how angry you are, or how helpless he feels in dealing with it? Do you think you could even remotely consider that at some point in your life you may change your mind and want a relationship with your dad, and that maybe it's a bad idea to slam doors shut too fast?


And then I played my trump card. Listen, I said, it's been a really crazy year. But if you're doing this out of a sense of loyalty to me, you need to stop and consider something. I'm happier than I ever remember being. I feel bad even saying it, but this has been one of the best things that's ever happened to me. If you're angry at him for you, that's totally okay. But don't be angry at him for me. Because I'm not anymore. I'm genuinely, truly okay. Could you just go into it with an open mind?



He wasn't happy about it, but he did. And we had a lovely night - all around. Sure there were undercurrents, and sure there are awkward things with the transition into our new life. It's hard to sit across a table from someone in a position you've been in hundreds of times and all of a sudden go Wow, this is totally different. It's weird to entertain someone in a house they use to live in. It's strange to see vulnerability in a person who has created such upheaval in your life. It's bizarre to realize that you really are done, and even wilder to feel more peaceful about it by the day. But in the end, I looked at my smiling kids - all three of them - and did say my silent words of what I was thankful for this year. I'm thankful for two adults who continue to put their children first, no matter what. May it long continue.


When everyone had left, Sasquatch found me in the kitchen again and thanked me. You were right, he said, that was really nice. It all worked out great and Dad and the boys seemed really happy that he was here.


I noticed he didn't add himself into that, but he didn't need to. I may not be big on black and white, but I can read grey pretty well.

giving thanks

Ah, yes. Thanksgiving. It's tomorrow, right?


Like I'd forget. For some reason Thanksgiving is a favorite holiday around here, and not just because we all eat like garbage scows. I'm honestly not sure what the big appeal is, but since it's so hard to get a majority on anything in this house, I'll take it no matter what. It may be my last one until next Thanksgiving.



The food will be what it always is - pretty traditional stuff. Surfer Dude and I will do a bunch of stuff ahead of time today - just like we always do. I did all of my shopping last week to avoid getting caught in horrendous grocery lines, so I've got a second wind for the cooking. We're brining the turkey this year for the first time - cross your fingers. And we've got some friends coming over for dinner - which will make the day especially nice.


The elephant in the room, of course, is that this is our first post-divorce holiday. But in the continuing amiability that is my divorce, we've invited the FX to come and eat with us. This was very important to Gumby and Surfer Dude, so it's what we're doing. I've said all along that if we could get the kids through this relatively unscathed, then it would be very possible to have a happy ending. I'm sure it'll get weird, but what the hell. It can't get much weirder than the rest of the year has been.


One thing I think we'll need to do differently is going around the table and having everyone say one thing they're thankful for. That will probably be better avoided this year, because it could get pretty sticky. I'll say mine mentally, though. Because I know exactly what I'm grateful for this Thanksgiving.


I just don't think it would go over too well.

you go girl...

And on the sixth day...


There was a final divorce decree.


As of Friday October 17, 2008, I am officially the ex Mrs. Film Geek.


Shouldn't I be feeling something?

Nagging - it's what's for dinner

My kids go to their dad's house for the weekend and this is what they do:


Go out to eat.


Go to the movies.


Buy new computer games.


And tennis rackets.


And soccer cleats.


And hoodies.


Go out for ice cream.


And go garage saling - which they love.


Then they come home a few hours before me.


And I walk in the door whipped.


And notice that the dogs have no food.


And there are dishes all over the place.


And overflowing trash cans.


And two dead mice in traps.


And a Sasquatch load of three items in the washing machine and my scrubs for tomorrow still in the hamper.


And a tv and two computers blasting.


There was a bright spot. A big one. Now I can turn on my heat.


Our dear friend Kevin - a Bunco husband in a million - putting up our new storm door. Custom sized, of course, for a 120 year old house. Not the door. Just the space the door goes in. It took him two days to build the surround. And all he wanted from me was the money for the supplies. $25. We argued over this and he told me I was a crazy woman, which made me laugh. People who live in glass houses...


I don't think my kids appreciate Kevin enough. Because if it hadn't been for him, they'd think even less of me than they already do.

please, mister, please

A whole lot of years ago, on the same night that most of America was tuned in to finally find out who killed Laura Palmer on Twin Peaks, I heard my husband tell me for the first time that he didn't think he loved me anymore, that he wasn't sure, as a matter of fact, that he'd ever loved me. A whole lot of work later, a whole bunch of counseling under the bridge, a whole new perspective on his part, we put our marriage back together and began moving forward.


I don't think I would have had three children with him if I hadn't thought I was completely over that period of time, don't think I would have donated twenty years of my life to the cause, didn't think that the scars would run this deep.


But I'm finding out that they do. There are a lot of episodes in our marriage that will always cause me angst, always make me wonder what the hell we were thinking, but in hindsight this will forever be the one that sticks out the most. Because I think on some level I've always been angry at myself for not seeing it coming, angry at him for doing it, and, in the past year, even angrier to be going through it again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...


No woman should have to listen to the same man telling her twice in one lifetime that he doesn't love her anymore. Twice in one blow-out argument would be bad enough, but those are hard words to hear. And hearing them more than once doesn't make it any easier. Quite the opposite.


This all spun through my head a week or two ago, and was triggered by something I saw on Yahoo! of all places. It was an article about how people going through a divorce are very often at different stages in the grieving process, because the one who wants out has been thinking about it for so long. Since this was pretty much our story, it caught my eye. The line that skewered my heart went something like this: "You know all those nights when I was laying wide awake and told you that I just couldn't sleep? I was really thinking about how much I hate you."


I'm as ready as I can be for this divorce to be final, but I'm fully expecting to feel a kick in the head when I actually see it in writing, or, as I've recently thought about it "on my permanent record". Much like herpes (and thanks for that visual, laurie), it will always be there. You can run through a long string of boyfriends and no one can prove it, but a legal ex is a whole other story. It will never go away entirely. We will always have kids. We will have graduations and weddings and grandchildren. We will always, on some level, be intertwined. I'm okay - more than okay actually - about us not being together. There is no hope of a reconciliation. We're both way beyond that. And it's better this way. I think we get along a lot better in small doses.


And we're getting along quite well. Really almost too smoothly. He's certainly stepped up to the plate as far as kids and money and just general kindness. I guess we'll see what happens when it's final. I'm cynical enough to think that a lot may come to light once he thinks I can't get back at him or make his life miserable. It would be nice to be wrong. But I'm not putting any money on it.


All of this has kind of been crashing in on me in the last few weeks, as I've hoped every day that I would come home to something legal and definitive in the mail. I'll be a lot better when it's done, but for now I'm jumping out of my skin. How I can be so stressed about something that I think is ultimately- and already - the right thing is beyond me. But until it's done...I'll keep stressing.


Just sign the paperwork, Mr. Nice Sweet Judge. I'd like to take back that whoop-ass comment.


Please?