Should I Divorce Him?

A Real Dog & Pony Show

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 12:25 EST

So daughter is turning 3. It seems like just yesterday she was born. In fact, when J-Fed and I separated she was only four months old. Now, she's walking, talking and wiping her own ass. That means she's already performing light years beyond her father.

Of course, we can't let her turn three without a party, especially since we had a big bash for eight-year-old daughter's birthday last month. And what a surprise that turned out to be... and not for daughter. Since J-Fed and I were splitting the costs of the party in half, I made the decision early on to tell J-Fed he could bring whomever he wanted to the party. Translation: he could bring The Other Woman (T.O.W.) to daughter's birthday party. It's not like he needed my permission... but seeing as the party was at my house, well, he kinda needed permission.

Since the divorce, the T.O.W.ster had not been welcome at one holiday, party, picnic or gathering -- and with good reason. I couldn't count the number of family festivities that T.O.W. had attended when we were still friends. Birthdays, Christmases, baby showers, surprise parties. There wasn't one that she missed. I think we were just a couple of parties into thing when I started to notice the trend that the real party was going on between her and J-Fed.

Now, I'm sure he'll deny it until the cows come home, but I'm a woman and we sense these things. And by sense I mean, I could see her following around my husband, I could hear her whispering to him, and I could smell her perfume lingering as she tailed him from room to room.
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To say she was like J-Fed's shadow would be an understatement. Of course there were the excuses that she didn't know anybody at these gatherings and that's why she stuck to J-Fed like a fly on shit. But as the injured party and J-Fed's ex-wife I know much better.

Needless to say, J-Fed was shocked when I extended the olive branch -- although I secretly hoped that very branch was covered in poisonous thorns. I explained to him that since he was footing half the birthday bill I would behave in the presence of his mistress, but that's as far as I would go. I also reminded him that my nearest and dearest friends would be attending daughter's party with their children and there was a very good possibility that they'd want to use T.O.W. has a pinata. In true J-Fed fashion, he brushed off my warning and asked if he could invite some guests of his own.

I knew what he was up to. He wanted to pad the party so that the T.O.W.ster wouldn't be the odd woman out -- and I use the term woman lightly. You see, by inviting some of our old neighbors, he was trying to offer a security blanket to his girl. Listen Linus, you make your bed, you lie in it... without a blanket.

It was a sweet gesture, but it would take a Bed Bath & Beyond to protect her from the glares and ill thoughts.

It's hard to explain the tension in the air when T.O.W. stepped foot on my property. Bile rose in my throat as I eyed the little troll beneath my Prada sunglasses. I launched imaginary darts from behind those Foster Grants as a wicked smile crossed my face. As my friends arrived, the looks on their faces were priceless. It was as if they had just stepped in a big pile of shit... and boy had they.

I had to give a few lectures under my breath, instructing my buds to keep their cool. There she sat in the middle of my party as if she belonged. I tried to imagine what in God's name would compel her to WANT to attend the party. I don't consider myself to be a masochist therefore I try and avoid situations where I would be a target of hate and ridicule at all costs. Of course, since I didn't hijack someone's marriage, I don't often find myself in such sitches.

The party had everything -- snow cones, cotton candy, ponies, and even a dog. And we didn't even have to hire the last one. It's hard to believe, but I went the entire party without ever making eye contact with the T.O.W.ster. To be honest, after the first five minutes, it was like she wasn't even there. And in my mind, she wasn't because she no longer existed in my world. She wasn't even a blip on my radar.

I did have to laugh at the end of the day. Never one to miss an opportunity for irony, the Fedster pulled me aside to thank me for "welcoming" T.O.W to the party.

"You could have at least thanked her for coming," he said seriously.

I waited for him to laugh at his very own punchline, but he remained solemn. Was he kidding me? Thank her???? He's lucky I even let her pass through my threshhold. The first time I invited that bloodsucker into my house I was powerless as she drained the very life out of my marriage and the bane of my existance. I always said it would be the last time I made that mistake. Apparently, that wasn't the case.

I looked at J-Fed deadpan.

"You, my friend, are f-ing crazy if you believe I'm going to 'thank' T.O.W. for coming to the party. It's never enough for you, J-Fed," I said.

He let the subject drop, but later informed me that T.O.W. found the party to be "pleasant, yet uncomfortable." She's lucky it wasn't bloody yet painful.

Old Friends

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 10:25 EST

We've come a long way, baby.

It seems like just yesterday I was stabbing voodoo dolls of J-Fed and concocting ways to cut his brake lines without ever getting caught. But in what is surely proof that time heals all wounds, even those caused by the illustrious affair between your husband and your neighbor (The Other Woman), it's all water under the bridge. And not even a body of water I'd care to drown her in.

While I likely will never accept the Fedster's relationship with T.O.W. or make her a part of my life, I have made peace with J-Fed. As a show of good will, I even gave my blessing for her to attend our older daughter's birthday party, which was held at my house. But that's a story for a whole different day.

Today's story gives me that warm and fuzzy feeling, like my first post-divorce sex. Anyway, I no longer feel the urge to stab him when we're in the same room together, which is why my knife collection went up on Craigslist, along with my bow and arrow. My blood doesn't boil whenever I see J-Fed. My heart doesn't race when his name comes up on caller ID.

What's with the sudden change of heart, you ask. Well, the change of heart comes from the change of him. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when we turned a corner, but I have a pretty good idea.

You see, since J-Fed and I divorced two-and-a-half years ago, I've done everything to make his life as good as possible. I've made every concession to ensure he is a major part of our daughters' lives. From homework to dance to park days, he is included in absolutely everything. The girls know that they can pretty much count on seeing or at the very least speaking to their father every day.

But it doesn't stop there. When the real estate market took a dump, I convinced J-Fed that now was the time to buy. After all, did he really want to spend his life as a renter/ Although J-Fed had his doubts that he'd ever be a homeowner again, I was confident we could make it happen. I found him a nice townhouse, worked with the realtor and did whatever needed to be done to make sure he got a decent place to live for himself... and for the girls. In fact, I was even there with J-Fed at the closing to hold his hand and make sure everything went off without a hitch -- i.e. that he didn't blow the damn deal.

In April, J-Fed put apartment dwelling behind him and became a homeowner once again. He no longer had to call the parking lot his "neighborhood." Finally, everything was starting to fall into place for the Fedster. He has his own home. Although my greatest fear was that he would move the T.O.W.ster into his humble abode, I kept my trap shut. It was his place after all. If he wanted to turn it from heaven to hell, that was his right. In the end, all that mattered was that the girls had a second home that was equally as good as their first.

When J-Fed ran into some obstacles with his business, I didn't hesitate to step in and help him out. He accepted the assistance and it didn't take long to sort things out. It became business as usual and he was once again prospering once all of his affairs were in order. Although some people might wonder why in God's name I helped out the Fedster time and time again, I thought nothing of it. As the father of my children, it behooved me to have him succeed.

It was time in mid-July when J-Fed dropped the D bomb on me, and by D-bomb, I don't mean divorce. What I mean is dick. For some reason, the Fedster decided that I was out to get him. Suddenly I was public enemy number one. He wanted more visitation. He wanted less interaction. He wanted a court date with a judge and a ruling that would make him an equal. What he didn't get was that he was an equal.

For two weeks, he made my life hell. He yelled. He screamed. He peeled out of the drive way. I think there may have even been a threat or two thrown in there. Oh wait, that was me threatening him. For a moment, I regretted that I had ever gone out of my way to help Fedster succeed. After Everything I had done, this was my reward. It just didn't seem fair. But what in life is...

After consulting with an attorney or two, J-Fed decided to go with plan B -- as in be a freaking friend, you asshole, cause neither one of us is going back to court. Apparently, somebody let J-Fed know that he didn't just have it good, he had it great.

Suddenly, J-Fed realized that just as I had done when we were married, I was looking out for his best interests. As the old saying goes, it's good to hold you friends close and your enemies closer. But I'm not really sure where your exes fit into that equation.

It wasn't long before the Fedster and I were back on good terms and working like a well-oiled machine. Soon we were back to being buddies and I was back to being his wingman. While no divorce is perfect, this might just be the closest thing.

I'm Sick Of It...

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 10:44 EST

I’m a chronic fixer-upper. I’m not just talking home-improvement projects - although I do enjoy those - I’m talking relationships. When I see a man warring with his internal demons, I cast myself in the role of mother and savior and he turns into my sole focus for the next 6 months to 3 years. All of my exs have fallen under one or more of the following headings: Selfish, bitter, co-dependant, promiscuous, sadistic, and/or drug-addicted. My ex-husband, Mr. Perfect, was no different. The upside of the story is that I got a beautiful little boy, Bubba, out of our time together. The downside is that even though I’ve divorced Perfect, I’m still I’m stuck with him for the next 12 years and 9 months. I’m counting down the days....

In my household we have two boys, Bubba and Boo. Bubba is just entering kindergarten and Boo is just entering daycare which means that I have two walking Petri dishes running around my house with grubby hands, runny noses and faces that just beg to be kissed. I can’t remember the last time everyone in our house was healthy at the same time. It must have been before Boo was born…

Yesterday Boo began vomiting for no apparent reason. Between spewing food like the child from the Exorcist, he seems to feel wonderful but I’m concerned nevertheless. This morning at about 4 AM, Bubba crawled into my bed complaining that his tummy hurt. I kissed his forehead to test his temperature and he deposited his dinner on me and my bed sheets. God I love being a mom.

Today my mother and I are administering Motrin and Tylenol, refilling sippy cups of Sprite, singing lullabies and using gallons of hand sanitizer in the futile hope that we won’t get sick ourselves. Tomorrow Bubba was scheduled to return to school and to Perfect’s custody. As a courtesy, I texted Perfect to give him a heads up on the situation. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Bubba’s running a fever of 101. I’m alternating Motrin/Tylenol and it keeps it down. Do you have someone who can watch him tomorrow? I doubt he’ll be well enough to go to school.

Perfect: I have to work tomorrow. You’ll have to stay home and take him to the doctor.

Me: I have school and my mom has to go to work. You wanted to stick strictly to the custody agreement. If you want to follow the agreement, then you need to make arrangements for him. If you want to be flexible, I can miss school tomorrow and take him to the doctor. But it has to work both ways.

Perfect: I have been taking care of him and taking him to the doctor for the past 3 years. I guess I shouldn’t expect that to change now.

Me: I’m willing to take care of him tomorrow and take him to the doctor, but this custody agreement should be mutually beneficial. It can’t always work for you and not for me.

Perfect: Just drop him off tonight at 6. I always take care of him. I’ll take care of him now.

His arrogance is infuriating. He says he’s taken Bubba to the doctor for the past 3 years and it’s true, he has been taking him to the doctor - on the days he had custody! I’ve also taken him to the doctor on the day’s I’ve had custody. I can’t count the number of times I’ve picked up Bubba from day care to find him hacking, nauseous, and runny nosed, and driven him three hours to my house (because Perfect has this wonderful habit of moving 3 hours away from me every time I move to be closer to him) only to have to turn around and take him to the emergency room because I can’t bring his fever down. And rarely has Perfect responded to my requests for him to give me Bubba’s current insurance card, so I usually paid for these visits out of pocket. But I guess in Perfect’s mind those instances don’t count because they were inconveniences to me and not to him.

I would have no problem staying home with Bubba tomorrow. Sometimes, mommies make sacrifices. 6 years ago when Perfect and I found out that I was pregnant and we decided to get married instead of giving Bubba up for adoption, I accepted that role and all the responsibilities that come along with it. I’m at peace with that decision. But for some reason anytime being a daddy conflicts with Perfect’s schedule, he expects me to pick up the slack, and any time I want an extra day or two with Bubba, Perfect waves his stack of paper and screams “It’s not in the custody agreement!”

There has to be some give and take.

I’m sick of being the only one giving.

Telephone

Thu, 27 Aug 2009 13:49 EST

My mother called Excitement today. We have to call him three times a week to let him talk to Boo. Of course, Boo is 11 months and 3 weeks old, so the phone to him is just another toy that makes noise. He has yet to realize that there is someone on the other end of the phone. He certainly doesn’t recognize the voice as his father. Still, we are legally obligated to call and let Excitement say: “Why won’t he talk? I can’t hear him!”, to which we have to respond, “If you would just be quiet for a minute, he is talking right now!” for 15 minutes, three times a week.

Excitement hasn’t seen Boo in 7 weeks. It’s not that he hasn’t had the opportunity. He has 1st, 3rd and 5th Friday-Sunday with Boo, all he has to do is meet us halfway between our houses and pick him up, but every week he’s found a new reason not to come: His parents couldn’t drive him one week. The next week he didn’t have money for a bus ticket. Then he had surgery on his arm, which was a perfectly good arm, but the surgery allowed him to get a new prescription of narcotic pain medication and he really, really needed his narcotic pain medication. Then he couldn’t lift Boo because of the surgery on his arm. The excuses go on and on.

After 5 weeks of having only 15 minutes of contact with Boo, Excitement began saying he missed him and wanted to pick him up for a weekend, but he couldn’t take care of him because his arm had just been operated on. Excitement said perhaps his new girlfriend could take care of Boo for him. I reminded him that Boo was only 11 months old and at this point Boo most likely didn’t even know who Excitement was, much less Excitement’s new girlfriend whom he has never met. Boo was already going through separation anxiety. To take him away from his home and familiar faces for three days would just be traumatic. I suggested that we meet somewhere and let them visit for a couple hours on the next few weekends he had custody before he decided to take him home for the weekend. Excitement agreed that was probably best.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of Excitement’s weekend with Boo, but he has been saying for the past two weeks that he didn’t plan to take it. Then tonight, when we called to let him talk to Boo, he dropped the bomb.

“My sister is in town,” Excitement said, his words slurring slightly, “And she wants to see Boo. She’s going to drive me to the halfway point and we’re going to take him home for the weekend. It will be perfect. She can take care of Boo for me and I will get to see him again.”

“You can’t take him!” my mother blurted out. “He doesn’t even know who you are!”
“I can take him if I want to take him. He’s my son and this is my time with him.” Excitement coolly replied.

“But what happened to letting him get to know you again? He’ll be scared if you just take him when he doesn’t remember you!”

“Well, if you want to make the 4 hour drive to my house, I guess I can consider visiting with him for a couple hours. But I don’t know if a couple hours will be enough. I may still want to keep him all weekend. I don’t know. But you can make the drive and we’ll see how it goes.” Excitement said.

“Why can’t you meet us halfway?” my mother demanded.

“If I have to do any driving, I’m taking him for the whole weekend. I’m not going to waste my money if I can’t have him.”

“We drove to your house every weekend for three months to pick him up and drop him off while we were going through the custody battle. Why can’t you drive halfway one weekend to do what is best for him?”

“Because I don’t want to and I don’t have to. These are your options: Drive all the way to my house and I’ll visit with him and let you take him home. Make me meet you halfway and I’m taking him for the weekend. You decide. I don’t have to give you these choices. I can take him if I want to and you can’t do anything to stop me. He’s my son and I know you think that he’s yours now but he’s not. I’m his father and you can’t take him from me. Nothing you can do will ever change that. So you can either do what I tell you to or I’m going to take him. If I drive halfway to meet you and you don't show up, I'm going to go to your house with the police and take him from you and then you'll never see him again. So you'd better think about what I said. You can drive all the way and let me visit with him and maybe you can take him home or you can drive halfway and I'm going to take him all weekend…”

On and on he droned, saying the same thing again and again in different words. My mother couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She began saying “Excuse me, Excitement. Excitement, could I say something? Excitement, can I speak now? Excitement?” but he wouldn’t shut up. Finally she hung up the phone.

Immediately he started calling back. We were both so stunned we just stared at the phone and let it ring. He sent me text messages: "Please call" "Call me" "Call me back, NOW!". Then he called again. Then he called my mother's cell phone. Finally, I put our phones on silent.

He had to be high. His words were slurred and he kept repeating himself and his demands were just so… irrational. I dialed Boo’s attorney and summarized of the conversation for her. “Don’t answer the phone,” she said. “I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

Within two hours, Excitement had experienced a change of heart. He sent me an e-mail saying “I love Boo, I don’t want to hurt him. Let’s put this visit off for two weeks and then we’ll talk about me picking him up for the weekend.”

My mother wrote him back, agreeing that in two weeks we would renegotiate visitation, but urging him again to meet with Boo and let him get reacquainted before he took him home.

We haven’t heard anything back yet.

It's Finished

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 05:12 EST

It’s finished. After spending half an hour in therapy discussing the pros and cons of keeping my ex-boyfriend as a friend, we concluded that I needed to break it off with him. He was getting the wrong idea. I was wasting time e-mailing him when I could have been studying or chatting with other friends, friends that were good for me. Even worse, I was using this “friendship” as a replacement for our relationship so that I didn’t have to go through the pain of the breakup and learn how to move on. Not healthy.

So I wrote the e-mail, clicked sent and blocked him from my MySpace account. I felt much better already! Then my phone began ringing. At 11 at night, there was only one person it could be. I let it go to voicemail.

When I listened to the message, Excitement’s voice seemed to boom from the phone.

“You’re so chicken! Is this because I went out with another girl? Jeeze, grow up, Ogamy! You tell me to move on then you get all pissy when I do? You think I want you back? I don’t! I just wanted to talk to you. I love you. You’re important to me. You always will be. Don’t end it like this. At least have the decency to call me and tell me in person! You say I have problems? You’re the mental one! Call me back.”

I debated about it long and hard. I reasoned that calling him would circumvent him calling me all night long and waking up everyone in the house. Still, as I dialed his number I knew I was calling because I wanted to call. I was calling because I still care about him and because I’m not over him yet.

We talked for about 20 minutes. He did most of the talking. He said he was sorry for all he had done to me. He asked me if I wanted to apologize. I told him I didn’t feel I did anything to apologize for. He asked me if I was really still angry with him. My silence said more than my words could have. He knew just how angry I am. He said he never meant to hurt me. I told him I needed to get on with my life. He asked if I could get on with my life with him in it. I told him I couldn’t. He agreed to leave me alone and let me live.

As we wound the conversation down, he told me again and again that he loved me. My breath came out in little gasps and the tears I was fighting back escaped. I wanted to say it back. I never wanted to say it to him again. Then we hung up the phone and I let myself cry.

How is it possible to love him and hate him so much all at the same time?

Oops!He Did It Again

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 17:56 EST

I’ve been very busy with work and grad school, so my blogging opportunities have been pretty limited. For the most part, ex and I avoid each other whenever possible, communicating only occasionally and when necessary. Fortunately, since our son is 14 now, there’s much less back-and-forth communication. That brings us to our next tale...

As I mentioned, ex and I don’t have much contact on a regular basis. Because of this, I had no idea his house was being foreclosed on…AGAIN. This happened during 2007 and he pulled out some eleventh-hour deal and was able to keep his home. That brings us to late June 2009. I brought our son by his house after football camp so he could pick up a few things.

There was a car in the driveway. I really didn’t think anything of it, because I usually see unknown cars in the driveway when I drop our son off – people are constantly in and out of that house. Our son walked up to the door, and a man got out of the car and handed him paperwork. He brought the papers up to the car and said, “This says something about foreclosure.”

He knew what foreclosure was, unfortunately, since this is the second time his dad has gone through this. How lovely that our son had to be the recipient of the papers this time. He was really upset, so I called the ex at work and let him know what happened. He said, “Yeah, I know, gotta go.” And that was it.

Now, before you feel sympathy for this man, please keep a few things in mind. First, he makes just under six figures a year and pays a MINIMAL (and I mean VERY minimal) amount of child support. Second, he has not lost his job, nor has he had any exorbitant medical expenses. Third, he is taking a TEN DAY trip to Disney World in a couple of weeks with his girlfriend, their daughter, and our son. They’re staying on the Disney property, so this trip cost THOUSANDS of dollars.

He chooses to spend his money on movies, restaurants, entertainment, and trips instead of paying his mortgage. That’s why he’s losing the house. I have tremendous sympathy for people that end up in dire financial situations and end up losing their homes. But dinners out and expensive trips aren’t really a legitimate reasons to lose your home, in my opinion.

The difficult part of this situation is that our son goes to school based on the ex’s address (we have joint custody). The ex has since told me he is going to short-sell the house and buy a new one (somehow…I guess someone is baling him out….again) in the same school district.

When I asked him how that would be possible, given his financial situation, he replied with the vague answer, “You can do anything you want.” I think his answer should have been, “Once again, I’m on the take so I can get myself out of this mess.” In the end, I just want our son to be able to go to the high school he had planned. Unfortunately, I live one town over and can’t sell my house right now to move there.

I do wonder what he’s telling people his reasons for getting foreclosed on…again. He certainly can’t blame me this time; we’ve been divorced for years. I just feel bad that our son will have to get used to ANOTHER new home. Especially when this really didn’t need to happen.

Careless Words

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 17:50 EST

My ex-boyfriend, Excitement, has been e-mailing me nonstop for weeks now. Initially, I ignored it. They were all just letters saying he was sorry for hurting me and he still loved me and begging me to come back. There was not a snowball’s chance in hell of me coming back, so I just hit “save” and filed them away in case I ever needed them for court.

Then he started asking about our son, Boo.

How was he doing?

Was he getting big?

Had he started walking yet?

Was he saying any new words?

Now I’m not heartless. I mean, the guy is asking about his kid! Sure, he could have actually shown up for his court ordered visitation and then he would know the answers to those questions, but I still felt like I should respond. So I wrote him back. Then he wrote me back. Then I wrote him back.

Next thing I know we’re e-mailing each other regularly, talking about our day and just shooting the breeze like we were actually still friends. And you know what? It felt good. I’d really missed talking to him. More than any other aspect of the relationship, I’d missed the friendship. It kind of felt like I was getting the best of both worlds. I could be his friend and I didn’t have to put up with any of his BS.

Then he started telling me how he’d improved himself. He had gone back to school. He’d gotten a haircut. He had cut down on his narcotic medication. He had almost quit. You get the idea. I dutifully congratulate him on all his accomplishments, while privately thinking “Yeah, right…” but I was trying to be nice about it.

Then he asks me to add him to my friends list on MySpace.

At first I just hit deny on the requests and don’t mention it. Then he starts asking why I keep denying his requests. I change the subject, but he’s dogmatic about it. He needs to know why I keep denying him. So I tell him:

It just doesn’t feel right to add you.

I don’t want to add you.

I’m not comfortable adding you.

Those aren’t good enough answers. He wants to know why. At last, I tell him:

You want to know the honest answer why I won’t add you? I don’t want to be associated with you. I mean, yes, we went out. Yes, we have a kid together. Yes, you’ll always be special to me and I enjoy the way we’ve been chatting but I don’t want to people to come to my page and see you under my friend’s list. I don’t want people to go to your page and see my picture on it. I’m still angry with you. I get angry thinking of all the time I wasted with you when I could have been improving myself. I get angry thinking of all the things you talked me into doing and all the things I did to try to earn your love. I get angry thinking of the way you took advantage of me. Maybe you’ve changed in the last three months, but the honest truth is that I don’t see how someone can change that much in such a short time so I’m kinda skeptical about this ‘whole new you’ that you want me to buy into. You’re great at manipulating people and I’ve let myself be manipulated by you for too long. I like talking to you about stupid stuff, but I don’t want to be associated with you. I know this is really harsh, but you asked…

Did I need to get that off my chest? Yes.

Could I have said it nicer? Probably.

Do I feel like a bitch now? Totally.

Ready To Heal

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 11:55 EST

Mr. Excitement and I broke up. Somehow everyone saw that coming but me. It’s only now with the 20/20 vision that hindsight provides that I can see how destructive that relationship was. Mr. Excitement never did completely overcome his addictions. He merely replaced his alcoholism for prescription pain medication. In the months following the birth of our son Boo his prescription abuse escalated.

In December of 2008 he faked an injury at work and filed for worker’s compensation, forcing me to quit school and begin working when they refused to pay for the fictional injury. He took up the parental role in name only, sitting up late at night watching TV with the baby while Boo slept and I worked. He slept and watched more TV during the daylight hours while I attended to the house and cared for our son during. I was catching brief naps while Boo slept, but he berated me for being lazy and sleeping all day though I was only receiving 4 to 5 hours of sleep in a 24 hour period and even those were not consecutive.

The relationship had turned into a prison for me. He insisted that I hand over every dime I made in tips because I was too “irresponsible” to handle the money. He kept possession of the car keys and monitored my mileage to assure that I was only driving to and from work, the grocery store and the laundry mat. I was not allowed to communicate with friends and I could only speak to my mother when he listened in on my phone calls. He, on the other hand, was running up the cell phone bill my mother paid by $200 every month calling his friends and family. He insisted that we didn’t have enough money to pick up Bubba for my visitations with him, but he was spending about a $1000 a month on prescriptions. I was in danger of going to jail for not paying child support and my ex-husband, Mr. Perfect, was talking about taking me back to court to cut off my visitation.

It all came to a head on April 30th. I had been hoarding a portion of my tip money every night to pay bills. Excitement found out. He insisted that I call my mother and beg her to pay the our rent and utilities so that he could the money I’d stockpiled to buy his drugs. I dialed her number, but instead of begging for cash, I rebelled, announcing to her that the baby and I would be coming to visit that weekend. My mother hadn’t seen Boo since his birth 7 months before. She was ecstatic about our coming. When I hung up the phone I fully expected him to berate me, push me and pull my hair like he had become so accustomed to doing when I disobeyed him. Instead he just said “I guess you’ll have to go see your mother tomorrow.” I thought I had won for once.

That night, I went to work painfully oblivious to his plans. When I returned home, he was gone, as was all the money I had earned and our son, Boo. I went to his mother’s house. I could hear Boo crying. Excitement called through the locked doorway that he had left me and I’d never see Boo again. I began to beat on the burglar bars. I called the police. Excitement told them that he had left because I had shaken Boo. The police threatened me with trespassing and destruction of property. I had to leave.

The next day I called my mother and she helped me move in with her just before I was evicted from my apartment. Excitement prevented me from seeing Boo for 20 days until the judge ordered him to allow me temporary supervised visitation. Excitement and I entered into an expensive and emotionally exhausting custody battle. We dragged all the skeletons out of the closet: Excitement’s alcohol and drug addictions, my suicide attempts, and abuse accusations on both sides.

In the end, we both lost temporary custody. The judge awarded my mother full custody of Boo. I was awarded temporary supervised visitation (supervised by my mother) on 2nd and 4th weekends of every month. Excitement was awarded supervised visitation (supervised by his mother and step-father) on 1st, 3rd and 5th weekends of every month. Because I live with my mother, and because Excitement has voluntarily missed his last 3 weekends with Boo, I have been with him full-time. The only down-side is that my mother has to supervise me at all times and she is legally in charge of making all decisions about his welfare. It could have been much worse.

Now I’m trying to navigate the single world again. Up until this point I’ve always associated my self-worth with the opinions of whatever man was a prominent figure in my life. Now I’m searching for the real me, someone I’m not sure I’ve ever met. I’ve returned to school and I’m juggling the challenges of being a full-time student and a full-time single-mom. Thankfully, my mother has been an endless source of support. A doctor I visited for a court-ordered psychological evaluation corrected my previous diagnosis of Bi-Polar Disorder and I’m now in therapy to help me deal with Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. All in all, I’m just trying to get on with my life and learn how to heal.

Maybe or Maybe Not

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 06:58 EST

Since leaving Prince Charming I had been super busy just trying to finish college. Last post I was thinking of giving P.C. one more chance. Well, since then he has been out of town for work so I haven’t really needed to decide what I want to do. This has been a very good thing because I have no idea what I want to do. On one hand I think I should give him another chance because he wasn’t that bad. I mean really there were plenty of good things about him. He always worked hard, he didn’t have any addictions, he didn’t try to control me, he helped me pay for college, and he was never physically abusive. We had many good times and share many great memories. There were a lot of times I felt happy.

However, on the other hand he wasn’t that good either. He was verbally abusive. He never emotionally supported me with school, even when I pleaded to be left alone to study. He totally refused to help me with housework even when I begged. He always put his friends before me, even on our wedding anniversary. He lied. He talked to other women on the internet. We had many loud, screaming, swearing arguments, and many bad days. There were a lot of times I felt miserable.

Still, maybe WE should have another try. He has apologized over and over, and I did make a commitment to him. I didn’t take those marriage vows lightly. But then, I didn’t take those marriage vows lightly, but it looks like he sure has hell did. Maybe he will change, but maybe he won’t. Sometimes I miss him and want to run to him. Other times I am glad he’s gone, and wonder why the heck I stayed so long. Why can’t I pick one? Why can’t I make up my mind? I could be throwing away a great changed guy and a happy future. Or I could be setting myself up for devastation all over again. There is no way to know. I have to decide. I have to choose a side.

I don’t know what I am going to do. I don’t want to regret my choice. I have to think this through. I have to find a way to make up my mind. I think I will start by asking myself one thing: Do I still love him? Good question. Well I will have to get back to you on that one. The only answer I have right now is maybe or maybe not.

Cleanliness, godliness and Stanley Steemer

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 18:18 EST

I have a fairly embarrassing confession to make. I do not get my carpets cleaned very regularly. I'm okay-ish about vacuuming and mopping, but for the real heavy-duty stuff, not so much.

So my sweetie's sisters were planning a weekend visit, and it was the impetus I needed to do some general "sprucing." It included pruning in the patio, finally getting a new lamp for the new end table, organizing the guest bedroom and eliminating piles of stuff, and ultimately, asking Stan "the man" Steemer to come out and do the carpet and tiles.

Well let me tell you, I nearly burst into tears when I saw how much better the tile and grout looked, and how much better the carpet felt under my tootsies. WHAT. TOOK. ME. SO. LONG?

You know, day to day, you can sort of ignore how messy things are. I mean, they function ok. And it's not like anything was sticky. But when you see the difference, you realize how disgusting things actually were.

But when the floor is clean *I* actually feel clean! I feel better. Fresher.

Same when my car is washed and shiny. Same when the kitchen sink is clean. And the mirrors aren't all spotted with tiny dental floss projectiles. And broken things are fixed or replaced. And shelves aren't overflowing with random flotsam and jetsam.

And I got to thinking. I wonder how much self-esteem is tied to being tidy, clean and maintained. I know you can go too far in either direction - completely slobby OR compulsively clean.

But I just think it must be harder to be relaxed, comfortable and positive when you live in a pit. Yes, I know the expression 'happier than a pig in s**t"but I'm not sure we should make that assumption without asking them first.