Random updates out of the blue

1. The hoofed on is officially for sale.  I’m sad.  I’m ok with it.  I feel guilty.  I don’t want him to go.  I hope it happens fast.   When I bought him, I knew he wasn’t my forever horse.  He was largely an investment.  And as with any investment, you have to know when it’s time to sell.  And it’s time.  For a variety of horse business reasons, and even more personal ones.  The N-Man is about to turn 3.  (Excuse me for a moment, but how the @%@)&^(&#$ is he about to be THREE years old???)   And every parent knows that 3 is a magic number when it comes to activities.  Soccer, karate, suzuki violin… they all open their doors at three.  And suddenly, come spring, my time will be in demand for other things that are not all about me.  It makes no financial sense for me to own a horse I can only see two times a week when I can just take lessons on someone else’s.  And so, it is official.

2.  X.  He’ll never change.  He’ll never grow up.   Long ago he said he wanted to take the N-Man to visit relatives for Thanksgiving this year.  I was open to it.  Then he told me no, he couldn’t afford it.  I started making different mental plans for my holiday.  Then last week he told me that his father offered to pay for the plane tickets and wanted to know if I was ok with the N-Man going.  My biggest sticking point was making sure we balanced out his complete absences from my major holiday by ensuring he could spend Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day here.  X’s immediate reaction to that suggestion was to invite himself over for Christmas dinner.

I just got off the phone with him and in discussing it again he once again announce that he would be coming for dinner.  I told him no and,  class=”hiddenSpellError” pre=”">suprise suprise “>suprise suprise, he argued with me.  Apparently because it’s HIS son he can do what he wants.  I offered to bring the N-Man to him later in the evening and he told me that wasn’t acceptable so he would be coming for dinner.  God help me for what I said next.   With no warning to me, my mouth suddenly blurted out  Look, I don’t think my boyfriend is going to be comfortable with my X husband having holiday dinner with us.  

No, you haven’t missed anything.  Yes, I just lied and told my X that I’m involved when I”m not.  But I swear it wasn’t a tactic for promoting jealousy or playing games.  I’m just at my wits end for how to deal with his bullying.  It happens less and less but when it does it’s still unbearable and it seems nothing I do even remotely works.  He just bulldozes me emotionally until I give in and do what he wants, because it’s easier than continuing to fight with him.  But I”ll tell you one thing.  I am NOT having him over for the holidays again. I did it last year and was miserable.  I”m not doing it again.  And blurting out what I did served it’s purpose.  So, to that extent, I make no apologies.

X’s immediate reaction to my non existant news was to tell me that he had to approve the people HIS son spends time with and he would take me to court to prevent ”this man”  from coming to my house for dinner.  Then he asked me how I would feel if he had a  girlfriend and had her over for the holidays instead of me.  Honestly, whatever.  It’s not my place to tell him who he can and cannot have in his life.    I don’t want to have a pretend family dinner with him.  Does he seriously believe that just because we were once married we are still so entwined?  I just can’t wrap my brain around his though process at all.

3.  Aside from his ultimatum that I never date again, X also told me that if he takes the N-Man for Thanksgiving, I have to take them both to the airport.  I told him no on that point too and again he argued.  I have a car seat in the car.  Um, so does he last time I checked.  He needs help in the airport with the N-Man.  Um, so maybe you shouldn’t be traveling with him if you can’t handle it.  He doesn’t want to pay to park his car.  Not my problem.  He finally told me we’d discuss it later and I just reminded him that, no, the issue was resolved. 

It just never changes and it never will.   So long as he gets his way he’s happy.  If he has to compromise anything his mission is to make the entire world a living hell until he does get his way.  I absolutely hate that I have to share my child with this person.

4.  On a more positive note, I’m in love.  Not with a person, but with a house.  And the timing may be perfect.  I love the house that I’ve been renting the past two years, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it is not our forever home.  As much as I love dating this house, I do not want to marry it.   One mile northwest of us though, there is one that I’m falling for…hard.  New construction in a darling little bungalow style community.  All the same school districts.  Almost exactly the same amenities as my current house, only with bigger rooms, a mud room entry perfect for exploding children, and a full basement to grow into (ie a full basement to lock screaming boys in when the N-Man is older and wants to have friends over to sleep.)  I’ve even picked out the lot I want.     End of the row with green belt open space on one side, backs up to a community playground, only one physical neighbor.  And it won’t likely be released for sale until late spring/early summer.  Exactly the time I’ll be serious about writing a contract.  But don’t hold me to committing.  I reserve the right to change my mind 1,001 times between now and then.

Back to normal

The social worker called me late this afternoon to let me know she had met with X and his mother and to tell me we can resume our regular visitation schedule.  In other words, I get to send the N-Man over there tomorrow and wait 34 long hours for him to come home, hoping and trusting that really, everything is actually ok over there. 

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like I wanted X to be found undeniably guilty of something atrocious,  but oh goody.   His reaction to the news of what the N-Man said was “appropriate” and the SW assured me that X and his mother have worked out a “safety plan” where by she will be the one responsible for all diaper changes and baths.  Apparently, he did say that when he changes the N-Man, he cries a lot when his bottom is wiped.  Other than that,  case closed as unfounded/inconclusive and we can go back to normal.  Or can I? Is that really so realisitc?   I suppose, in time, perhaps it is, but not over night. Not just because one week later someone who has known my family for a total of two face to face hours says so.  Excuse me for thinking that’s just a wee bit too much to ask.  But I’ll try. I really will.

All I know is thank God tonight is the monthly single mom’s meeting at my church.  It’s been a while since I went but if ever I needed some fellowship, support and prayer, tonight is it.

Now what?

I was originally told it would take two or three months to resolve.  Instead it is going to be only one week.  Last week the N-Man made a spontaneous statement that his “Tata” hurt him and described, in anatomically correctly language, the hurt being to his private parts. Social services took notice and got involved. 

When I first had contact with the crisis worker, she described to me a lengthy investigative procedure, during which the N-Man would not be allowed to have any contact with X.  I felt a tangled mix of relief and despair for my child at that thought.  I haven’t slept since it started.  I’m blatantly depressed.   And today, everything changed.  Working in this field, I should not be surprised.   When a two and a half year old makes any kind of statement it should be taken with a grain of salt because, even as verbal as the N-Man is you can never be certain of the context and they are not usually able to follow up with a detailed statement.  Unless there are witnesses or some other physical evidence, there is nothing that can be done.  And that is exactly how it’s panning out. 

The new, assigned investigator came to my house to meet me and the N-Man.   Fickle little boy that he is, he chose today of all days to play coy, be modest about his crazy advanced verbal abilities, clam up, and decide he wanted nothing to do with a visitor he’s never met before. She and I tried for an hour to get him chattering but he was not going to have any of it.  

As she left I asked her what the next step was and was informed that because of his tender, non verbal years, unless she was able to obtain an additional disclosure from him, the police were declining to do any investigation of their own, as it would be for naught.  So she’ll call X, schedule a home visit, which will go well because his mother is back in town and, unless X offers up any explicit information, HA, things will be over.   That’s it.   The file will be closed as unfounded/inconclusive.   Unless someday the N-Man says something more, we’ll never know what happened or what he meant.  The child welfare professional in me fully understands and accepts that reality.  The mama bear wants to throw up.

I don’t know what’s worse.  Knowing a  declaration of that magnitude came out of my child’s mouth or, one week later, having to send that child back over to the person he stated hurts  him.  Do I think X did what our adult minds automatically assume?   I don’t know.  There are a lot of things X has done in the past that I never would have expected so I don’t know what to believe when it comes to that man.  I know I don’t want to believe it.   But I do know there are numerous other things, lack of proper diapering, nutrition, and supervision, that happen when his mother is gone.  So what am I supposed to think?

 How am I supposed to feel knowing what the statement was and that a so called “investigation” that couldn’t really be done yielded a whole lot of nothing either way?  I’m supposed to send him back over there like nothing ever happened? How do I do that? How do I abide by the advice of the co-parenting class I as required to take during our divorce and just sit by and trust, as opposed to  conducting an inquisition the moment he comes through my safe door?  How do I go back to where I was last week?  HOW?  I wish I could gather up my sweet, tiny, little boy and just flee this God forsaken city that I never wanted to live in in the first place and that, at best, I tolerate  because of X, and go anywhere else.

If, at the front end, it felt like a kick to the gut  today’s knowlegdge feels like more of the same but with a pointed, steel toed boot.

One step forward, two steps back

I don’t want to be the controlling, micromanaging ex-wife.  Really and truly I do not.  I have enough on my plate in my own universe without worrying about the minutia and details of what happens at X’s house when the N-Man is there.  But I can’t help but be annoyed in situations like tonight’s. 

I went to pick him up and it was first obvious that X, who was again in nothing but his boxer shorts (for the love of all that is holy please put on SOMETHING when you know I’m coming), had never even gotten dressed that day.  He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed with a bad hang over.  The N-Man was wearing the same outfit I’d sent him in two days ago and was filthy, complete with an overflowing, poopy diaper.  I asked X why he was wearing dirty clothes and he told me that I had all of the N-Man’s clothes at my house and thus, he had nothing to put on him.  1.  I have one shirt that is “X’s”.  2.  X watched me pack three changes of clothes into the N-Man’s bag when he came to pick him up.  3.  If you don’t have clothes for your son, go to the store and get some.  T-shirts are only $2.50 at Wal-Mart.  Is this really something that needs to be spelled out for you?    I pointed out that there were clothes in the backpack to which he responded.  It’s too hot for those clothes. … the tank top and shorts?

I bit my lip and as I changed him into something clean and, since it was an ambiguous 5:30, asked if the N-Man had eaten dinner yet.  X responded that he had just given him some cake so he was ready to go.  I looked at the table and sure enough there was a huge peice of chocolate cake, slathered in icing.   I stuck my neck out to inquire if he had fed him anything else.  Apparently the N-Man won’t eat anything else, thus X just gives him cake and candy.   I scooped up my strawberry sprite, who was dancing about my ankles, yelling to go in Mommy’s car, and exited the building while I still had my wits about me.

 We have more and more moments where, yes, we are able to work well together, but I’m not sure I will ever be to a point where I’m confident he has the first clue how to care for a small child, fully on his own, for several days in a row.  I don’t think it’s too much to ask that he change the N-Man’s clothes or feed him something other than sugar.  Or maybe I’m wrong.  Thank GOD X’s mother will be back in two weeks.

Friday friday friday

I can’t be coherent this evening.  It’s just not possible.  My disjointed thoughts include:

1.  I arrived at X’s house  for our usual Friday morning N-Man exchange just before 10:00 am and had to pound on the door for almost 15 minutes before he answered.  Apparently he was still asleep.   I know he went out with the guys last night ( that was his given reason why he couldn’t take the N-Man home for an extra evening after we were finished with Chuck E Cheese) and I know how much he drinks when he’s out with the guys.  Aside from that I’m not going to jump to conclusions that I can’t back up.  I just know that I was not happy to see him looking green and acting as if I’d shown up unannounced at 3:00 am.  And would it really kill the guy to put on something other than his boxer shorts before he answers the door for me?

2.  I’ve gotten into the habit of taking myself to the movies.  For the most part I hate going to the movies with someone else and I’ve given in to that indulgence regularly lately and love it. I was in a non-descriptly, weepy, blah, entirely female kind of mood this afternoon, the kind of mood that every woman out there knows can only be cured by a good, no real reason for it cry.  So I went to see My Sister’s Keeper. Yep!  That did the trick.  And then I came home and have no N-Man here to hug fiercely.

3.  I approached my trainer today about my thoughts on potentially selling the hoofed one, couldn’t actually say the S word and burst into tears.  I think it’s fair to say I’m definitely not there yet. 

4.  I got an envelope in the mail from The Man today.  Definitely made me raise an eyebrow. Apparently he was cleaning out his car and found a rusted, broken, cheap, tacky, and obviously completely worthless bracelet in the back somewhere and assumed it was mine and mailed it to me.  Sorry not mine.  An email could have told him that if he’d asked first.  But whatever.  I threw it in the trash.  What is it with the random, bizarre interactions/communications I’m having with men this week?

5.  I have some pretty heavy duty stuff on my mind this past week.  Thoughts that are suprising to me.  Thoughts that appear to be, at this juncture, slightly more than just passing moments.   I just want to make sure they are thoughts that are seriously here to stay before I open my mouth here and freak anyone out.  Don’t worry.  They aren’t bad thoughts.  But they’re pretty life changing and serious.

6.  I’m getting my hair chopped off tomorrow.  OFF.  Boy short.  Think Halle Berry.  I’m a little anxious about it but know I”ll walk out feeling much freer and am not chickening out.   Tomorrow’s post = the before and after.

And with that, I’m kicking off my weekend by ordering Chinese and eating it in bed as I watch TV and then fall asleep early.  Ten years ago I would have found that oddly pathetic.  Now, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.

Tease!

I spent the afternoon and evening with X.  First at the N-Man’s medical testing appointment followed by a happy family outing to Chuck E Cheese as a reward for being so brave.  You can decide who was bravest and most deserved the reward  because, you’d better believe, I have a tale to tell.  But it’s going to have to wait.

Most importantly, it appears that the N-Man’s kidneys are up and running perfectly and that his urine is only flowing one direction. WHEW!!  But after enduring a tube up the willy and being flushed out with radioactive, or whatever you call it, x-rayable dye while being held down at all four corners, he’s in less than a stellar mood, understandably with a death grip on his junk, shrieking in pain every time he comes close to peeing.  It’s just heart wrenching.  And so much for potty training progress.

Anyway, my attention is needed elsewhere tonight so you’ll just have to wait with bated breath until tomorrow for the other details.

731 days

As I lay in my bed last night, staring at the ceiling and trying to turn off my brain, I had a realization.   I was pondering my housing options and mentally debating whether I wanted to build a new house or simply purchase the house that the N-Man and I currently rent, when it hit me.  I want to paint this bedroom.  Maybe put in crown molding too.  Or maybe I shouldn’t spend the money on the crown molding yet.   Do I really want to buy this house?  Is this our forever home?   I’m not sure.  But do I really need a bigger place for just two of us?  It doesn’t make sense to move when we like it here so much.  We’ve lived here so long already and still have another year on the lease.  It makes more sense to make an offer on this one than start over.  I know the owners will give me price concession for the amount of time I’ve been here already.  Seriously, how much money have I spent since moving in here?  How long has it been now?  OMG….

Today marks two years since I made my official decision vow to leave X.  

It actually started on August 8.   We were getting ready to go to the gym, X, the N-Man and I.   I called down the hall to him, as I was packing my bag, to please grab a couple of towels and triggered one of his rages.  I don’t really remember the details anymore.  Can no longer connect the dots between asking for a towel and X’s anger.   I just remember that after trying to walk away from his fury with no success, I ultimately told him I was going   by myself so that we could let the situation deescalate.   As I grabbed my bag to walk out the door, before he could object to being left behind, he came up behind me and grabbed me by the arm and jerked me back into the house.  I twisted away from him and opened the front door and squeezed out as he tried to close it on me.  As I ran down the steps of the building to my car he screamed after me,  That’s right.  Go on and leave like the fucking whore that you are.  He was holding a six month old N-Man.  And the switch finally flipped with resounding, echoing CLICK!

That was it.  He’d said it, done it, one too many times.   I got in my car and pulled around the corner of our condo complex where he couldn’t see me and cried, sobbed,  for half an hour. Instead of going to the gym, I drove around and around for two hours, breathing deeply and planning what I knew I needed to do.   I went back home with just enough time for X to get ready for work, knowing there wouldn’t be time for more conflict.  And as soon as he left, I set things in motion, scouring Craigslist for available rentals, calculating and recalculating my budget, debating the pros and cons of different neighborhoods.  By the end of the evening I had set up four viewings for the next day. 

The very second I walked into my current place, when the property manager singled me out at the open house and pulled me aside to talk business away from the other prospects, I knew I had found the right space and the courage to do it.  I knew I had to do it.   On August 10, 2007 I went to his office with the N-Man, paid my deposit and, with a single signature,  committed myself to following through.  When X came home that night I simply showed him a copy of the new lease and finally uttered the words.   I want a divorce.  Surprisingly enough he didn’t fight me, probably still convinced he would have time to manipulate me back into his web.  It didn’t happen.

My new found freedom didn’t materialize overnight.  In fact, it was another two months after I signed the lease, before I was fully moved out and  completely away from his smothering influence. But finally taking that step, locking myself into a path that was a long time coming was the significant event to get me to here.   We’ve been separated now longer than we lived together.  And while I can so clearly recall those times, I no longer know the woman I was on that day, the one who is just a shell of the real me.  I remember the pain that I was in but can no longer feel it.  The fear of the unknown that I know gripped me then  seems silly in light of my current circumstances.   731 days.  On paper it reads like an eternity.  In my mind, it’s as if I just blinked myself to now.

Drawing the line

The N-Man’s other grandfather is in town and, always wanting to appear to be the gentleman, he called me over the weekend to rave about his grandson and invite my mother and I out to dinner with him.  An uncomfortable lump immediately formed in my stomach because I knew what that meant.  X would probably be there.  However, this morning, when we solidified the plans, as luck would have it, it panned out so that we would all meet up after X went to his evening class.  The pile of bricks on my chest disappeared in an instant.  Until X woke up… at noon… and his father told him off our plans…. which, insolently, did not include him. Within moments he was on the phone yelling at his father on one end while, at the same time, trying to tell me it was ok for the N-Man to wait until 8 pm for dinner, because he wanted to be there.  After all, it is all about him.

I have to say, I’m very proud of how I handled the situation.  I’ve come a long way in the past 364 days.  No yelling back.  No caving in just to avoid the bullying.  Despite the anxiety welling up inside, I calmly asked him if there was a specific reason he needed to join us. No.  Is there something you need to discuss with me, because I have time right now.  No.  Well, I’m sorry we weren’t able to include you this time, but if there’s something that does come up, we can talk when I bring the N-Man over on Friday.  For the first time since I’ve known him, X was speechless.  He stammered ok, dumbfounded that no one was accommodating  him, and simply, politely hung up the phone. 

I’m a pretty cut and dry kind of gal when it comes to ending relationships.  The relationship is over.  The loose ends are tied up.  Goodbyes all around. That’s it.  I want to move on with as little fuss as possible.  The occasional looking back is fine in the sense of running into someone or coming across an unexpected T-shirt, inadvertently left behind, or a pile of forgotten vacation pictures.  These kinds of things are natural.  But I have never been comfortable with the idea of  staying friends with an X.  It doesn’t work.   You simply can’t get over someone who is still around.   Having waited as  long as I did to marry, I have my fair share of memories to choose from and I can count on one finger the number of guys that I would consider to be a friend in the true meaning of unconditional, supportive friendship.  And he and I lost contact as a matter of circumstance many years ago.  It’s simply not my M.O.

This mindset has caused the biggest struggle for me throught my first year as a single mom.  Where do you draw the line?   For the first time in my life, I can’t just walk away from things.  He’s still there, going to be there for many more years to come and I don’t quite know what to do with it.  It’s been a difficult, contemplative process.  I have tried the “friendship” approach, acted as if nothing ever happened and he was just another person who was there that I could spend time with now and them.  Against my better judgement, I had him and his family over for Christmas this past year.  Frankly, I think it went above and beyond the call of duty, but not neither of us in a new relationship at that time, I felt perhaps I should give in a try for the N-Man.  Just maybe, I thought, I am being too rigid in my thinking.  Surely, clearly, divorced parents have over lapping lives. So I decided to leave my comfort zone.

It was too much.  It was down right painful for me.  I forced a smile through the day, all the while cursing myself for bending over backwards to be so accomodating to a man who had treated me with the same concern as one would an empty milk carton.  I quickly tried to drawn a line in sand and posted emotional warning all over that firmly told him “Do not cross.”  But that new boundary only angered him, having taken away something to which he had decided he must be entitled.  He tried again and again to cross it and only after I endured several rounds of bullying without budging did he back down and go back to his own world again. 

I fully get where he is coming from.  His father had numerous affairs when X was a child, resulting in numerous half siblings with women all over the world.  His mother, for whatever reason, endured this treatment for too long before his dad finally left her for one of his other, younger women.  Yet for some reason, X now 17 years into adulthood,  he is still an enmeshed part of her life.  He stays in her home when he is in town.  She cooks his meals and cleans his laundry while he’s there.    She hates it.  Is bitter.  But she does it.  Is it cultural?  Is she so mired in low self esteem that she can’t say no?  I don’t know the answer.  I just know that, just becuase X  knows nothing but inappropriate, enmeshed, chaos, I will not be his doormat the way his mother has been to his father all these years.  

The bottom line is, I don’t want to talk with him or see him anymore than necessary.  That’s my choice.  I understand that we will have to communicate and work together for at least 16 more years and of course I want those exchanges to be amicable.   But aside from seeing each other in passing when dropping off the N-Man, occasional phone conversations and emails, and  special events, that’s it.  Why do we need anything more?    I’m not bitter.  It doesn’t stem from unresolved issues, tucked away in a dark, angry place.  There are no harbored resentments.  I wish him no ill will and hope he’s happy but there’s no reason we need to chat about the day to day of our lives like a couple of long lost pals.  There is nothing wrong with setting up some healthy boundaries and expecting someone else to respect them.   And I’m drawing the line right here.  End of story.  I’m finally comfortable enough to just say it and not make apologies for my values and feelings.

But I’m curious. Since everyone is different,  what’s your story?  How much contact to you have with your children’s other parent?  Where do you draw the line?  How has that changed over time?   GO!