2 posts tagged “children”
I hurt so badly right now that I can't even cry, that simply crying is just. not. enough. I feel like I need to retch the pain up and out of me in a putrid torrent of hurt, disappointment, anger, disbelief, frustration, indignation, betrayal and...sadness. I'm keeping my composure though, I'm smiling on the outside, because my children are home with me and I'm afraid that if I let even a trickle of the pain I'm feeling out, my heart will burst like the proverbial dam and I won't be able to control the damage.
Up to this point, I have refrained from putting the details of the State of the Dissolving Union on my blog because then it becomes public domain, forever archived in cyberspace for the world to access on a whim. Basically, (cue COPS theme music) anything I say here can and may be used against me in a court of law. But this is my outlet, my vent, and I'm afraid I'm on the verge of blowing like Vesuvius.
My husband left me, you all know that. He told me he didn't love me anymore and he got himself a girlfriend. Or, maybe he got the girlfriend then decided he didn't love me...I don't know and I really don't care. That was hard, that hurt. It was really awful when his girlfriend decided to assauge her guilt by trying to convince me (and, herself) that she wasn't a homewrecker, that her sleeping with a married man was excused by the fact that he and I had problems. I suppose that she didn't want to feel like she was responsible for breaking up a marriage so she called me, she texted me, she came for lunch to the restaurant where I work, knowing full well that I would be there. Of course I can't speak to her motives with any certainty, but I sincerely hope that's why she was doing all of those things because I can't think of any other plausible explanation for harrassing your boyfriend's wife. I stomached her offers to babysit, to speak to Walker on my behalf, to help me get a job with her company. I refused to be baited when she suggested a self-help book she thought I needed or told me I was (and I quote) "a pathetic piece of shit" and "a lazy pig". I managed not to laugh in their faces when they insisted that I needed to respect her. I didn't throw a fit when she sent me an itemized list of all the fun she had with my kids on Christmas Day. I think she finally decided I was serious when I told her for the hundredth time that I was glad that she and the kids got along so well but that I have no interest in being her friend, and that if she didn't stop contacting me I was going to get a restraining order, because she hasn't bothered me in about two weeks. Here's hoping the cease fire lasts.
But even if it doesn't, I now know that I can handle being stalked by my husband's girlfriend with the same grace that I handled being told that my husband, after 12 years and three children, didn't love me or want me anymore. What I am having difficulty wrapping my brain around and handling with any amount of grace, is the way he's treating our children.
Oh, don't get me wrong, he's not being mean to them. They come home after every other weekend telling me how much fun they had with Daddy, how he played Rock Band with them on the Wii, took them horseback riding, or let them help him cook supper. They're equally glad to see him when he picks them up on his Fridays as they are to see me when he drops them off the following Sunday. What he's doing is a lot more subtle.
He's five weeks behind on his spousal support. He's a week behind on his child support. He tells me that it's because he hasn't been working enough hours, but when I ask why he's not spending his extra free-time with his kids, he doesn't have an answer. He hasn't even talked to them on the telephone in a week, and when I pointed this out to him his answer was, "Well, the kids haven't called me." I couldn't believe I had to try to explain to him that it's his responsibility to maintain a relationship with his children, not the other way around. Then he tried to say that the reason they don't want to call him is because I've been telling them ugly things about him. I would think that after knowing me for a dozen years plus tax, he would know that I'm a better mother than that. I may not be a better person than that, because believe me, when our kids aren't around I call him every name in the book. But I am a better mother than to subject the children to the stress of feeling like the rope in an adult game of Tug O' War.
When I told him that by not giving me the money that the courts ordered him to pay he's depriving the kids of the things they need, he told me that it wasn't his responsibility to support the kids and that I should be able to support them without counting on him. I guess he conveniently forgot that WE decided that I would drop out of college to get married and have these kids, these beautiful, intellegent, healthy, good-natured children who I did not conceive by myself. I may not have conceived them by myself, but I seem to be raising them by myself. How, exactly, does that work, Walker? His answer: "If you can't support them on the $2.13 you make an hour as a waitress, you need to find a better job and quit being lazy and depending on me."
Lazy? LAZY?! The man who walked out on his wife, his children, his home, his pets, his job - all of it - has the audacity to call me lazy? ME?! The one who works every minute the children are in school? The one who washes the laundry that they bring home dirty from their weekends with their dad? The one who gets up with them in the middle of the night? The one who rolls change, then goes to the store to buy the peanut butter for them to pack in their lunches? The one who reads to them before bed through eyes she can barely hold open?
I'm not looking for a pat on the back here, I'm not doing anything extraordinary. Thousands upon thousands of women (and men, for that matter) are doing the same things that I am. We don't have a choice, we have children; we refuse to run away from the responsibilities that come with the gift of a child. I don't want comments telling me how brave or strong I am, because I'm not brave (I'm scared to death) OR strong (every time I turn around, someone is having to help me out). All I want from this post is to get the poison out of my system so it doesn't eat me alive from the inside.
And I think it's already working.
I love the smell of fall. Woodsmoke, moldy leaves, wet earth...the perfume of heaven. I love the nip in the air - just the slightest bite - and drizzly rain. I love putting the down comforter on the bed and leaving the windows open at night, snuggling and cuddling under the covers in a chilly room. Sunday morning rain is falling...steal some covers, share some skin. I love watching Walker build a fire in the fireplace so we can all spend the day in the room that has no TV, watching the flames jump and listening to the wood pop and hiss. I love to see the leaves turn, especially the huge old oak trees that turn flaming orange like their tops are on fire. I love pumpkins and gourds, and hay bales, and scarecrows and turkeys.
It reminds me of childhood - the first day of school, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. All the things little kids love, the holidays of childhood, free of acrimony and full of wonderful, almost magical, surprises. Mom cooking all your favorite things for Thanksgiving dinner. Dragging out the Christmas decorations after the Thanksgiving dishes have been washed. Tiny white twinkle lights.
It reminds me of meeting my husband, and sneaking away from college to spend the weekend with him. His coat on my shoulders, road trips and hay bale surfing and long walks with your best college friend. Deep conversations, endless dreams, and youth in the season of aging.
Now, it's my turn to teach my kids to love this time of year. I get to make magical memories for them, pasted on a background of scarlet leaves and perfumed with the smell of autumn in the air. And I ask you a question: what season wallpapers your fondest memories?
