Wrestling

I was listening to Bob and Doug Mackenzie's 12 Days of Christmas on the radio on Christmas Eve and one of them referred to today as Wrestling Day. It seems apt. I've been wrestling with feelings of apprehension, fatigue, desire, and doubt all day. I'm not sure why. Maybe because this time of year always makes me reflect back on the year that's past and try to plan a better year to come, as I never measure up to my own expectations.

This past year was eventful. I started teaching again after a 9-month hiatus last January. I was also quite anxiously awaiting the report that has since caused so much anguish and distracted myself by trying to buy houses. I did buy one eventually, but only after my first house didn't pass inspection. The second was this one and I remember that when I walked in my agent was waiting for me, sprawled on a lawn chair set up in the living room, and he said, "I think this it it."

I wasn't convinced at first, but the little house grew on me. Now I love it. I'm so glad to have it.

In February I was packing and planning my move, which happened mid-March. The report was ready the week I moved in, but it came out a week or so later and was devastating, as it recommended the half-time access I'd been fighting for three years. [Interestingly, here we are 9 months later and that still hasn't been implemented.]

I can't remember, April through June, except that the cruelest month seemed to extend through the whole period. In July, A began her integration program and I had no work. Summer passed by quickly, measured in cherry tomatoes ripening on sprawling vines along my driveway. We travelled north in August before she began school.

September through December of this year was the most challenging period of all, with A starting school, me teaching 3 new classes, and the case conference. Oh yes, and in there somewhere E and I were officially engaged. The year was the best and worst of times, but I'm thankful for the fleeting days of joy.

Today . . . was that. E and I sat for hours on his leather couch in front of the fire, reading and talking, with the low sun seeping through the back windows. It was soothingly silent for the first time in days. I could hear the hum of the gas and the tick of the clock, but nothing else.

I asked him at supper last night what his 5 predicitons for the year to come were. He said, "I have no idea." I'll try some here, some sure things, some not:

1. I'll meet E's ex-wife for the first time.
2. My ex and I will finally settle on a schedule for A.
3. Things will settle and clear.
4. I'll start something new.
5. We'll move forward, all of us.

Hmm. I hate putting anything down, thinking I'll jinx it, but I'll do it all the same and cross my fingers.

I've been reading Carol Shields today. I finished my latest Joanna Trollope novel on Christmas Day. Both authors make me more certain in my own uncertainty, if that makes any sense. I feel less lonely in it, anyway. They make me think that it is part of the female condition to feel at odds with our roles and obligations and to be struggling to feel authentic admist them.

Christmas Morning

It was 5:00 am Christmas morning
and all through the house
the children were sleeping in
pre-dawn hush.
I was awake
and ready to jog
but it was too dark to go out
so I sat down to blog.
After an eve stuffed with food
and a child ill with fever,
I needed to reflect in
a pre-Christmas breather.
The morning to come
was sure to be manic
as children ripped paper
in gift-driven panic.
But after the frenzy
the hype will die down
and our half-time kids
will be sent out of town,
my partner and I
will have a much needed rest
to be still together and
know we are blessed.

Beat

I thought maybe I could mark tonight, but it doesn't look promising.

A's been sick with a fever, roasting and snuffling through the nights, crying and clinging to me through the days. Her father refused to take her during my exam today . . . so she came with me and was taken off to Starbucks by my TA after gazing in awe at the 120 students in the room and saying, "What names are they?"

Now she's with her dad and I'm trying to figure out how best to use these 24 hours of freedom. I have so much work to do and so little energy for it. I'm also fighting A's cold, having been unavoidably sneezed on and touched with icky fingers.

I have tomorrow to work and maybe Thursday. Friday E and I will try to throw together a Christmas Eve Appetizer Extravaganza for us and the kids. I'm just happy we're together this year. I'm just hoping I can survive the days of marking that lie ahead.

It would all be easier, of course, if I didn't also have to worry about this hearing in the offing. The profile letter that the school put together for me, after all of their dire depictions of A, was not at all reflective of what they said. My lawyer found it weak. I now have to work on them to work on it, and that's the last thing I want to do over the holidays.

Clearing

I did shovel and it was okay, a workout, surely. After that, I left a half-hour before school started to drive A in. It usually takes about 10 minutes, but it doubled in the snow. The piles on the unplowed road were up above my bumper, and I felt myself skidding and sliding far more than my nerves could handle. After dropping A off, I ran off to the car, anxious to get home and pack for our trip to Montebello.

We just returned. It was heaven to be there, to be away, to be in love, to be lazy and indulgent. I read Vanity Fair and Quebec Elle and Vogue. I read about Sean Parker and Lindsay Lohan and their incredibly priviledged lives and how they "party." What does it mean to "party" anyway? I realize I'm no partier . . . neither is E, thankfully, although I do have the distinction of one particularly famous Canadian writer calling me a " bon vivant." Perhaps, I am that. Maybe that's the only thing that saves me from being completely felled by the particularly icy environment I'm currently attempting to navigate.

Snow plowing??

I've been waiting to decide whether it is worth spending $350 for snowplowing. Today will be a test. I have to drive A to school, so I'm going to have one more cup of coffee and then I will try to shovel my driveway . . .

Otherwise, I'll holed up at home marking. I made this week's exam a take-home, so I don't have to go in until Friday.

I watched the documentary Mine last night. It was quite powerful. A picked it up at the library and wanted to watch it. She did watch it with me, falling asleep a third of the way through, but waking a lot through the night . . . hopefully not as a result of the show, which showed the aftermath of Katrina and the abandoned animals who had to be left behind when their owners were rescued. It is always a good thing to check our own experiences against those of others . . . it makes us appreciate what we do have, even if it is a half-foot of snow.

Mid-weekend

I'm waiting for E and his kids to arrive. We're going out to a local restaurant, after a day of hangin' together at his place. The dank and dark of December are getting to me. That and everything else.

I worry about E's daughter. She's ten going on fourteen, and I think her complicated life is getting her down. She woke up crying because she couldn't sleep and was exhausted. Apparently she heard a noise in the night that kept her up and so she watched videos until the early morning. I was worried the noise came from us, but I'm not sure. E always assures me his kids sleep through anything, but obviously she didn't. Our weekends are these strange times of coming together in a fairly new family situation. It is fun most of the time, but tiring, too, as our kids go back and forth so much. How can divorced parents make their messed up lives easier for their kids?

I'm going to try, over the next few weeks, to stabilize A by reverting to her summer schedule. It is the only thing I can control for. From my internet reading on child development, it seems more than 3 days away from either parent can result in overwhelming stress for a child, so this will prevent that, at least. From there, I am hoping something else can be negotiated. When I asked my lawyer about this on Friday he said, "Not likely. He hates you." Which, of course, I didn't need to hear. I told him that and so he repeated it again, a couple of times, and reminded me that my ex spent the entire 2 hour wait for the Case Conference in a small room adjacent to the courtroom, implying that he couldn't bear the sight of me, I guess. Then he added, "I've seen it before. He really hates you."

In my own defence, I said, "Well, I don't know why. I didn't do anything to him."

Which is true. Nothing except stop loving him, if I ever did love him. Now it is hard to tell what went on there. It certainly wasn't what love feels like now. I had no idea what I was dealing with. I suppose I still don't, and that is why the cold feels so unbearable and unremitting.

Mittens

Yesterday was -16 with the windchill, so since I am finished teaching for the term and had marked my quota of essays for the day, I decided to drive to A's school to pick her up. I was particularly concerned about her getting cold . . .



Imagine me standing outside her school, unsure whether they'd even bring the kids out in the cold, stomping to keep my feet warm in my winter boots, and then when I saw the pre-schoolers tumble out the double doors, searching their little bundled bodies for A's face. I saw her friend, S, who ran to greet me at the gate, her small hands jabbing through the fence, asking what the pink, sparkly purse in my hand had in it. I showed S the little pet shop cat and tin of hand balm and noticed her own bare hands and tried to say, in my still-halting French, "Put your mittens on, your hands will get cold."



As I said this, I looked up to see A at the wall with another friend, bare-handed herself and clutching a spruce twig. I waved and she looked away. I shouted, "Put your mittens on . . . " before noticing she didn't even have mittens on . . . but a thin stretchy dollar store glove. That's when I broke school policy and walked around and into the schoolyard to help her get something warm on her hands. I was, I realize, quite upset by this point. She'd been out in the cold for several minutes and none of the teachers wandering around had noticed the children's bare hands or helped them get mittens on them. Meanwhile, the teachers were so bundled, it was likely they couldn't see past their hoods and scarves to the kids at all. I rushed to A, who started to cry, as she always seems to whenenver she sees me after seeing her dad. I put her spruce twig in her bag and searched for her mittens, which were in the pocket of her bag. She refused to wear them, at this point, as she was crying and somehow upset with me, probably for breaking the 4th wall convention of the school yard, whereby I'm supposed to remain outside the fence, observing until 3:25 pm.



As I explained the importance of mitts on hands, A pulled another silly, stretchy glove from her pocket and pulled it on. I calmed down slightly and looked around for the teacher, wondering how anyone with any sense would allow children out without mittens in those kinds of temperatures.



As I asked for Mme. T, I was directed inside, so went, and ran into A's friend's mom, whom I told about the debacle. Her comment was, "It was chaos in there today." Very reassuring.

I didn't find the teacher I was looking for, so trundled back outside until I did. In my crap French I explained that A had come out without mittens.



She replied, (in French) "She didn't have any mittens. I looked everywhere."



I then zipped opened A's bag and showed her the two sets of mittens in the pocket and said, "She had mittens in her bag."



Mme. T said, "Oh, we don't look in their bags."



"Incroyable!" I snorted.



Mme . T said, "She didn't come to school with mittens today and there was nothing in her cubby."



"Well, next time, can't you look in her bag?" I asked.



She seemed to hesitate. She obviously wasn't enjoying this conversation.



"She's only four years old," I said. "She spent last night at her father's. Can't you help her find her mittens?" My voice, I realize, was rising.



The conversation ended as she made some excuse to walk away. That wasn't the end of it, but that's all I'll say because I just lost the rest of this post to the ether . . .

The point is, how can this so-called student-centered school be so callous?

Blind

Perhaps I was going around in circles there because I wasn't understanding what was right before my eyes. I did feel it, but I had no confirmation for it. Now I do.

I met with A's teacher the week after the case conference and I was left speechless and agonized by what she said. My beautiful, intelligent daughter cannot function at school, cries constantly, isn't eating, slips off her chair and cannot rouse herself enough to get up, is confused and confounded by her schedule and is completely without happiness, joy, or innocence. She is "carrying the world on her shoulders," according to her teacher and is always sad. The teacher also said that my daughter always asks about me and says she misses me, but she does not say she misses her father.

Everytime the teacher opened her mouth, I reeled back as though struck. She nodded at me sagely. I was in shock for some time thereafter, then became angry. Even as I've been saying that my daughter has been under tremendous stress, even with the support of my doctor, my ex claimed I was making it up. His lawyer blamed me.

When I finally got to speak with my lawyer last week (he was apparently unavailable for 2 days of previous calls), he told me that my ex would likely take me to court on an emergency motion if I reverted to the court-ordered schedule. I have a hard time imagining how that could be justified. He didn't explain. He never does.

So, here I am again, taking initiative alone, trying to protect my daughter from harm, sick-at-heart to hear that she is suffering and frustrated beyond belief that I can't do more to help her and that her father refuses to.

Still thinking . . .

I can't get out of this loop. It's because I haven't heard from my lawyer. I would have liked to add an adjective there . . . but I'll refrain. E thinks he did a good job. I feel differently.



I was in a court room surrounded by men, and I couldn't help but feel that none of those men had any idea about what my daughter, age 4, needs. None of the credited me with having any idea of what she needs. The whole process, presumably held in her best interests, was a farce.



Now, I'm left wondering how to carry on with this. Do I continue fighting for a few months' grace? Do I give in to my ex's demands, which, I must add, are completely unreasonable and only intended to provoke and control me? What can I afford to do?



I'd rather not have to deal with this. I feel that I have enough to deal with already, working, prioritizing A's care, and keeping up to this house (clearing the yard, getting my tires changed, tidying (poorly)). I will be glad when E and I merge households and we can share the load. I'm not sure how things will be distributed between us, but I hope it will make things easier. My fear is that it will make things simpler on the surface, but more complex and problematic as a whole. His kids are loud and do things my kid can't, such as watch television, play on the computer, and argue. I get headaches just being there sometimes. Which makes me wonder if it wouldn't be better just to have two households, which is a possibility, but not how I imagined family life.

What is family life anymore? It isn't what I grew up with: a stay at home mom, working dad, biological siblings. A will have . . . a working mom, a working dad, a working stepmom, a working step dad, a biological sibling at dad's house, and two step-siblings at mom's house, if indeed mom lives with stepdad. Will she be able to keep it all straight? As it is, she is constantly asking where she will be, and she is always complaining about the answer.

I'm not sure what I can do to make it easier. Right now, all I can do is focus as much as possible on her. E does the same with his kids. Our kids are the first priority for both of us, which is why our relationship works so well. We get time alone, but only after they get the time they need with us and are shuttled off to their other parent's house.

Once in a while, E and I get time alone, without each other, like now . . . which is another key part of our happiness.

At least we have all these essential things . . . perhaps that is all we can hope for?

Nothing is straightforward

I thought I'd jump in the car, zip downtown, run on the treadmill, sit in the whirlpool and have a rejuvenating experience.

I forgot about the parade. Traffic was unusually slow as I approached the University, then I noticed at the last minute that the bridge was blocked, and so I parked in E's spot at the U and decided to walk to my spa experience. Well, once there, I realized there would be no relaxing tonight. The little gym was packed, as was the pool and sauna. So, I turned around and walk/ran back to the U, got the car, and came home. It took about an hour, all in.

Now I'm back, having had a brisk walk in the cold, but not much else, other than diversion. I'm left to let thoughts of the past week settle, which is what I've been doing all day. It's hard to be an introvert, as every experience requires so much processing.

I think this way. If my ex gets his wish to have the second-phase of the integration schedule implemented in January, then I will have gotten what I asked for initially, which was a longer first-stage integration. I just hope that A, who is exhibiting troubling signs of stress, will be okay. She's my main concern, as I pour money into this horrible and fruitless process. My second issue is the mobility one. I want to be able to live with E someday, even if it isn't any time soon. The judge we consulted on Thursday didn't think my living on the other side of the river was much of an issue. My ex is opposing it because 1. he doesn't want me to go on with my life and be happy and 2. he's afraid that my living with E will mean he will still be on the hook for child support, which he hopes will end with a 50/50 timeshare.

Anyway, it is all ridiculous and I think lawyers are ruthless people and the process is brutal to everyone involved.

What can I do now but submit to it and try to see beyond it? The good thing is that I'm good at thinking my way through things, even if my imagination also haunts me as I go through this.

Absurd

We were scheduled for 2:00 pm. We were only admitted to the courtroom at 3:45 pm. It was over by 4:15 pm. Nothing was decided. My character was attacked by his lawyer. My lawyer focused on his own priorities. I kept scribbling notes. My lawyer kept shushing me. It was awful. E was in the back watching.

What came of it? More delays. An opinion that E's town isn't so very far away. No resolution.

Wednesday

I'm trying to stay focused, but it hasn't been easy. I try to project myself well into the future and see this day in context, but it is difficult to do. For months now, I have had this day circled on my calender and ringed around my heart. It will determined, to a large extent, my entire life, or at least that's the way I see it now. I have to remind myself that life goes on and on and on . . and you just have to carry on and on and on . . .

This morning was a good reminder of that. I dragged myself out of a long sleep to get into gym clothes and out the door through the rain and to the gym. I ran on the treadmill for a while then relaxed into the whirlpool and pool. As I was swimming my slow lengths, I thought of how many years I'd been doing that . . . and how much has changed since I first started swimming there. I swam there with my ex, I swam throughout my pregnancy, I swam there just months after A was born, I returned to swim in the midst of the bitterest stages of separation and divorce, and I'm swimming there now . . . as the custody battle enters its fourth year. But I realized today, I'm okay. I've survived it all. I have a changed life, a renewed life, and a better life; I'm still afloat. So, whatever happens won't change me . . . only my circumstances, and I seem to be able to handle great waves and swells, at least so far. I have to remain steady, and can.

I'll just remember that . . . in the midst of what will feel unbearable . . . and I'll remember all the good that has come of all the bad.

A beam of light in the darkest hour

That is what E's promise is. I'm at home after one of my killer days of back-to-back classes. I'm exhausted. Tomorrow, I have to sign off on court documents and I've been sweating all day, thinking about it. I don't want to make things worse by telling my truth, but I have to. I have an obligation to protect my daughter and defend her, but it isn't going to make it easier with my ex. To tell the truth, with him, has always been to risk rejection. Not that I expect anything else, now. I expect he'll deny everything I say to protect himself. Or he will attack me, to make himself look better. I know this, but I still don't want to have to deal with it.

At lease I have A and E and a future I can now see.

I look down at this brand new ring, this large bright stone that I can wear alongside the other ring . . . and I'm so grateful that E did what he originally wanted to, and that I didn't tear apart his past to create a future with him, but accepted our future on new terms with the past still a valued memory. It all means something like that to me now.

I can now be quite happy in picturing our future in a way I never could before. What makes the difference? He, I know, doesn't feel any differently, but I do. It means everything to me that he make this gesture at this particular time.

Rushing

I have been rushing most things, trying to get places on time, to keep up to work, to get A where she needs to be . . .



Are E and I rushing things?



We spent the weekend in Montreal. After a walk and a lovely meal in a little French bistro, we returned to our Hotel for the dessert that A had been talking up for 2 days.



"Why don't you have some," I suggested. "I don't think I can eat anymore."



"Well, let's just open the champagne and you can look at it. It's really pretty," he replied.



So, I said, "Okay," and began peeling off the tape from the box, as he watched me. Then I opened it up, expecting to see some beautifully iced cake, and there a top a little cup of tiramisu was a shiny thing. It took a second before I gasped and turned to look at E.



"I love you," he began, "and I hope that we can be happy and find peace together. Will you marry me?"



I didn't answer. I was too surprised, I think. So he asked me again and I stammered, "Yes, of course, I'll marry you." Then I hugged him.



I managed to pull the ring out of the dessert and try it on. It was a large solitaire. It was what he wanted to buy me all along. It made perfect sense.



I don't think we're rushing. We're just establishing where we want to be, although it may take a long time to get there. I have to get out of a court order prohibiting me from relocating from Ottawa, for instance. We also have to choose the right time for three little kids. So. We aren't rushing, we're just starting again . . . and hoping.

Affidavit

I spent two hours with my lawyer on Thursday afternoon. It was torture. He is difficult to communicate with at the best of times, but on a rainy, miserable day, he was more ornery than ever. He cursed and swore at his computer when he couldn't get it to respond appropriately to his one-finger typing ministrations. He raged and bullied me into accepting a position I hope I won't forever regret.



How can I not regret all of this? I was a mess after leaving his office. I called E and couldn't even talk. I can't help wondering what this conflict is about. Can this be my life? How did things go so wildly wrong?



In tracing the origins of this, do I go all the way back to someone I'll continue to name M and suggest that in my despair over our relationship, I was driven into a relationship with my horrid-ex, unconsciously finding in him someone worse for me than M could ever be? Do I go further back than that still, to my father, the exemplary narcissist, who at age 84 is still leaving multiple women in crisis over his philanderings?

Run down

I just returned from a quick run along the river. I didn't feel like it. I wanted just to fall into the couch and do nothing, but I was edgy with exhaustion and running was one way of directing that energy into something productive.

Tonight, I have to read over my lawyer's submission for the case conference. I am not looking forward to it. My expectations are not high. I have reason for this. I don't want another disappointment.

Snow

Winter arrives one Saturday night as we're eating wings with our children. We leave the joint to the sprinkle of solid rain. When we emerge from our next course of Pho, it is truly snowing. A and E's daughter stick out their tongues, gleefuly catching snowflakes. We all squeeze into E's new sportscar and speed out into the flurries. By morning there is a layer of white on the ground. I feel like burrowing away somewhere for the next 5 months. I wish I could have a big meal and then a long, drawn-out sleep. I just finished reading Friday Nights by Joanna Trollope. I've never read her before and it was a companionable read, but left me feeling just a little bit hopeless about what women can expect of our lives. Sometimes, when out with E and the kids, I have no sense of us being together and that frustates me. Our children are greedy for our time and attention and we seem to have none left to spare for each other. We are truly happy alone together, but that isn't always possible. We have to find a way to be together with our children and not be lost to each other.

Halloween Week

I sent A off with her school Halloween costume - all cotton (okay, except for the wings, where does one find cotton wings?) - for her class party today. I also sent apricots. We were to send orange snacks such as carrots and cantaloupe, but no candy!

We'll make up for it later. The school next door is having a party too, with candy, which I'm sure the kids will appreciate. Then there's Larry O'Brien's last hurrah Halloween party tomorrow. Of course then the main event on Sunday, when we'll test the neighbourhood for its receptivity to kids.

It has been difficult to write lately. Last week a number of things came together that left me thoroughly shaken. Things calm down, of course, but it takes time to settle again.

I'll work up to saying more, but for now I'll just try to keep focused on immediate challenges. The case conference is in the offing. I'm trying to prepare documents now, which is another worry. I do not know how long this conflict will last and it is exasperating. All I can do, I think, is keep fighting for what I believe in.

Thanksgiving

Showing gratitude is supposed to shield you from any number of ill-effects, so I try to remember each night all the things I am grateful for. We had a touching show of grace and gratitude this past weekend at E's house, with him offering to our Thanksgiving table that he was grateful for 1. me and 2. his new car. I was next so I said, I was grateful I was ranked before the car. I actually offered my thanks for the gathering of family and friends and our health and happiness, but I was also thankful for E for beginning that moment of thanks, because he knew it was important for me.

Today, as I whiz back and forth, trying to antcipate and address issues in relation to the Case Conference, I am grateful that I have more in my life than this. It is too often too big a part of my everyday experience. I am thankful for today's sunshine and for our Ottawa bike paths, and for E who stops by, and for leftover turkey, and for A's imminent arrival home.

I am also thankful to be reading Elizabeth Gilbert's new book, Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage. I started reading it last night and it is due back to the library today, but I'll try to renew it after A's swimming lesson. I'm not a skeptic about marriage. Even now as I experience the lingering after-effects of my awful 5-minute marriage, I still believe that marriage is a blessing, a sacred practice, and an essential component of social stability. For all her resistance to it, I think Gilbert sees it in a similar way.

Anyway, I'm thankful I still believe, even if I am nowhere close to marrying at the moment.

sunshine and spiders

Most people are off to somewhere special this weekend. I've been rooting through my garden, trying to avoid the spiders, as I pull the last of my cherry tomatoes before the frost. I wasn't able to eat most of the tomatoes from my 4 plants, but I may plant even more next year, because it is thrilling to have them and maybe I can give more away. Actually, I may create a larger garden in the back yard and see just how much I can grow.

A is off to her father and I had to work this morning. I'll get her back on Monday and we'll have a Thanksgiving lunch with E and his kids and friends from Montreal.

This has been a hellish week of trying to deal with my still-difficult lawyer. There has been no response from him to me in about 2 weeks, and he claims my ex's lawyer hasn't gotten back to him in a month and that I have no choice but to go to court. I find all of this too upsetting. I feel the phrase legal bullying applies to exactly such behaviour and this was recently condemned by the Ontario Law Commission, as it should be.

The good news is that E got his car. He's thrilled. We've been accelerating a lot.

I was not so thrilled to go ring shopping. I can't decide whether to get a new solitaire or to remount his three gorgeous diamonds on a new setting with more diamonds. I'm leaning towards more diamonds.

Long Rainy Day

I have been working from home since the early morning. It makes for a long, dull day when it is raining. E stopped by, but only briefly. He is taking possession of his new car tomorrow. We are going to talk to a ring designer on Friday. Meanwhile, I'm in the muck of marking. Still. It won't end. The good news is that Thanksgiving is on the horizon and after that . . . is a new reading week the end of October. I'll need all the breaks I can get if I am to be in any shape to go to court in November.

Losing it . . .

I've lost so many things lately . . .

Most importantly, I lost the contents of my safety deposit box. Most recently, I misplaced some diagnostic essays my students wrote; thankfully, I just found those. E told me yesterday, "Well, you always seem to find things," which is true, but that doesn't mean it it easy to stomach the fact that I lose sight of things, even if only temporarily.

Of course it means I'm distracted. I have many balls in the air, two jobs, three classes, four TA's, a now four-year-old in a speciality school (how many meetings can you have in a month?), and a 5-star relationship (there are five of us to consider most of the time, me and A and E and his two kids).

How can I get everything done? It looks like I may need more help than I have right now. Specifically, I need some help with childcare when A is with me from Thursday night through Tuesday mornings. I need to get some work done during that time and when I'm alone with A, work of any kind is impossible.

That's why I loose track of just about everything.

Oh, Happy Day

E is back. I'm happy. It is much more fun with him around. Tonight we tried the wing place up the street. There were dozens of different kinds of wing sauces to choose from, so of course we chose what we thought looked the hottest, a sauce with some great name I forget, and . . . it brought us to our knees, both of us dripping tears and snot, our lips swollen, our mouths burning, chewing on ice just to keep from clawing the walls. Excellent stuff. When the waitress asked how the food was, E replied, "Perfect." He was rolling his eyes and puffing his cheeks and I couldn't help but enjoy the spectacle, because this is the guy who thinks he's hotter than hot stuff. Ha.

We also talked about "the ring." I may not have mentioned, I probably didn't, but I'm wearing a stunningly beautiful triple-diamond ring. The ring . . . he bought for his ex-wife for their 10th Anniversary in order to reaffirm their marriage after her multiple afffairs, the only problem is . . . she left him before their 10th Anniversary. So. I'm wearing the ring.

I went looking at new settings and other rings on the weekend. The appraiser who was helping me asked, "What's wrong with that ring?"

I answered honestly, "Nothing. But, it wasn't intended for me."

"Right. Good reason for resetting it then."

My dilemma is . . . will resetting it really make it my ring?

The reason I'm wearing the ring is . . . he had it . . . it was beautiful . . . and he thought I might like to wear it. Yes, I do like wearing it, but I also feel like a fraud.

He's often said, well, just pick out a ring and I'll buy one for you.

But it isn't that easy, once you've been wearing this expensive and beautiful ring he bought for his ex-wife.

So. I have to decide soon, do I reset this ring, or get another altogether? I probably could not choose a ring as expensive or beautiful as the one I'm wearing, because of who I am, the extravagance of it, and the fact that I have grown quite fond of the ring I'm wearing.

Do I just change my attitude or do I change the setting?

Not a huge problem, I admit.

Nose to the Grindstone

This year will be all about working hard. I know it. A and I are shifting into new roles. E and I are finding new ways of relating. What will this year bring for us?

I hope A will learn French. I don't think she's twigged to the fact that she's in French school. As far as I see and understand (when I was there for her birthday), whenever she's on her own there (amid 26 other kids), she talks English with English-speaking kids, or replies in English to French-speaking kids. The teachers have asked me whether she speaks other languages at home. I say no, she's just making up words she thinks sound French when she speaks her own special brand of gibberish. I hope they aren't offended. They just seem perplexed.

I hope I will get through this custody chaos and move on . . . and it is hard to even imagine to that . . . I don't even know what I want to move on to . . . a life with E? Is that something I can imagine? Not soon. Move A once she's adjusted to this new school? I couldn't do that.

Will I have more work? I can see that . . . but I'll need more time. Will I have more time? Less A? Is that worth it? What about money? I need more money.

Oh, I can't think about it. All I can do is work. I don't have much of a social life anymore because, well, I live farther away from the centre and it isn't easy to just walk out the door and see someone or do anything other than maybe run or go to the grocery store.

Right now it is still all about A, E, and me, just trying to survive.

Surving Birthday Week

All of these recent weeks are as long as months, they go on and on, circling back into each other, seemingly, an unending cycle. On Monday I got word that my daughter's birthday celebration was on Thursday, this after booking Friday off. My ex had taken all the information about her school party out of the school communication envelop and her teacher hadn't confirmed the event when I asked for missing information. It worked out eventually; I was able to go, but only after a shuffling a number of things around. The worst was knowing how far my ex goes to disrupt me and his daughter. There is something wrong with him.

The rest of the week was busy with work and preparing for the birthday celebrations on Thursday and again on Friday. Today, I'm recovering.

E's away, thankfully. I'm alone. This makes it easier to hole up in bed with a book and tea, work through missing hours, and prepare for a full-on day of marking tomorrow.

The End of a Long Week

When A got home today she was cranky and difficult. She badly wanted to play with the neighbours, so I quickly changed and we walked across the street and knocked on their door. There was no answer, so I encouraged her to return to our yard to play, but she wouldn't budge. Eventually, I carried her back across the street. She was furious.

I decided to give her a time out. She resisted. I tried to appearse her, but nothing worked. She was snarly. Finally, I told her I had had enough. I explained that I had important things to do (urgent work matters that popped up on my email at 5:00pm) and she could have the time out on my bed or on hers. She decided to stay in my room and pulled the covers over her head. Within seconds she was asleep. Thank God! It is so hard to deal with whining and obstinance, especially after a particularly challenging week trying to get both of us into our new routines.

When do things settle down, I wonder? I guess we are just both exhausted, but there's more to it than that . . . it is that our lives have become suddenly complicated and we are both trying to manage. It isn't easy all this running around and spending time apart. I long for simplicity. We were supposed to have an advance birthday celebration with E and his kids tonight, but that won't happen now and maybe wasn't such a good idea to begin with.

Her class tomorrow was cancelled and I wonder whether to schedule another or just let it be, for now. I'm leaning towards letting it be. Our lives are overscheduled as it is and we need time to just hang out. Besides, it would be difficult to get her father on board for the alternative 9:30 am class tomorrow morning. Instead, maybe we'll go to the park and relax. It feels like forever since we've done that. How quickly the pace of life can chance.

The Missing Backpack

Yesterday when A arrived home on the bus she was wearing her "indoor" shoes, dragging her jacket, and missing her backpack.

"Where's your backpack?" I asked.

The kids on the bus answered for her, "Someone took it," chirped a number of voices.

The bus driver said, "She didn't have it getting on."

I was a bit perturbed. I hunted all over Scarborough on a Sunday morning looking for a logo-less backpack to replace her taboo Dora backpack.

"Who took your backpack?" I asked A.

"I can't tell you, Mommy," she said, then changed the subject.

Is she my daughter? I can't believe she wouldn't tell me. Was this some form of bullying?

"Of course you can tell me," I said. "You can tell your mommy anything."

"Can we just go home?" She said and rushed ahead of me.

Oh, dear.

So, I called the school when we got in, and in halting French explained to the answering machine what had happened. Of course they didn't answer in person, they never do, neither do they return phonecalls.

"Let's drive to the school to look for it." I suggested.

"I want cheerios," replied A.

"Okay, cheerios, then school."

A nodded.

By the time we got to the school no one was there. Neither was her backpack. The mystery wasn't solved until this morning when I tailed the bus to the school and told her teacher what had happened. Her teacher doesn't speak English. I have a hard time believing anyone living and working in Ottawa can't speak English. Anyway, she told me that a child from another class had taken the backpack. She didn't tell me how or why. She shrugged and said it would likely be returned. Well. Not really a good enough answer, but I wasn't going to argue, particularly not in my halting French.

After playing in the school yard a few minutes with A, I saw a mother walk past carrying A's backpack . One of the little girls from A's bus came over and said, "The backpack came back."

I nodded. "Yes, I saw it go by."

When A's teacher handed it over to her, A burst into tears. "I don't want that backpack," she wailed.

Oh, dear. This is just the beginning. Am I up for dealing with the vagaries of grade school?

Meeting the in-laws

I guess this weekend was significant in that I met the people who have been closest to E over the past 10 years. They were nice, but it was still awkward. They kept referring to his ex as though I knew her, but I don't, and now feel I should.

I kept running into photographs of her in the house, which I scrutinized for signs of her children and appeal to E. Meanwhile, E and I slept in the double bed in the guest room and I couldn't help but imagine that he'd stayed in that bed before with her, as her husband. I then couldn't help but think, 'What am I doing here?'

The kids were thrilled to be with their grandparents and disappeared as soon as we arrived, which left E and I time alone to shop, go out for dinner, and see a play. He seemed unfazed by the situation while I thought about it without much alarm in the delirium of fever.

So, this is the new normal for both of us, for the kids, for the grandparents. People just go on and resign themselves to what is, I think. They often do not want to get into problematic speculations about what was, what should be, or what may come.

Of course, I spend a lot of my time brooding about all of that, which perhaps I have to stop, because really, what does it matter? This is what is and it is fine.

On a not-so-fine note; however, is A. She had an extremely hard time going to the before-school program today. It may have been because she'd been away from me all weekend and was up early and facing more time away from me again. Another possibility is that she really doesn't like the program. She kept saying, "I don't like this school." I know she loves her other school, her all-day school, but maybe it is just too much school and too much time away from me too fast. She's only three. I can't imagine not being home from 8 am through 5:30 pm, yet I somehow expect her to accept it easily. It isn't easy for her. This situation probably never will be and I do feel terrible about that.

What will she know as normal? What will that mean for her life and her children? How will she feel about this childhood when she is able to see it through adult eyes? Will she ever forgive us?

Beginings

It has taken me years to realize that I'm not good with beginnings. This start of school for A and for me, this weekend away to meet E's ex-inlaws, all good things, have left me exhausted and sick.

The case conference date is now apparently set for mid-November. What a waste of time and energy. All I want is for A to be healthy and happy and strong. How can I ensure that? I'm trying to work this out. What else can I do?

I'm too tired to write more . . .

School

A met her teacher for the first time yesterday. It just so happens that the teacher's assistant was her "man teacher" at her summer program, so she'll know him, which I think is a good thing, even if she said "I don't like S."

"Why?" I asked.

"He's a boy," she explained. "I don't like boys."

"Sure you do," I said, "you like other boys, you like C, you like E, you like Daddy."

She didn't seem convinced. "I don't like S," she insisted.

I hope that won't be a problem. I was happy to see her summer teacher, knowing that he had some sense of her. I was less happy that the little boy who teased her to the point of tears on her last day of the program was also in her class.

All I can do is wait. Thursday really is her first day. I hope I can ride the bus with her and then run back home and wait to pick her up at our bus stop at the end of the day.

The good news is that despite the fact that my ex had visited her teacher in advance of us, and that he had refused to pay for the afterschool program until after our case conference in October, I managed to compel him to pay his fair share by suggesting that I'd pull out of the program if he didn't pay.

I hate how complicated and conflicted absolutely everything has to be in relation to A. She shouldn't be thrust into these ongoing conflicts. It is so unnecessary and counter-productive.

Anyway, the good news is that her teacher is kind, her classroom is beautiful, and she is excited to start. I'm hoping she'll love school as much as I did. That may be a saving grace for her in this difficult situation.

He won't settle . . .

I'm betting on it.

E and I met with my lawyer on Friday. It was a meeting to discuss 1. settlement and 2. strategy.

I'm betting my ex won't settle this . . . which means I'll have to prepare to go to a case conference in late October where . . . nothing will be settled. My ex, I'm sure, thinks he'll get what he wants at a case conference, and so he will push for that and bet on 'winning.' But there is no winning in this ligitation process. Everyone loses, as far as I'm concerned.

So I sit here on this gorgeous day, without A, and I ponder all of this as I prepare to once again attack my lawn.

Tonight E and I will begin our Stieg Laarson extravanganza movie night watching both Sweedish versions back to back.

Last night we went out to dinner with my brother and his family who had driven to Ottawa to service their Lexus and who were looking for another one. Meanwhile, E's decided against a beamer and instead will buy a bright red Audi as soon as his GIC come. due in October. I am still happy driving Bluebell.

Wait - did I mention the mircaluous story of the lost hubcap yet?

A few months ago my hubcap disappeared. At first I thought it might be the towering trouble-maker on the corner, the big guy with the rottweiler who always blares his booming bass music at top volume when he cleans his car. I had asked him politely one day to lower the volume and he's had it in for me ever since. Anyway, I really did think he might have taken it, just to piss me off, and I was quite put out by it for a while, until I got used to the idea that I'd live without a hub cap for awhile and get one . . . . some time way in the future when it was a priority. Well, then, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to take A down to the the park where we spent most of our previous summers in Centretown. We went down our usual, but recently impassable route, because of contruction. As we hobbled through the last of it, I looked over and . . . there was our missing hubcap! I was sure of it. We must have lost it the last time we drove to the park through construction, several months previously. But, there was our hubcap!

"A," I said, "I think that's our hubcap!"

A was wildly enthusiastic, seeing as she suffered through me complaining about our missing hubcap all summer.

"Let's get it Mommy. Let's get it!" she enthused.

So, we parked and walked quickly back to where the hubcap had been set up to the side of the construction area. Sure enough, though badly worn around the edges and scratch, it was our match, our dearly beloved lost hubcap.

A insisted on carrying it back to the car, where we ceremoniously dumped it, before heading off to the park, perkier about our Bluebell then we'd been in many weeks.

Worst Haircut Ever

I needed a boost after that legal bill, so I decided to book a haircut in order to prolong my summer hair that so well replicated my daughter's reddish blond highlights. I googled the salon I went to last time and called and set an appointment for yesterday noon, a good time for a break in a long day of work. After arriving on time, I announced myself, only to find that I had inadvertently made an appointment at another location, but they booked me in at 1:00 pm. I went off to buy a Timmy's and shop for A. By 1:00 pm, I was back, slightly anxious about time, but anxious for a change. I tried to explain what I wanted, but didn't get far. Two stylists began conferring about colours above my head, then my stylist began a frantic painting of papers, getting advice and encouragement from the other. This made me nervous. It seemed my stylist had no real experience with highlights and needed direction. Sure enough, by the time she rinsed my hair out a couple of hours later, I was convinced of that. I had brassy orange chunks of colour strung through my dark hair. She was discussing the haircut she planned for me when I interrupted saying, "I'm sorry, I'm distracted by the colour. It isn't exactly what I was expecting. I wanted something more subtle."

That didn't go over well.

"What don't you like about it?"

I hesitated, "Well, it isn't like the last time I'd had highlights, they seemed more subdued. I don't like the strong contrast, I guess. Do you have the colour you used last time on file?"

My stylist disappeared and reappeared with the other one. He was offended. "Work with us here, okay? Do you want us to fix this?"

"If you can."

"What do you want?"

"Well, this isn't as . . . "

"Do you want me to just blend in brown here, thin it out?"

"Okay," I said. That might work. I sounded dubious, I guess. "But what about the condition of my hair," I added, stupidly. I pointed to the fuzzy orange strands, "It looks fried."

The second stylist rolled his eyes, "That's not fried," he said. "I'm a senior stylist here. I know hair." He grabbed a third stylist and pointed to my hair, "Is that fried?"

The third stylist frowned at my hair and said nothing.

Then the second stylist grabbed the third stylist and dragged him into the back room.

The second stylist returned, followed by the third stylist, the first had obviously taken off, who knows where? The second stylist was pissy. He flung my hair in my face and repainted brown over the other highlights. He was in a rush, he told the third, he had a 4:00 o'clock. The third stylist said he'd help. That's how I ended up with him, Zed, explaining that it may not be the hair I wanted, but it was all going to be okay.

An hour and a half later, it really wasn't, but what could I do? I paid, I tipped, I left, because that was all I really wanted at that point, just to escape. I'd been at the mall for five-and-a-half hours. I'd missed meeting E at my place, I'd lost valuable hours available for work, and my lovely summer hair was reduced to an overprocessed brown frizz.

Worst Haircut Ever. Or that I can remember now, anyway.

A Flock of Doves

There is a house up the street where the garage has been transformed into a roost for a flock of white doves. In the evening they fly out in formation and a swoop around the neighbourhood. When I see them I stop, call everyone in sight over and say, "Look, the doves!" I marvel.

E is not impressed. "Yeah, yeah," he says.

The last time he said this was just after his return from the tennis club. He was wet from the shower but still wearing his sweaty clothes (he doesn't think his sweat stinks, so doesn't change his sweaty clothes, I think how French).

The little girls across the street stopped for a second and squinted up at the sky. I grabbed A and carried her in my right arm, pointing with my left.

* I just heard grunts and admonitions from outside. My front door is open to the morning and the lawn. Two little French boys from up the street had their dogs pooping on my grass. One was trying to pick up the poo with a plastic bag. His older brother was telling him he was doing it wrong, I'm translating,

"No! You have to take the poo in the bag from the inside and then just drop it!"

The little kid grunted and stooped, he picked up the poo, which I could smell from the door, and dropped it. "Ugh," he said.

His older brother shook his head, "No! Just grab it and drop it in!" But he stood back, holding the dogs on the leashes, two little dogs.

The little kid kept grunting and swearing in French.

The opposite of doves, I guess.

$3,600 for what????

I got a legal bill today and I can't figure out why. Why am I in this hell? Why won't it end?

I'm too upset to see E. I'm too upset to do anything.

Open

I'm reading Lisa Moore. I read "Azalea" aloud to A, but she isn't much interested. She catches words. I particularly liked this story.

It is our first Sunday morning alone together at home in . . . over a year. I feel blessed. We sat out on our front porch and watched the neighbourhood wake. She was wrapped in a blanket and cozied into our worn wicker chair. I wore a sweater and sipped my coffee and whipped cream, perched on a rickety plastic IKEA stool. The neighbour with the black sports car walked by with his toy dog and didn't say hi. I thought as he passed that I could have said it myself, but I was too tired, still in pajamas, perhaps too blatantly unkept to say much.

Today, I'm planning on taking A to church. I haven't tried to find a church for a while. After the whole Catholic marriage fiasco, I was turned off church entirely, but then, I'm not from that tradition and I found a church in an adjacent neighbourhood that sounded promising, so, we'll go and we'll see, although I don't hold out much hope for anything feeling right immediately.

Feeling right is such an odd thing. For example, E and I have been together through one of the most painful and devastating years of my life, yet . . . he always feels right to me, even as everything else feels so wrong. I wonder if I will marry him. We went to Chateau Montebello on Friday to check out their gazebo and saw a wedding in progress, and it was understated and elegant, from afar. A ran around the putting green and we sipped drinks from plastic cups and watched the river. He said, "It would be nice for us to stay here a couple extra days. Have someone take the kids."

"Then we'd have to invite someone who could take them."

He mentioned his ex mother and father-in-law, his ex sister-in-law. I considered who I know who could take A. Not my father. My brother? My oldest school friend? Who would I want at a wedding? We watched Rachel Getting Married later that night. I said, "This is exactly what I'd like to avoid."

At Montebello I said, "Well, it's nice to think about, although it may be more far off than we imagine." I can't bear the thought of moving, of leaving here, of starting all over again with all the risks of failure.

Falling on Deaf Ears

I found a site with free legal information podcasts which offers many informative seminars. The only thing is, the more I listen to these talks, the more I think that there may never be an end to this conflict. One particularly useful session for me was called "High Conflict People in Legal Disputes." It described perfectly what I'm experiencing with a spouse who seems compelled to litigate for no rational reason. However, there didn't seem to be a way to avoid legal disputes with people like this and the speaker made a point of saying often because these people are so emotionally emphatic, they seem to have credibility in court. Certainly, I know my ex has been persuasive enough to convince Dr. W of his "case." His lawyer is also far more aggressive and dirty than mine. I'm not sure what to do with that. My ex does not really want to resolve our custody conflict or communicate effectively, that's obvious. What can one person do when the other refuses to negotiate?

Oh my, my . . .

I still haven't heard from my lawyer . . . one week and counting . . .

I can't help but think, will this ever end? Then I wonder, maybe it is best to do nothing and see what happens, even if that means it goes on and on, at least she's still with me and maybe I can just keep it this way?

Much of me is saying, fight, fight, fight . . . and I suppose I can, but I hate having to.

Right now, I guess all I can do is wait. Meanwhile, A is reacting to being away from me, telling me how much she misses me when she's with her dad. I say, "I miss you, too. I want you to be happy. I'm always here for you. I'll love you forever."

I just picked up the book Motherless Mothers: How Mother Loss Shapes the Parents We Become by Hope Edelman. She writes that there are eight themes that recur for women who do not have mothers to guide them in their role as mothers:

1. A strong desire to reactivate the mother-child relationship from the mother angle.
2. Concern about how to "be a mother."
3. An intense preoccupation with the possiblit that they, the child, or the spouse might suffer an untimely death.
4. A parenting style that involves trying to sheild the child from harm.
5. A commitment to being a good mother by being both emotionally and physical available to the child.
6. Difficulty tolerating a child's feelings of sadness, anger, grief, or loneliness.
7. A sensitivity toward age-correspondence events in relation to their own mother' sdeath.
8. The belief that having and raising a child has been an unparalleled healing experience with regard to the ongoing mourning process.

Edelmen's summary most aptly applies to women who lost their mothers early, but I certainly can relate to some of those themes, especially the commitment to being a good mother and viewing mothering itself as a healing process. I do miss my mother's support still, especially during this ongoing battle. I know my mother would have been here to help care for my daughter in ways that my father and brother haven't a clue how to do. The good thing I've taken from her, however, is a fair sense of how to be a mother. I don't doubt my abilities in that regard. I do everything my mom did and more. Part of the healing process is, I think, giving what we didn't get as children. After all, people like my ex, hell-bent on conflict, come from a certain context. Were he given more, had he tried to heal, we wouldn't be here now.

A Life On Hold

That's the way I feel most of the time. I'm living in some kind of purgatory . . . what with being stuck in custody legal limbo . . . with my darling girl who knows where with her father . . . work trickling in at a level that barely sustains me . . . with my beloved rivers away . . .

I escape by reading fiction, most recently Heart of the Matter by Emily Giffin. It was a thoughtful depiction of infidelity, I thought. It also brought back painful memories . . . I suppose it is good to grieve again and again . . . grief is apparently cyclical, but maybe not. I feel like I've been grieving in one way or another for years.

I guess I'm lucky that I'm not completely walled off by grief, however. I'm still willing to risk and love, even if it is always more challenging than it should be. Life is always more challenging than we expect, I think, especially if we really engage.

Again

This morning was a painful repeat of Tremblant weekend, with X not showing up and A and I waiting outside the ghostly community centre until we gave up went home. He didn't answer his cell (it seemed to be turned off) and his girlfriend answered his phone.

I said, "Hi, it's me. X wasn't at the drop-off this morning and I'm wondering if there's a problem."

"He was there, but it was closed so he went to the cafe."

"Okay. I'll drop her off there. Can you let him know I'm coming?"

"He knows."

Whatever. How did he know?

After this little incident, I broke down and bought a cell phone. I can't afford to be running all over trying to track down A's father. As I was driving away from the cafe, I heard him telling A,
"You were really late," as though it were her fault.

I can't stand how he manipulates her, me, and the system.

I recently wrote that this is an abusive system, what I should have written is that the system is vulnerable to incredible abuse from these types of characters, who seem intent on proving their adequacy by attacking the mother of their child. Meanwhile, their child is forced to deal with a difficult division of loyalties. How fair is that?

Yay, Lee Valley Tools

Well, the gift mower, given by SG, broken by E, has been returned to Lee Valley Tools and successfully exchanged for a 20" manual mower that I have to say worked much better on my big lawn. Still, my lawn is yellow and patchy, burnt in spots, with tufted up earth where my neighbour V, cut it down to its quick. I can't do much but try to help my lawn recover. Meanwhile, my father said he bought me an electric mower and will bring it down next weekend. I'll have to decide what to do thereafter . . .

It is E and his son's birthday weekend. Tonight we'll all go to the Lebanese Festival and then for cake and swimming at his place. My first non-escapist weekend without A begins Saturday. I'm not sure how I'll manage without her.

Annul

1. declare invalid
2. cancel, abolish

What was most striking to me about episode 7 of Asunder was the story of the woman whose husband attempted to have their 20+ year marriage annulled. It so happens that my ex's father was responsible for this type of thing as a canon law "judge." He was also, ironically, the person who pushed us into a Catholic wedding. We sat down with him and my ex's mother, both staunch Catholics, to tell them that we were thinking of a small non-denominational ceremony. Well, my ex's father got so angry that he literally stood up, clenched his heart, and teetered, saying it would kill him if we didn't have a Catholic wedding. There isn't much you can say to that.

We ended up having the Catholic wedding; now I'm wondering if it has been annulled. Could he annul it without me? I actually asked Father Joe about this (yes, he performed our wedding), and he said that couldn't happen, but I'm not Catholic and I don't trust the Catholic church.

E's Catholic too. So, I guess we can't get married in the Catholic church, not that I'd want to do that again. I can't imagine how it would feel to actually be a person of faith in that church and have it turn on you and annul your marriage.

My ex is now living with a Jewish woman. They are raising their son Jewish and celebrating Jewish holidays. She's also divorced. I can't help but wonder how they dealt with the marriage question.

Interestingly, E's ex-wife was the one who insisted they marry, as she looked down on common-law status. As he is quick to point out, the very unions she judged inferior to her own marriage have lasted longer than their partnership. He's not that into marriage. Thankfully, he is into me and quotes Elizabeth Gilbert when he says, "I love you so much, I'll even marry you."

Hmm . . . I wonder if that is a good place to start.

11th Hour

Yesterday I received an email from my ex's lawyer. It started out with the words "Please provide me with your available dates for the return of the case conference so that I may secure a date immediately." This did not bode well for the rest of the email. Sure enough, while admitting that his disagreements with my proposal "are simply not worth the time and expense of litigating" he went on to add an additional 6 points that are . . . and we're back on track to court again.

Among the six points and a couple that are simply there to annoy me, like accelerating the integration schedule and prohibiting me from re-locating "outside the defiend perimiters of Ottawa." After calls yesterday and today, my lawyer finally called me back earlier this afternoon.

"Where did this come from?" I asked. "I thought we were almost there and then they add all these additional requirements."

"I don't know," he said. "It doesn't make sense."

So, now he's thinking about it and I've been thrown off-course and into sleep all afternoon. I'm recovering by reading The Little One while drinking icy mango juice on the porch. How can I deal with this constant hostility and bad faith bargaining? I tell myself that I can't let it bother me . . . and I try to take 10 second breaths and focus on my future with E . . . but if I can't leave Ottawa, I can't live with E, ever, and then I start to worry again and it is a vicious cycle.

This is an abusive system.

When A woke up this morning, I said, "Guess who is picking you up from school today?"

"Who?"

"Daddy."

She was quiet, so I asked, "Are you okay?"

She replied, "Yes." Then added, hugging me, "I'm not sure I'm okay with Daddy."

"Why?" I asked.

She didn't respond to my question. I asked it again to silence.

Finally, she mumbled something I could barely hear. I thought she said, I will love you forever.
I replied, "I will love you forever, too." But then she clarified.

She explained, "I want to live with you forever."

What am I to say to that?

Our first weekend away . . .

We just returned from a mini-road trip back to my home town. A, E, and I headed out on Thursday evening, got caught in rain just outside Deep River, but made it in by midnight. We spent the next few days eating and reading and wading and strolling, doing nothing much, which was exactly what I needed.

Distraction

At least we had a fun Friday. We ate E's fabulous Subway sandwich aproximations and watched Flushed Away. The next morning, A and I were up early and got ready for her big weekend away with her dad. We walked to our drop off and waited. It was eerily quiet.

A said, "Listen to the crickets, mommy." And we did. No cars passed. The parking lot was vacant. I watched my watch click past 10:12 am. I realized her father wasn't coming.

"Where's Daddy?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," I replied. "Let's go call him."

We returned home and I called her father. No answer. I left a message and called his cell phone. No answer. I left a message and called E.

"He wasn't there," I said. "He's not answering his phone."

"Didn't you confirm it?" He asked.

"Yes. It was supposed to start this weekend."

"Did you email him?"

"I'm trying, but my internet isn't starting up."

By this time I was slippery with sweat and had a headache rapping my left temple. A was watching a Backyardigans video at top volume in the living room. I knew E would not be happy to have A tag along to our Spa Weekend in Tremblant. The internet finally connected and I sent X an email.

"What do you want to do?" E asked.

"Well, what can I do? If I can't reach him, we'll have to take her. You can't cancel, right? I told him in the email that if he didn't get back to me in an hour, I would. All I can do is wait. Maybe I'll walk back to the drop off. Can I call you after that?"

I told A she could bring her video and we walked back to the drop-off point, just in case. It was still deserted. The crickets thrummed in the silence.

"I think your Daddy must have made a mistake," I explained. "Maybe he thought it was next weekend. Maybe you'll have to come to the mountain with Mommy and E."

"I don't want to see my Daddy," A said.

"Well, let's go home and see if he called."

We walked slowly back to our house, holding hands. When we got in, she turned her video back on and I was about to call E when the phone rang, it was Z, my ex's new partner.

"It was next weekend," she said.

"No," I explained, "I just sent a copy of the email from my lawyer, this was your weekend."

"Well, I'll have X call you when he gets back."

"When will he get back? We were supposed to be going away."

"He'll be here in a few minutes. But you can bring her over now, if you want."

I agreed to that, relieved, then went to gather up A. It took some convincing. I shouldn't have mentioned the mountains. She agreed to go so long as she could take her video. As we were about to hop in the car, my neighbour, H, bumped into us, on his way to our backyard.

"Oh, hey, would you like to come for a ride?" I asked. I threw all the junk from the front seat into the backseat and made a space for him. A climbed into her car seat and we set off for the Acres.

On the way, my neighbour, the one who so kindly cut my lawn, launches a few bombs. He's been looking me up on the internet and has found lots of things, apparently, and would like to talk to me about them. I shut that discussion down fairly fast. After we dropped A off to her father, with my neighbour as witness, he said in the car, "I've seen that guy around before."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He's been outside your house, walking around."

"Really? When?"

"A couple of times we've seen him. M and me. A few weeks ago, around 10 pm. 10 am the other time."

I had to sit on that for a while. "I should tell my lawyer that." I say, "He shouldn't be doing that."

My neighbour raises his eyebrows, he probably says something I've blanked from memory.

When we get back to my place the garage door won't open. My neighbour hops out, throws it up, and poof! its broken. Meanwhile, E is on his way and we were supposed to be off to Tremblant at 11:00 am. It is noon. My garage door is missing a screw, a nut, and a washer. It hasn't been working properly since it was "fixed" a couple of months ago. My neighbour says, "Do you want me to fix it for you?"

"Do you have time?" I ask.

"Answer the question. Yes or No. Do you want me to fix it for you?"

I hesitate. "Yes?" I answer.

"Okay then. Give me the remote."

I hand over the device, shuffle around behind him for a while, then realize I have to pack and make an excuse to leave. E will be here any minute.

I throw some things in a bag. I'm not thinking clearly, so I shove in 4 dresses, a bathing suit, my strappy sandals, and a couple of t-shirts. Then I hear someone at the door. It is my neighbour.
I go to greet him and he says, "Listen, you've got to let me have a look at your computer so we can block that guy." He means my ex; I told him about the harassing emails.

I sigh, "I really don't have time right now," just as E arrives and saves me from further excuses. E introduces himself and I thank my neighbour, but he says, "Listen, it isn't really fixed. If you want it really fixed, then leave me the remote. And do I have permission to water your lawn? It needs some work, but it is your water bill."

I'm scattered and tired and I turn to E who nods.

"Okay," I say. "Thanks."

My neighbour leaves and we throw my bag in the car and take off.

The weekend is a lovely oasis of calm and goodness. Then we return.

We leave the mountain at 6:30 am. We get lost. We turn around a few times and finally think we're going in the right direction, but still have a few turn arounds before we find our way. I'm exhausted and jittery because I've been up since 5:00 am, worried about my ex's last words in relation to A: "I think you're worng." "I'll be calling my lawyer on Monday." "Talk to your lawyer."

Well, what lawyer works on a holiday Monday? Of course my lawyer isn't in. I call, but there's no answer. My ex wouldn't agree to meet me, but I send an email and leave a message and forward my lawyer's last communication to me wherein he states that he discussed this very drop-off with my ex's lawyer and it was for 10 am on Monday, which it almost is.

E and I read until 9:45 am and then we get into his car and drive to the pick-up point.

"Are you okay?" He asks, as I take a deep breath. I nod.

"Do you want me to come in with you?"

"That would be great."

So, as much as he hates this tense exchange, he comes with me, and as we are walking to the drop-off location, we see my ex with A.

"He's here," I say, exhaling, bumping into E and grabbing his hand. We make it into the cafe and stand waiting. (Yes, a cafe, yes, a terrible place to exchange a child.) My ex walks in with A, sets her down. She stands talking to him for a while, asking silly questions, poking him with her hand. She sees A and I and just has her last few moments with her father before she turns and walks into my arms. I hug her tight and sniff her hair and want to cry.

E drives us home and we go in and lie on the couch. A little later on . . . I realize I still don't know where my purse is . . . I didn't have it when we got to Tremblant, I didn't have a coat or sweater either. I'd packed badly. But my purse. I looked through the house. Not there. My car? Oh yes, my neighbour has the remote. Maybe my purse is in my car. I have my keys, so I go outside and open the side door. The garage is clean. I didn't leave it clean. I open the car, it is cleaner. I didn't leave it that way either. It was locked. I locked it when I left. I open the garage door with button.
A's behind me.

"Oh dear," I say. "He cleaned our garage and our car."

"Why, oh dear?" she asks.

"Well, I don't know where anything is," I explain.

Then my neighbour turns up. He explains his work. He's organized everything.

"How did you get in the car?" I ask, " I locked it," I add.

He taps the hatchback.

I ask, "Did you find my purse? I thought I left my purse in there."

He shrugs and points to a box. "I put a lot of junk in that."

It took me 20 or so minutes of panic and phonecalls to E and searching before I found my purse under my briefcase in the house. Meanwhile, my neighbour was searching my garage and I was fuming about his little intervention. I still can't find anything. I realize he was trying to help, but . . .

I've been driven to distraction.

Not Good

Well, the meeting didn't yield the results I hoped for. You'd think, really, if there are tables and there are facts that a man couldn't avoid paying child support, but apparently, with a slimy lawyer, they do just that. I got an email from my lawyer with my ex's lawyer's opinion laid out in all its obscurity. No legal opinion from my lawyer accompanied it. I had to wade through the drivel, judge it against the Department of Justice's website, and reply to my lawyer, noting that none of the calculations actually conformed to the law. I thought he was supposed to do that for me?! Throughout this horrid process, I have had to be my own advocate and it has been exhausting. I repeat, this family law process is inherently unfair to those who are forced to deal with ligitigation as a result of a hostile and irrational ex-spouse.

On a happier note, A is celebrating her graduation from her French integration program today. She will undoubtedly benefit from having had this exposure, so it was worth all the back and forth.

This weekend is her first 48 + hour weekend away from me. I'm not looking forward to it, but E has promised to distract me. It is a long letting go. Maybe that's why people get pets, because they don't grow up and move away, they are always there to love and hold, so long as your lover isn't allergic . . . which mine is. So.

My lawn is still yellowing. The good new on this front is that I called Lee Valley Tools and they said I can bring in my broken mower and they'll order me a new part or replace it or something.
I guess old SG did good to get it there. I certainly appreciated it while it lasted and maybe with the help of a gas weed wacker I can get through the rest of the summer.

The winter . . . I can't even bear to think about shovelling. Snow removal will have to be budgeted for, that's the only way I'll survive.

Asunder again

Okay, I just listened to this week's episode on Child Custody and I find myself relating more sympathetically to Rachel Cave. She's a divorced mother and she understands and experiences the pain of a mother's separation from young children. It is an incomparable loss. Nothing touches it.

I especially appreciate that Cave included Susan Boyd's rebuttal of the assumption of 50/50, which I personally think is a disaster for children, but which I myself am not contesting because it seems like a losing battle. My friend HD would say, "How can you not defend your daughter?"
I have come to the conclusion that I can best serve her by allowing her time with her father and the opportunity to know the truth of her situation with all the love and support I can give her to cope with it. It isn't a pretty reality. She watches her father interact with me. She says, "Why doesn't Daddy talk to Mommy?"

I hope that someday my daughter will be able to write a response to the decisions of people like Dr. W and the stolid, white male judges who decided her fate. It shouldn't have to fall to her, though. I should be able to defend her now, but I feel incredibly disempowered in this time of father's rights and these legal assumptions which make it nearly impossible to contest a father's claim to his child.

Done in on all fronts . . .

If it weren't for an exceptionally kind neighbour with a vast knowledge of lawn care, I may well have destroyed my lawn for good. As it is, my lawn in neatly mown, if patchy in colour. No one ever told me to let it grow would mean it would die underneath the verdant waving fronds on top. My edges are trim and clean. Now it is my job to keep up to this and I don't know how I'll do it. I have to purchase implements - a weed wacker, a gas lawnmover. My millionaire ex-boyfriend's gift of a dinky manual mower from Lee Valley didn't cut it. It actually broke as E was trying to help me with my lawn last Friday. I'l have to look into exchanging that thing for something that works. How could I possibly think I could easily handle a 50 by 100 foot lot on my own? I can't.

Anyway, there are larger cats to catch in my life right now . . . the lawyers are meeting today to decide our fate. I met with mine yesterday morning . . . and I can't say I enjoyed it. As much as I try to get through to lawyers, I never seem to succeed. As a whole, (E would squirm about me generalizing, but I have no problem with it), they are linear thinkers who find it impossible to understand emotional colour and principles. They cannot conceive of things in a holistic way. How can anything work if it is drafted by people who can't undertand the notion of multiple interpretations and the slippery evasiveness of sadistic people? For example, in my last agreement, the line that has ensured I will never be paid for medical expenses I was entitled to. This was written by the head negotiator for the Legal Aid Office in Ottawa. It read thus: "The applicant will submit to his insurer, receipts fo rmedical/dental treatments in the amount of $1,230.00 which receipts were provided to him today. He wil limmediately reimburse the Respondent upon receipt of benefits from the insurer." Well, it didn't say he'd give me the money, so he didn't. He made his own claims for that money to the insurer and and nullified mine. This is the kind of perfidy I'm dealing with. You would hope that someone running a legal aid mediation would know better. Apparently not. Anyway, I'm not sure anything my present lawyer drafts is any better. I've been doing a lot of editing. I run things by E and my father, but they aren't lawyers. I can't be expected to know all about this process myself. What I do know is that the legal system does not protect women and children. It protects and promotes men with money. There is something fundamentally wrong with the system, principally because it serves those who designed it.

I will rant more later.

Defeat

My lawn. It did me in. I had no idea.

Recovery thoughts . . .

It has now been 4 months in our new home and . . . it feels like a milestone because we only spent three-and-a-half months in our first house before we had to move out and back into my old bachelor apartment. I was angry and humiliated that I couldn't keep that house. I loved it. I begged my father to help me stay there for a year, but he refused, despite the fact that he was sitting on my mother's assets, which he promised to distribute among us. In the end, I realized that I just couldn't do it and I let it go. The house was in The Glebe and had character and charm. It felt like a dream come true until the nightmare began. However, here I am just more than 3 years later and living in this little house in a much less desirable neighbourhood, with character and charm of an entirely different order, and I am grateful to my core.

I drove by the old house last week with E when we went to the Canal Ritz for dinner. I looked at it and felt some regret ,but not pain. I never thought I could pass it without feeling anguish. I still may be struggling with the aftermath of that loss, but now that there has been at least one move forward I'm hopeful that I can spend the next three years focusing on everything we do have and making even better things happen.

Deal?

Well, we're not going to court next week. Instead, I've agreed to a first-stage access increase and in turn, our lawyers will cancel the case conference and instead meet in person next week to discuss financial issues. I'm relieved, of course. Still, this means A will be with me less of the time. I know I won't like that, but it will give me more time for . . . work, looking for better work, E, and . . . me?

I feel loss. Lost. Lo.

Why does this process have to be so cut-throat? How could I have loved someone who can be so mean? Will he be mean to my beloved daughter once he has more time with her? What is he capable of? Not forgiveness.

What is there to forgive?

I'm not sure I can forgive him for this.

Offers

Okay, so maybe this is it. I got a reply to my Offer to Settle today. It was close, but my ex is attempting to evade his financial obligations, something both my lawyer and I anticipated. The only outstanding issue with access arrangements is about phone calls. In an attempt to ensure that I am continually subjected to the humiliation of my ex's girlfriend being presented as A's mother, my ex wants to have her call Annabelle in his stead, so his lawyer wrote: "You have removed the sentence, 'Each parent may use a designated alernate for overnight phone calls' from the original draft. A will expect a call every night and, if the parent is unavailable [!What, is he too busy to call his own daughter? Where's he going to be?], his or her partner or another family member should be able to setp in so that A is not disappointed. Please re-insert that sentence." As if. This is all about being cruel, nothing more. I have never met two people more intent on causing emotional harm that my ex and his partner. I do believe in karma. I hope Poetic Justice will kick in and give my ex and his shill the kick in the pants they deserve.

What do I do now? I have to review everything and call my lawyer back. I feel like crawling under a rock. I hate this.

Reservations . . .

I have to say, listening to Asunder, what bothers me still is that Rachel Cave sidesteps the whole issue of morality. She does not ask about what led to divorce and I think that is an important question. People don't just divorce for no reason and the history of the relationship really determines the course of the divorce. As a psychologist said to me once, "People act the same way during a divorce as they did during the marriage." Bad behaviour doesn't just emerge because of divorce, the seeds of it must have been there all along . . . they were in my case. While divorce is stressful and heightens tensions, it does not cause immoral behaviour. We have to look at the roots of divorce to solve the issue of divorce.

Family Court

I was intent on listening to all of Asunder this morning, but I forgot about it until it was well after 9:30 am. Still, I got the summary of this Family Court episode. Here it is, and it's imporant,

Family Court is . . .

1. Expensive.
2. Adversarial - it promotes toxic relationships in the form of poisonous affidavits which become part of the public record and can never be withdrawn.
3. Unpredictable - sometimes children are taken away from their parents altogether!
4. Slow - it can take many months or years to process.
5. Ineffective - It doesn't remedy asshole behaviour. There is "no law against being an asshole" so bad behaviour, the type my ex displays, cannot be addressed.

Two Steps Back

My lawyer wrote me on Thursday to say that my ex hadn't responded to my Offer to Settle and that we would have to prepare for court. He wants me to "Prepare in point form your concerns about any changes to custody and access arrangements." I'm sitting here mulling that over. What do I respond to, I wonder, my ex's Case Conference Brief or the volley of Settlement Offers that have been in the air since June? I'm confused and my lawyer doesn't clarify.

Meanwhile, in response for my request that my ex return my daughter's water bottle and supply her with it for her school day (as required by the program) I got this reply: "Futher to your email below, A's school, like every other public school, supplies plenty of water for anyone on premises [sic]. What they don't supply, and arenot responsible for, are individual ice packs for A's lunch box during a mid-summer heat wave. That should have been your responsibility. But you failed. So we supplied an ice pack and told you abotu itin a non-confrotation manner last week." There's more, but it is more of the same drivel . . . what is with this guy?

I can't possible co-parent with him because he's impossible and my sweet girl is caught in the middle. What I can't understand is how our system allows idiots like this complete access to children and through them the means to torment their mothers.

Can I honestly say I want what I proposed in my Settlement Offer? No. I don't want it. I was trying to settle. So do I go back to all of my concerns about sharing my daughter equal time with my ex? I suppose so. That will take a while . . .

E thinks it doesn't make sense to address anything but how far we've come. I want to dig in my heels and give my honest answer. It will be hard, but I have to do it, even if it takes me back to a place I wish I never had to be.

Sweet Summer

E and I ran in this heat and it was hard. We stopped just short of thirty minutes, both of us relieved to have it done. When we got back here, I collapsed into A's pool and just lay there for about 15 minutes, watching the clouds skid across the sky above me. E sat in my worn wicker chair waiting. We went to Subway for supper then E took off for his Beach Body class and I walked to our drop off to pick up A. Our walk home was slow and meandering. She picked me weeds and asked me to keep them forever. When we got home it was her turn in the pool. She climbed her new slide and raced down it into the pool again and again. I sat with a glass of ice water and watched her. Then she decided to start watering our garden and ran back and forth to the pool, drenching the tomatoes, which they problably appreciated. I sat on the front porch and read the paper as the light began to fade. It was a sweet summer evening.

Beautiful and Imperfect

I have resigned myself now to a life that is imperfect. Nonetheless, it is still beautiful. I can appreciate my morning bikeride along the river to A's school, the ants crawling through my kitchen, the daisies sprouting among the weeds at the edges of my lawn, my daughter's gentle hugs goodbye. There is no word from my lawyer, aside from a bill I haven't opened. The deadline for a reply is this Friday, but I'm convinced it will come and go. I may have to go to court. It would be a stupid thing to do, but I have my ex to thank for that.

Meanwhile, E's birthday (and his son's - same day) is on the horizon. I don't know what to get him. He's planning a mini-golf party and is inviting his ex-wife's "gang," as well as A and me and some of his son's friends. It will be interesting if nothing else. I pray for as little excitement as possible.

I'm finally back to work, which is a huge relief after almost 2 weeks without. As a contractor, I have very little recourse. I have to look for more permanent work, but I love the flexibility of my current situation, working my own hours from home. Again, my imperfect life is somehow beautiful, and while I appreciate everything I have . . . there is still more I wish I did have . . .

E says, "You have me," but he says that from a city away.

Several Lingering Questions . . .

1. What kind of coffee do these characters drink?
2. Sandwiches are mentioned, often, but never what kind. What can of sandwiches does Blomkvist eat?
3. Where did Camilla disappear to in Northern Canada? (This is based on the storyline for the 4th book)
4. Why does Salander drink so much in Gibraltar?
5. What's Blomkvist's attraction to Berger?
6. What makes Blomkvist so good in bed?

More coming . . .

Blomkvist's Sex Life

The one problem I have with the novels is Blomkvist's sexual philandering. [Spoiler Alert!!!]
In the last novel, Blomkvist's sister tells Salander, "My brother is completely irresponsible when it comes to relationships. He screws his way through life and doesn't seem to grasp how much it can hurt those women who think of him as more than a casual affair" (519). It seems strange to be that this character claims to respect and trust women, yet he never allows himself to become too deeply involved. I suppose that's his tragic flaw . . . but I have trouble with the last book's assertion that he's in love . . . because I don't think he's capable of intimate love. He's better with friends and benefits. His "relationship" with Monica Figuerola seems completely implausible to me.

I've never been attracted to men who take their attraction for granted. I prefer men in the rough. Blomkvist is entirely too cocky for my taste.

Now, I'm still not sure what to make of E in this regard. He told me once that he wanted women to want him. I was not impressed. At the same time he said, "I'm not attracted to many women." (Thankfully, however, he's not attracted to men, which is a pleasant change from my ex-husband, who told me otherwise.) He also said, more importantly, "I only love you." I hope I don't have to interpret anything more into that.

If someone needs the attention of multiple others, or specifically strangers, to feel desirable, then I think that's a problem. If someone sleeps around with multiple people in order to feel attractive and validated, that's even more of a problem. I wouldn't tolerate being one of many, or even one of a few, partners. Apparently some people don't mind, but I find that implausible as well. It is already hard enough on me to be with someone with an ex-wife, because of the kids, she will always be in his life, poking around, feeling some sense of entitlement (many would add, rightly so).

I think intimacy requires commitment. If people can't handle intimacy, then I think they are not fully functional. They may be interesting, they may be fun, but they aren't entirely healthy. I guess a fictional character doesn't need to be, but a partner does. Unfortunately, finding someone who is capable of true partnership is a challenge.

I think I'm capable now . . . was I able to be truly intimate with my ex-husband? No. I couldn't be because I couldn't trust him. We pretended at love and intimacy, but I think we both knew it was an act and that is why it didn't last long. His family knew it wouldn't . . . I gathered that from his mother's sidelong looks and the comments some others made about A "coming from a good place." It was weird to be part of that and I'm glad I don't have to be exposed to their judgements now, at least not in my hearing.

Sex is always tricky though because for so many people intimacy is not required. The sexual act is more recreational than emotional for them. The problems arise when people approaching sex differently collide . . . Salander's experience with Blomkvist is a perfect example of this . . .

Kicking the Hornet's Nest

I may as well have been doing that . . . with this past week of suffocating heat . . . no work . . . and legal negotiations . . .

I finished the Larsson series today. It was a good distraction and underlined elements of my own experience of systemic gender bias in the legal system. I can certainly feel empathy for Lisbeth Salander. The characters are so credible and captivating that I didn't want the story to end. Like all of Larsson's fans, I want more . . . and wish there was more to read . . . the complete series of 10 books would have been groundbreaking. E bought The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest for me on Saturday.

"Do you want it?" he asked me, when we saw it in the bookstore. "I"ll buy it for you."

We'd just finished a day out with the kids and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed with a book. After I handed A off to her father, that's exactly what I did. I pleaded sunstroke and stayed in instead of driving out to E's for the night. He understood. I've been reading ever since.

Bothered

This heat only exasperates the tension I'm feeling in relation to this settlement. Everything is sticky. My lawyer submitted something to me yesterday that was completely out of line with discussions we've had and full of errors. I'm not sure what to make of him. Does he have ADD? It is so frustrating to have a so-called professional not living up to the billing. Meanwhile, I still have to deal with the awful ex who consistently tries to provoke me with his bad behaviour and catty emails. The lawyer hasn't helped in any way in that regard. What's the point of having one? If you don't, you're pumelled. If you do, you're ripped off.

As an escape, I just read The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo. E and I decided to read the trilogy together this summer after we read a fabulous review in the Globe this past weekend. I started reading on Sunday and finished this morning and it was as unputdownable as was said. Violent, though, which is not usually something I like. I didn't like that part of the book, but I liked the characters (especially the girl) and the pacing and the plot was interesting and the Sweedish setting was appealing. So, I'll probably hand off this first book to E tonight and start the next one. I'm interested to see what he thinks of it. He loves crime fiction. Often mild-mannered types do. I think that's because it is a release for their shadow side; they get to indulge in what they'd never consciously express . . . murderous feelings, hatred, revenge . . . I think that's it, but I'm not sure.

For my part, the violence is too much. I don't consider it entertaining. I like the psychological complexities of the characters, but I don't want to believe that people can be so dehumanized. I don't know why I feel that way, when, for example, I see everyday how inhumane my ex is and how completely detached my lawyer is and how the family law system promotes conflict and harms children. I guess crime ficiton feels too real to me and threatens to undermine my idealism and belief in individuals' abilities to be good, rational, and progressive. I suppose the hero/ione is meant to embody those qualities, but to have them so often up against opposing forces so wretched makes me despair, even if they don't.

Muddle

I'm still in the middle of negotiations. They drag at a painfully slow pace. Today, I was sent a copy of an amended order I drafted weeks ago . . . and it is still wrong . . . and it should go out immediately.

Last week was the beginning of A's integration program at her new French school. She had no idea of what was coming, but it felt like a huge transition to me. It was a new stage in our lives, with her moving towards independence. I wasn't the only parent anxiously pacing outside the school doors at the end of the day. At least A was fine with the transition. She didn't cry, she didn't resist, she just wanted me to stay with her a while, which I did, and she was fine when I left. The great thing about A, according to E, is her adaptability.

On Tuesday, however, I had an unfortunate encounter with my awful-ex's new companion, who showed up at the school to pick A up, mistaking the dates of a pre-arranged plan to accomodate A's daycare closure at the end of July. This woman, Z, is entirely hostile towards me, most certainly because of what my ex has said about me, but still, any rational person would maintain a degree of objectivity about an ex-partner. What she did Tuesday was further evidence of her lack of judgement. Seeing me exiting the school with A, she said, "What are you doing here? I was supposed to pick her up."

I was taken aback and first thought that she misunderstood the reminder email I sent to my ex about his drop-off the next day. I stumbled, "No, tomorrow you drop her off and pick her up, if you'd like, but I didn't get an email."

"No. You sent an email weeks ago. I just checked it. We're supposed to pick her up Tuesday and drop her off on Wednesday."

It took me a minute to understand what she was referring to, meanwhile, parents and kids were streaming around us, A was trying to get a peek at her brother in the infant carrier and I was frozen to the spot, thinking I'd made some mistake. Z was furious and her tone was acid.

Finally, I clued in. "No," I explained, "That's the last week of July. Not this week."

She rolled her eyes and huffed, "Fine," then grabbed her baby and left.

A and I were still standing at the school's door. Her teachers and several parents were watching.

A said, "Why was Z picking me up?"

"She made a mistake, honey. She's not picking you up."

"My baby brother was here."

"Yes, he was. But they've gone home. Mommy's here."

"I don't have two mommies."

"I know, baby."

I turned to the teacher and tried to explain, in broken French, what was going on.

He asked me, "Es tu la mere de A?"

"Oui, oui, je suis sa mere. Cette femme est la copain de mon ex-marie," I tried to explain.

"Ah, la belle mere," he said.

I bristled, "Non." She's not pretty or nice, I thought, and she's not A's mother.

I'll have to deal with this type of thing for a long time . . . and that's what is hard to think about. Mostly, I don't think about it, because I can't. Just like I can't bear to think too much about the potential disastorous consequences of this Offer to Settle.