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.