Suit up

Today my honey and I are meeting with my current lawyer at 3:00 pm and my potential new lawyer at 4:00 pm. Neither one has been able to talk to me for the last 2 weeks. Maybe neither one can really help, but in a effort to determine that, we'll make the effort to go and talk and I'll pay and we'll see. (I'm convinced this negligent male lawyer I have will spend the majority of the 15 minutes he'll give us speaking to my boyfriend and not me. I'll report back on this later. I notice this behaviour with any man I've hired. If E is with me, despite the fact that I'm paying them, they talk to him and not me, giving him details they'd never give me, yukking it up and bonding in the boy-club way. Ugg.)

Yesterday, my boyfriend asked me, "So, babe, you want me to wear a suit and use big words?"

Of course I said, "Yes. Please do."

Suits are like armour for men and I don't think there is a female equivalent. Some might argue heels are the female equivalent, but heels prevent women from being firmly grounded. They may give height and sex appeal and project femininity (and that's a way of masking real power), but they do not, I'd argue, convey authority and expertise the way suits seem to for men. So, I guess I'll have to ride on the coat tails of E's suit and just wear something casually authoritative (for me) like a suit jacket over whatever is relatively clean in my closet.

I hate this game and I know it is a game, all of it, for my ex. That's what is so infuriating. I have to play this out, even though I think it is ridiculous. Why can't he just sit down and talk to me and work this out? Why does it need to be a contest where everyone gets hurt?

Flashback: During our Catholic marriage course the priest had us imagine ourselves on a path through the woods. All of a sudden an animal appeared before us on the path. Then he asked each of us what our animal was. My ex's was a skunk. His spirit animal - a skunk! When I told him mother this she nodded, "Yes, that makes sense." If only I had paid attention then and gotten the hell out of the course and the marriage . . .

E's nothing like a skunk. I'd venture to say his spirit animal is an eagle or something far more regal and imposing. After all, he can wear a suit and look like he owns it.

Literal Thunderclouds

And then the rain came . . .

It was so spectacular yesterday that I picked A up early and we returned to the sanctuary of our back yard where I'd set up my salvaged wicker chairs and her mini-pool and I sat out my our iced coffee and she played in the almost knee-high grass. Our neighbour blared rock music and puttered in his yard, throwing the ball back to A whenever she lobbed it over the fence to him. This is why I love this little house, because we can do house things, even if there are constant issues such as my recent run in with ants, my leaky inside water hose connection, and resultant dried out garden. Well, at least the rain might fix that.

The key to happiness must be to see good in every disaster. As I lie awake at night, in the middle of the night, and in the early morning, I review this terrible situation for slivers of silver. I think that A must be destined to be a spectacular person because she is really the only good thing that came of my association with her father.

(As I write, I watch the robins, big-as-chickens, scour the back lawn for worms. )

My current love had 10 good years with his ex and 2 bad ones. He's not bitter because he appreciates what he did have.

Thankfully, we also have had a good, almost-year. That makes this bearable. I know that love prevails, like sunshine, and that the reason for the rain is the growth of everything green and good.

Court

After all that waiting . . . and a day away at the spa, I get another FYI email from my lawyer attaching my ex's lawyer's email that they are taking me to court. Obviously, my present lawyer did nothing to avert this. He had my proposal, but he was in court and didn't talk to me about it or send it in time. He didn't contact the other lawyer he was sending it to in order to alert him to the fact it was coming. This seems pure negligence to me and it will probably cost me $2000 or so. I can't afford this fight and yet I cannot escape it. This is the problem with our family law system in Ontario. If someone wanst a fight, you have to go to court. You can't avoid it.

When my ex first left, and violently so, I could not immediately respond to his litigation. I had to find a lawyer and sort out what to do about his behaviour. However, he brought me to court on a trumped up emergency motion, claiming that I was denying him access to and that his father was dying. Well, he never communicated this to me. I was forced to go to court alone and was completely dismissed. The judge (Lalonde) denied me time to find a lawyer and granted my ex immediate access. It was shocking.

Now, facing another round of litigation with an unresponsive lawyer, I am afraid of more of this systemic bias.

The hardest thing to do is to stay calm and not panic. Thankfully, my beloved says, "Whatever happens, you'll be fine. You have me and you have A."

True. In the midst of this, I have to focus on all the good in my life and allow the anger and conflict my ex is trying to thrust on me to pass over like a thundercloud. I hope someday he'll blow himself out. Until then, I just have to keep my focus on protecting my little girl from his wrath.

Holding . . .

So much of my life is on hold right now that it is hard to feel confident about anything; however, I'm grateful for two special relationships that provide me with a sense of security and love.

My daughter is my heart's delight, a loving, spirited, sensitive little soul with a sharp mind and a strong will.

My partner is my heart's desire, a sensual, articulate, exquisitely intelligent man who is incredibly kind and caring, charismatic and charming, loving and reliable.

I treasure these two people who have so transformed my life. Three years to the day after my ex walked out on me, I realize I am truly blessed to be without him. Now there is room for so much more.

Stand in Hell

That is the title of a friend's novel, but it describes my current situation perfectly.

My lawyer is in court and I am left to thrash out details of a custody and access proposal on my own. I hate being on my own in this hellish conflict. The ex is refusing to stop following me with a video camera. He's been following me, audio recording me, and videotaping me for months. I debate whether to file a police report, for to do so may be perceived as sensationalizing, and, as my partner points out, it may make any future dealings with my ex impossible.

Last night I woke up drenced in sweat, then after dreaming of being in a head-on collision, then after dreaming of being in court, then when A called out for me, then after another nightmare I don't recall, then with the morning light streaming under the blind.

Now, mid-day, I'm trying to focus on some of the most tedious work imaginable.

I try to get through this by imagining a clearer future with no fire, but smoke continues to cloud my eyes.

Community Politics

I stumbled upon the Community Council Meeting in my neighbourhood last week. A in tow, we took our seats and listened to the first presenter, developers of a new infill on a major street in the area. A was excited to be attending a meeting. She'd seen such community affairs on her Berenstein Bear's videos. Very important stuff. I asked her to be quiet and listen and gave her a granola bar, paper and a pencil. A meeting organizer contributed crayons and colouring pages. She left these all on her seat and climbed into my lap to listen.

At the beginning of the talk, the developer turned our attention to some story boards that he brought along with images of the street scape he was proposing to alter so drastically. His proposal involved constructing a large single family dwelling and a duplex on a single unit of land. The contemporary three story homes were attractive, but as our current tastes dictate, quite bold and masculine with black and dark rust colours and jutting floors and setbacks. They would certainly clash with the rural cottages and Victorian brick homes surrounding them, but the architect was pointing out the visual congruences as he saw them, "Here is the three story house next door, its roof is almost at the same level as our top floor, beside that on the other side there is a bungalow . . . "

A jumped at the word and piped up merrily, "I live in a bungalow!"

The crowd laughed.

The developer replied, "Oh, you live in one of those do you?" and the conversation flogged on.

Point is, there is a disconnect between contemporary sensibilities and those of our rural past. I live in a post-war bungalow, a house constructed for maximum efficiency at minimum cost. What this project's entails is to create maximum profit with minimum variances. I think this point was lost on the assembled crowd. They weren't paying attention to negotiable aesthetics at all.

What amazed me about the proceedings is how skillfully the architect of the project was able to convince the audience of the merits of his design and the development itself and how he used the highly controversial lane development to arouse the passion and sympathy of the audience. By the end of his extensive presentation (which lasted well over an hour), attendees were raising their hand to congratulate him and the councillor of the ward had departed in disgust after charges of a City Hall conspiracy against residents of the area.

What did I learn? Well, something of the local history of this place, which I found fascinating. There were residents at the meeting who have owned property here since 1912 when there were honey trucks and milk wagons using lane ways for deliveries. There were others who have owned their property since the 1920s and saw the community move from agricultural roots into the amalgamated City of Ottawa. It was nice to hear that this place I own was once productive land. That encourages me somehow. I feel part of an earnest past.

I also learned that I want to be more involved in things like this that matter, but be informed enough to contribute a critical voice to the proceedings. A lesson from my daughter.

"No, honey, you don't really want to end our marriage."

I read an interview this morning with Laura Munson, author of This Is Not the Story You Think It Is: A season of Unlikely Happiness. I found her brief comments so inspiring that I clipped the review and will buy the book. She says at one point, "This book is not about strategzing to keep your marraige or hold on to your partner. It's more of a philosophy to preserve your own well-being during any crisis." Now, who couldn't use that kind of advice?

I know I could have used it. I didn't have any sense of what I was up against when this all began. Now, I realize that you need extremely wise people around you in a crisis, preferably those who have weathered a few crises of their own.

I'm thinking of starting a business to assist people in weathering nasty custody battles because you really do need someone to help you refocus and redefine what it is you want, especially when you are drafting documents which will define you and your child's life ever after.


Meanwhile, I talked to my love about this article and his experience:

Munson, apparently, waited out the storm of her husband's unrest.

He explained, "I think I tried to do that too. I let her have the affair. I waited. I thought maybe she'd come around, but she didn't."

I realize I did a lot of waiting and hoping too. I kept the house and kept letting him in the house to be with the baby. I went to mediation. I took the "You're not my soulmate," phrase on the chin. However, much like my current partner experienced, my ex didn't come around.

Sometimes "riding out the storm" doesn't work. Sometimes the storm devastates you and drives you in an entirely new direction. However, the good news is, sometimes this type of clearing and refocusing is exactly what you need to get what you've always really wanted.

Which isn't to say I didn't have some concerns . . .

As gripping as I found the play, after writing that previous post, I realize that I left out a lot of what disturbed me about the piece. That has to figure in. The play is rife with anxiety about the body, particularly the female body, or the feminization of the male body. Once I find the script, I'll do a more detailed analysis of this. Maybe it is, most accurately, the maternal body that is troubled . . . for moon cycles and rankness and suicides and transfigurations are all prominent memories of this piece for me and I want to know what the author is suggesting, perhaps unconsciously, with these associations. Perhaps this reflects the church's denial of the body . . . because what is conspicuously absent from the text is a depiction of the daily hardships of residential school experience - the poor food, the loneliness, the sense of being alienated from one's language and identity. The trauma of abuse dominates . . . and it does . . . but there are many ways that the schools eroded confidence and character.

What's important, I think, is that people are beginning to process the after-effects of these experiences. It often takes a long time to address trauma and sometimes people can't do it directly. The indirect approach can be disastorous, and the direct approach, I'm sure, is terrifying, but hopefully liberating.

Drama often reflects where we are. I'd love to see it illustrate where we could be.

Where the Blood Mixes

I went to see this play on Saturday night. It was spectacular theatre, heart-wrenching, life-changing stuff. I don't think there was a dry eye in the theatre when it ended. The closing line was haunting. Last year, I bought a copy of the play but never read it. There was too much going on. I'll read it now.

When I returned home, I started reading another brutal account of contemporary Native realities. Louise Erdrich's Shadow Tag. I'd read a review of this recently and it sounded like my kind of novel, dense, searing, intimate. It was everything it was billed as too.

Life isn't as easy as any of us would like it. To explore its complexities and painful truths makde for a far richer and more substantial experience than avoiding them does. Unfortunately, most people, myself included, tend to avoid dealing with the difficult bits. In the midst of this minefield on my day off to reflect, I took a book out and read in the sunshine, honey lager in hand. I do not want to deal with this painful process or its consequences. I can't stand the thought of making another, as serious mistake as getting involved with my ex. I can't help but think that allowing him more time with our daughter would be wrong. I don't want to ruin her life. I know it can happen. Shadow Tag addressed that very thing. At one point a teacher says to a child's mother, "Since we have talked . . . there is no need for me to report, no need for this to go any further, not as long as I know that from now on you are going to protect your son" (Erdrich 128). Too often people turn away from awful truths. They don't want to see what would require them to act differently. I see this everyday. I know it in my own life.

All children should be protected. Those who haven't been are dangers to everyone ever after.

Happy Easter

Easter Sunday and I have just returned from running along the river and then to my local Starbucks. There I read in the Homes section of The Citizen how my new place stacks up against the 10 worst design ideas ever. The house had 4 on the list of 10 - 1. a pink bathroom, 2. wood panelling, 3. orange vinyl patterned floors, and 4. popcorn ceilings (which I tried to repair myself = mistake). Oh well, I like its retro feel.

When my dad came down for a visit he commented, "This house is the same vintage as our old house in Noranda."

Hmm . . . that makes me wonder. I'm quite nostalgic about all things related to my now distant childhood. Am I trying to recreate a more idyllic time in my life for my daughter? Certainly, the house was part of trying to give her more stability. It didn't factor in to the recent report, our new home, and I think that was a mistake, because I was being judged against my horrid-ex and his new "partner" and their sizable home/income. My shared room with my daughter in my relatively nice one-bedroom in Centretown couldn't quite measure up to what they projected they'd provide, materially. What they'll do psychologically is my greatest concern.

Do I agree to let her spend equal time with her father when he is actively emotionally abusive? How can I fight his claim that he (and she) is entitled to equal time with him?

I met a woman fairly recently who was forced to spend equal time with a father who was emotionally remote and abusive. She lived with that until she could decide otherwise, as a teenager, and she continues to resent her father and mourn her loss of time with her now-deceased mother. Is my daughter being set up for this?

Most of my friends are suggesting my bond with my daughter is strong enough to withstand any assault from my ex, but I'm not sure what my ex's continued pressure will do to her. Already, she protests his assertions that she has two mothers; she worries over that phrase constantly, whining in distress about its implications. She also tells me that she doesn't love her father and doesn't want to spend more time with him. But she's only three and it is hard to tell if she knows what any of this means. Perhaps she's just doing what he used to do, saying what she thinks I want to hear, but I'm not promoting this.

I must mull this over today, Easter Sunday, and I'm trying to be attentive to the message that the day brings . . . to turn the other cheek, to have faith, to trust that good and God will redeem the sorry state of our world.

What do you fight for?

I hate conflict, and yet, here I am, embroiled in the worst possible, Solomonesque contest. My winsome girl is being drawn in two directions and her protests come up at every transition.

Last evening she wailed, "But Z said I have 2 mommies."

"I know, sweetie," I replied.

She continued to wail this all the way home . . . and I have to think it is the one thing she knows that draws attention and that is really what she wants. I hope that is all she needs.

I'm left considering two almost equally unpalatable options. Do I cow to my horrid-ex's demands and let him have half-access to a child he loves but torments (and I have to question if that's love of any value) or do I try to rouse myself to launch into another long series of legal battles to possibly end up with a delay or marginally more time? What do I fight for and what is the consequence of the fight?

A wise once-date said, "When you seek revenge, dig two graves," but this isn't revenge . . . it's justice. When you seek justice in custody situations, you probably have to dig three graves, and that is the horror of being here right now.