Paris

I am planning a whole novella about Paris, or my imagined Paris. Fictionalizing it will be fun. Before I left, I read French Lessons, about love among language teachers in the city and while there I reread A Moveable Feast, which helped me enjoy a platter of oysters I had difficulty warming up to.

Our trip was spectacular. E treated me and his daughter to the getaway; the three of us walked the city, stopping at all the major attractions and galleries, until we were hungry and tired, at which point we showered, dressed, and walked to local brasseries for dinner. We ate beautifully, the most delicious dishes imaginable, before enjoying the warm nights as we wandered back to the hotel.

I'll hold on to our lovely Paris idyll forever; it was a perfect escape from my ordinary life.

September

Here it is . . . the end of summer, and I am somewhat sad, because I realize, once again, that I let summer slide by without savouring it sufficiently.

I didn't write. I killed my lawn. My plans to travel north often to see my family never materialized. My cherry tomatoes split and rotted on the vine.

However, I did do some things besides grieve the progressive loss of time with my daughter, which I have to admit, seemed to make everything feel somewhat sombre.

I spent a lot of time playing with A. I did read (most recently The Happiness Project, which inspired this return to blogging). I went to cottages (my cousin's, A's friend's). I discovered The Pond in Rockcliffe (a beautiful spot to spend a morning). I worked on a play (on now at Arts Court). I went to Paris!

These next few days are the first span of 5 days without A that I've had without diversion. I am still disoriented without her and have trouble even contemplating how this will continue to play out . . .

I will try to write in order to cope, which has always been my best way of processing difficult situations and striving for perspective and a measure of happiness.

Bummer, Not Bummer Summer?

I'm still not sure about this summer . . . what it is isn't yet clear to me. It has been both lovely and terrible in equal measure.

I have been blessed with time this year, and it has meant that I have been able to spend most of it with A, swimming in pools, going to cottages, following her wishes and whims and some of my own. She is becoming a little girl who can travel and it is hugely gratifying to bring her with me, whether it is to remote places or city centres.

The hard part has been dealing with having her less and continuing to have to worry about what's happening when she isn't with me. I have heard stories about at least two of her father's "friends" and details about his lack of supervision of her in the water and his negligence in relation to her travel in his and other's cars. So, I worry. His "partner" and his son have fled Ottawa and are now somewhere on Montreal's south shore. He's visiting them, with A, at the end of August. I do wonder how long those visits will last.

Otherwise, E and I have been carefully picking our way through the difficult terrain of blending families by talking it through with a couple counsellor. After perhaps 12 sessions to date, everything seems far more complicated than it did before and I hesitate to move forward at all. However, it doesn't hurt to wait . . . there is no hurry . . . except that I feel that I'm waiting on something, which I hate.

The summer is half over now, too, and it feels like I'm running out of time . . . but I'm not sure why.

So, not bummer? Bummer? Only time will tell.

Summertime

I have been buying books at garage sales. I just finished reading Anne Giardini's The Sad Truth About Happiness, which did echo the work of her mother, Carol Shields, especially Unless. It was almost as though the character of Oriah was anothe image of the girl in Unless. She is the only one left without a happy ending, seemingly, although the baby, Phillip, also seems destined for a degree of unhappiness. He's at the centre of a custody battle in the novel, which, as I know, can never really end.

I have spent my first full weekend in more than 4 years alone. A was with her father. E was in Chicago with his son. I thought it would feel like forever without them, and it did, but I was also able to recapture some of the lazy ease of my formerly single life, which was rejuvenating. I am just beginning to imagine my way back to something essential to my nature, which I lost for a while. I can't name it . . . but it is there . . . waiting to be reclaimed, I think. I hope.

Consequences

Many years ago, I was younger and much more naive, I wrote about a lower case someone and his fixation on a woman I didn't know. Now, I fear, there have been consequences to having critiqued that situation and I have to take the lumps. My frustration was with one person, but the other seems to have taken offense, and why wouldn't she, really? So, there.





There are lumps aplenty these days.





Resonances also abound. For example, CUPW, my ex's former employer, is where my ex learned to negotiate. Where he learned to fight. Tooth and nail.





Astrologically, I am in a period where something that I began 7 years ago is coming to conclusion . . . and I'm trying to figure out what that was and if I have done what is necessary, or not. Perhaps not, considering how stressful this low-key summer has been.





I'm reading Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking. I realize that grief does maintain a stranglehold on the "survivors" for a very long time. I'm still in the midst of mourning the end of several lives that passed in the last 10 years. Is the later part of one's life always a time of mourning?

I have to try, I know, to identify more strongly with E's son, who is also in mourning, but whose mourning for his lost family and the break-up of his parents results in his ignoring me and bullying A. Whenever he criticizes, blames, or directs A, the hair on the back of my neck bristles. I have to hold myself very still in order not to pounce on him. Later, after the little boy is gone, I usually pounce on his father, who claims to have heard nothing and sees his son as completely innocent. It is a frustrating situation.

I have to continually tell myself that relationships take time. Even after two years, E and I are still getting to know each other, in fact, more so now than ever before and the real work of our relationship really is now, in the midst of these emotional scuffles.

In the midst of my own considerations, I can't help but wonder where my ex's (ex?) partner is now that their house seems to be sold. Has she bought another house in Montreal? Has she moved there with her son? Is she now living what I was forced to live four years ago? I know it will be a far easier proposition for her because 1. she has a sizable income, 2. she isn't dealing with my ex's hatred and litigation, 3. she is living 2 hours away from what she lived here, which I think probably wasn't the rose bed I thought it was.

Anyway, I have a rose. I planted my first rose bush and today a small, fushia-coloured rose is just beginning to bloom.

So, there are lumps, yes, and roses, too.

June?

How did this happen? It was summer for a day and now it is fall-like again.

Thankfully, E and I took that sunny day for a mini-break in Montreal, where we lounged around the Omni Hotel' s pool and ate great food at Italian and French bistros. At night, we sat out on a patio above Crescent street, waiting for dance bars to open, but I couldn't make it. I had to clip back to our hotel by 10:30, my second toe bleeding form being sliced diagonally from nail to base by my high heels. Still, just getting away from here and all the accumulated stess of being here, helps shift me away from feeling strained to feeling more energized.

If I'm not careful, though, summer will slip by and I'll wonder why I didn't notice it going. That happened last year. I was so mired in job stress and legal negotiations that nothing good seemed to register. It takes real effort to focus on the simple and beautiful sometimes.

While mowing my hayfield the other day, I discovered two raspberry bushes growing in the middle of it. I think I should probably relocate them to the dead turf area at the back of my garage where they can run wild and supply me with ample summer fruit. That's a simple and beautiful thing, I think, so long as it works . . . lawn care is a continual challenge.

So, is life care . . . all the little components of it . . . which I'll tease out later, because they still seem to much to deal with . . .work, partners, kids, parents, food and fitness, health generally, ex's . . .

My ex is still acting nasty. Yesterday, he sent my daughter to school in an unsuitable outfit and another parent I ran into at the grocery store said, "She was cold this morning. You weren't the one to send to school, were you?" Exactly. My ex can't seem to think beyond himself to imagine what his child might need in a day. On Monday, he sent her to school without a lunch.

Yet, yet, she is a happy child and I can take comfort in that. We have fun doing all manner of simple things and life is always, at least somewhat, beautiful.

A day in May

There has been no more news. My daughter does not talk about what happens with her father. When I call to speak to her, which was negotiated and agreed to in the final order, I am told she is not there by her grandmother and they do not answer my calls at my ex's house. The house is still up for sale, overpriced, I should think.

Meanwhile, I've been taking French lessons, which give me a headache. I feel strained by the effort to communicate in a language I haven't used since I was eight years old. I should be talking French with E, but we invariably switch back to English because it is easier. Meanwhile, my fellow students all stumble along in class with their terrible accents, feeling no shame in them or their mistakes, and I realize that success depends on confidence and wish I had some.

The good news is that I'll be assisting a friend of mine direct a play this summer, which is something I'm really looking forward to after years of putting my theatre interests on hold. We met yesterday to discuss it and I'm excited to start something new and move beyond the stranglehold of this situation with my ex.

E is in Waterloo for a conference this week. I'll have a blessed night alone with him when he returns. I crave these islands of calm admist our attempts to successfully blend families. Invariably, I waver in my decision to move in with him . . . and I may never, considering how hard stepmothers have it. It may just be easier to maintain my quiet little home with A and visit E frequently. Even seeing my ex's relationship flounder scares me, although I know there is good reason for his failure.

In general these rainy days slow the pace of my life down. There is no incentive to be moving too fast. The grass grows and grows, but my garden waits for sun.

This is the email I received late yesterday afternoon:

A has probably said some things recently that make you wonder what's going on on our end.
All of A's activities and routine's [sic - means he's aggitated] are the same. The only thing that's different is a temporary change in A's residence. S wants to move to Montreal and I want to stay in Ottawa because of my commitments to A and my job.

S and I have decided to sell the house but A and I will continue to see both of them (although less often) and A and I will stay with my mom for the next few months until I can get our own place again.

* * *

I didn't reply of course, but I think it's bs. It came after a pointed email to my lawyer about the consequence of a "change of material circumstances" and an email to his "partner," neither of whom responded. Oh, well. So then he had to tell me.

It doesn't put my mind at ease at all. It means A will be living out in the burbs and will be shuttled back and forth to Montreal until that relationship dissolves under the strain and my ex moves on to greener pastures, as he always does.

Sad. Still truly sad.

Confirming

Today, as I was checking around, I found his house listed for sale.

Four years after leaving me . . . he's done it again.

I knew it.

And back again. . .

So, as I ploughed through hundreds of essays and exams . . . my ex was leaving his wife. I think.

When my ex didn't email me about the passover access, I contacted him.

"Is it passover?" I asked, "Are you making arrangements for A, because I haven't heard from you."

Now, here I'll remind you that my ex is not Jewish, he is from a staunch Irish Roman Catholic family. His partner/wife is Jewish. A big concession in the settlement agreement was my consent for him to have both Christian and Jewish holidays, while I had to settle for just the Christian ones. Anyway . . . he wrote back and said,

"Yes, it is passover. I'll pick her up from school."

That was it. When A returned the following day, I asked her about Passover Seder and the Menorah. She looked at me blankly.

"Did you have a special dinner?"

"No, I just played with Daddy."

Okay, something was up. Probably his partner had taken their baby away for the holiday. I waited to hear more.

For the next week, A and her dad were staying at "Grandma's."

"Is Grandma there?" I asked.

"No, she's in England," A replied.

"Where is your stepmother and baby brother?" I queried.

"At their house," A said.

Hmm. . . .

They have been at "their house" for the past two weeks and A has been with her father, staying at his mother's and his sister's house. Of course I'm wondering what is going on and I can't really ask too much of A.

It seems to me, however, that at just over the 1 year mark, my ex has left his current partner and infant, just as he did to me four years ago. I'm desperate to know, of course, because this is terrible timing for A, who was just settling into a new routine.

What do I do? How can I find out the truth? He won't tell me and it might set him off somehow. His partner has always been antagonistic, so I doubt she'll tell me. I warned her about him, but she was condescending and hostile. I wonder if she remembers any of my words of warning now. Had I received a direct warning about him from one of his previvous girlfriends, I would have listened.

As it was, I did receive two warnings that were difficult to take to heart. One was from a player who used to hang out at his ex-girlfriend's bar (she's now a noted anti-terrorist activist). This player (and I call him that with reason, he's apparently slept with 1000s of women, based on his own account, and has left at least a few that I've known brokenhearted) looked out at my ex as he loped toward Bridgehead four years ago, after I'd mentioned my new boyfriend, and the player practically spat the words, "You're an idiot." I didn't take kindly to that. I didn't associate with the player thereafter. What had been a friendly, bantering, cafe acquaintance turned sour.

Another warning came completely out of the blue and probably due to my last, and more popular, blog. An unsigned letter arrived. It warned me not to proceed with my wedding plans. It also intimated that I was being an idiot, but not as directly. That point alone made it easier to dismiss. Again, I think I could have at least taken some of it to heart.

But when we are "in love" we want to believe in it. I tried anyway. I may not have been thoroughly aware of my own reservations, but they did eventually make themselves known.

I wonder what has happened in this instance.

I worry how it will affect A. Already she has become weepy about leaving me and even more resistant to going to her father's. She says, "I cry for you every night at Daddy's."

"What does Daddy do when you cry?

"Nothing."

That hurts me to hear. I tell her, "But I'm here for you and I always will be. I don't want you to be sad."

It seems her father is all about making people sad.

Back

One step, two steps . . . I'm in the midst of marking now . . . and feeling my way through change . . . needing any extra time I have to process what I still don't understand. I'm reading A Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore and Understanding Stepmothers by Elizabeth Church. The latter is the more challenging read, because I'm discovering that my way isn't really going to work. I had huge expectations regarding family and how being with E would somehow satisfy my need for a sense of family, but I realize, reading this book, that those desires will never be met by our union, not unless I radically change my perspective, which may have to happen. I suppose I don't mind being pushed beyond my comfort zone, but that's not to say it is easy. I feel lost in these shifts and like I have to redefine myself in ways that I resent, to a certain extent. However, that's life, I reason; it must be good for me, or, if not good, then necessary. My yard is filled with straw-like hay while my neighbours lawns are coming in beautifully. I must do something about that . . . and my ugly awnings . . . and my garden. That's a summer project . . . my other summer project will be to improve my French and start to write something I've been thinking about for a long time. I need a project because now that the conflict with my ex is at simmer, I can turn my attention to something else. There is so much else to be concerned about. A most of all. I feel guilty about everything that preoccupied me so fruitlessly over the past year, and I want to refocus on her. E would argue that I've always been focused on her, but I was working so much that she had a lot less of my attention than she had previously. Now that she's with her father more often, she's complaining about not being with me. What can I say to that? I never seem to have the right answer. I have to keep trying to find it, recognizing that it may never happen.

Spring

Here it is. There is sun and reasonably warm temperatures. The snow is sinking into the grass. Birds swoop and chatter. There is movement, finally, change, even if it isn't what I'd hoped for.

I moved in here a year ago. This morning I noticed the electrician made away with my house number. There is always something to attend to that is aggravating; however, I was warned. Home ownership isn't easy. Contractors are con artists, it seems. In talking about living together, E promised me that I'd never have to deal with contractors again. Amen.

Anyway, E is away. He's stuck in an airport is Las Vegas. He was supposed to be home today, but won't be. A is with her dad. I am feeling out of sorts and alone. This stems in part from an experience with a long standing though difficult friend. We went to see Black Swan last night. I had invited my friend to dinner before hand, but she canceled at the last minute. Then she showed up late to the movie and explained that the man she sometimes sleeps with had gone to her apartment to make her dinner and have "a nap." That explained a lot. After the movie, my friend, who invariably says inappropriate things, started talking about being A's godmother. Then she said, "Well, god forbid you should die." I am not a religious person, and if I was, my friend would not be my choice of godmother for my daughter. This friend can barely make rent. I was taken aback at her presumption. I was annoyed by her comment. I left her thinking I've been wrongheaded about a lot of things, and that friendship in particular.

As for other mistakes . . . I realize, having read The 10 Conversation You Must Have Before You Get Married (And How to Have Them) by Guy Grenier, that I should not move in with E this summer. I should take the next year to figure out what I want/need to do, to allow everyone time to settle into new routines, and to sketch out new ones, slowly, while talking and talking to E about kids, careers, money, sex, family, location, division of labour, leisure, spirituality and religion, and our own particular challenge of blending families when are children are still suffering the after effects of divorce.

This week A's schedule changes. She'll be spending just one weeknight with her father and two weekend nights. I will miss her and I'm not sure if I can be as productive with that time as I'd like to be. I have so much to plan and do that I'm afraid to begin. But I'll have to. I have to keep reminding myself to just walk through. Other people do.

Another setback

Two years ago, through a blind date and sheer good fortune, I landed a research contract with the government. Having that job enabled me to work from home, make my own hours, and have enough income to qualify for a mortgage. My series of 3-month contracts just came to an end. I can't say I'm surprised, as work was waning and I've been too intensely preoccupied with the vagaries of my life to consistently ask for more. This is just another ending that scares me.

E and I talked at length about this yesterday. He asked me in I wanted to move in with him this summer, so that I wouldn't be worried about money. I'm tempted. We were planning on next summer, when his daughter would be older and maybe want to take the basement room, when A would have adjusted to her 50/50 lifestyle, when his son felt more secure. Is it rushing everyone to start this summer? I'm not sure. Can I scrape by with teaching alone next year? Will anything else come up?

If I look back on roadblocks in my past, I can say that they led me to much more rewarding prospects, adventures, and opportunities. However, they didn't lead to the security I now crave. What would help me feel secure? A permanent job. The income to support whatever it is A or I wanted to do. The opportunity to feel like I was successful and contributing to something important. Is that asking too much of work? Of life?

Riding the black horse through a bleak land

When I was going through the worst of it, the summer just after my ex left, I attended Art in the Park and bought a small print of a girl riding bareback on a black horse through a stark winter landscape. The girl is dressed in a short sleeved green dress and is holding on tightly to the horse's neck. The little print resonated with me then and still does. Here I am, seemingly, at the end of the legal battle and I still feel like that girl. I received my final bill from my lawyer today. It was in the thousands of dollars. I wasn't expecting it to be quite that much. It has been an extremely expensive month. However, it could have been worse. That's what I'll console myself with.

E and I had a quick trip to Montreal yesterday, we ate out, hung around a Hotel pool, drank champagne to toast the end of my custody saga (I hope), and lazed about in the king-sized bed. He had a meeting this morning and I marked exams, watching people shiver in the cold on the snowy street below. We raced back after his morning meeting so that he could teach at 1:00 pm. I'm grateful for our getaways. They've kept me going through the last part of this ride.

Now, hopefully, I can start to slow down and look around and see where I want to go next.

Contractors

Since getting this house I have had to deal with a number of contractors. I have no skills in this area; any questions I have about my house seem to annoy them. This was particularly true of the electrician I was dealing with last week. As I mentioned, I returned after their first day in the house to find gaping holes around all my old outlets and fixtures. He hadn't warned me about this, then acted as though he had. I did not know what to do. I was in the middle of these intense custody negotiations and then found myself in the middle of a half-wired house full of holes. All of the patching and painting E and I had done last year would have to be redone, and I knew that neither of us could patch the plaster walls sufficiently. It increased the cost of this electrical upgrade significantly, as I was completely unprepared. My electrician and his sidekicks were unsympathetic. Certainly, they took no pride in their craftsmanship.

This guy is coming back to finish the job tomorrow. After a call to the Electrical Safety Authority today, I was told that the electrician, while registered, had not applied for a permit to do the work on my house. This is a problem, apparently my problem unless I report him. I can't handle this.

Yet, this is the house I got.

A couple of weeks ago at our first pre-maritial counselling session the counsellor turned to me and said, "This is the guy you got."

It's something like that.

Blank

Snow spits and flows by my window as I stare into the blank white space of my back yard and yearn for sleep. The lethargy of fatigue settles in whenever I stop to think, but I fret and buzz despite it. I don't want this, but I can't seem to do anything about it. I keep trying to give way, but nothing happens.

This must be the after effects of long-standing stress. I can't settle down. I can't feel the relief I thought for sure would come. It hasn't. It may never. My lawyer said, stupidly, "You look better. Your face isn't as contorted as it was when I first met you."

Oh, thanks. Yes. Acknowledge the consequence of pain, but not the thing itself or your part in prolonging it.

In fact, I wasn't looking better, I had just hacked off my hair. Isn't that what women usually do to symbolize change and signal a sense of liberation when maybe all they feel is defeat?

Last night A and I slept at E's house, having made the journey there to watch the Oscars. A wasn't interested in what clearly wasn't a cartoon; E's daughter tried to be interested, but quickly fell asleep; and E, having cooked and cleaned to his satisfaction, sat with his feet on me and asked me to rub his 'injury,' a split shin he got from a nasty tumble with a baggage carousel. He was still so jetlagged from his trip to Europe that he went to bed at 10:30 pm, promising to wake me at 6:30 am, perhaps with a scream of anguish at the ungodly hour.

I didn't sleep and still can't. The unplowed roads this morning threw me into an adrenaline panic so intense that I cannot relax. The prospect of walking to A's school to retrieve her because the school buses aren't running is daunting, but I refuse to use the car again lest my fatigue lead to some avoidable accident. Often, I am able to redirect days like this with a nap, but not today. I'll have to weather it, but I'm not able to animate it.

Biodome

I took a couple days off. The day of the settlement and the wiring fiascos was a write off. Friday, I took A on the train to Montreal, during a massive snowstorm, through which I had to slog with a stoller, while she slept. The Montreal Metro was not made for strollers. I had to hoist her up dozens of stairs, thankfully with the help of kind strangers. I had to take multiple lines and buses and walk and . . . finally arrive before dark at my friend R's beautiful plateau apartment, where A woke, was happy, and watched Angelina Ballerina videos to her heart's content.

This morning we went to the Biodome where I tried to coax A to look at the Lynx and the monkeys and she ran around enthusing about the water fountain.

Now I'm at home and waiting for E to come and get me. I just finished Freedom and think that Jonathan Franzen is brilliant and wise. I hope with all my heart that I can survive my life and leave A with good memories of her mother.

I need to sink into hot water now. I need to drink my cheap Mistero Malbec and forget. I need to toast endings and beginnings and start to dream again.

Settled!

It is over. For now. I am just exhausted. It was grueling and painful. My lawyer said his other client described it as "far worse than childbirth." All I can say is, childbirth doesn't last for 4 years!

Meanwhile, I chose this particular week to get my house rewired, which resulted in large ragged holes being punched into my plaster walls, my beautiful, antique fixtures being broken, the wrong fixtures installed, and several strange things going missing. Why do I do this to myself?

E, of course, is away in Europe. He gets to relax and eat mushy peas in Edinburgh while I tear my hair out here. The good news is that we can now plan our Christmas vacation. Maybe finally I'll have a chance to relax.

Freedom

I loved The Corrections and I'm loving Freedom too. I wish I could just spend today reading, but I can't. E's in Belgium, A's with her Dad, and I have to work. I have just this one day to myself, from sun up to sun down. It really isn't enough. However, however, soon, soon, things will change . . .

Offers went back and forth last week. Another "final offer" is with my ex this weekend. It was a painful week knowing that after four years my daughter will be spending more time with her father and I will have to adapt. I remind myself that I will have more time for other things, but that doesn't console me. It will just feel like a distraction, until, maybe . . . something changes again.

Letting go

This morning at the breakfast table A began crying.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want to go to Daddy's," she whimpered.

I paused. "But you like spending time with Daddy," I said. "And Daddy wants to see you. You have fun with him, don't you?"

"Yes," she replied, "but I miss Mommy."

I can't help but feel that I am the mother in the Solomon story who finally lets go. The one whose child is pulled away by force, lest she be ripped apart by it. I feel at this moment, with yet another final version of a settlement offer sent off, that my child has been torn from my arms and my heart has been torn away with her.

E reminded me that this isn't something I can avoid. That doesn't make it easier to accept. My friend HD's words haunt me. She said you can always fight. That I should fight. That I have to protect my daughter.

E said, "But children of divorce don't have a choice. They have to deal with situations like this."

"Yes," I agreed reluctantly, "but neither of us chose this and neither of us want our children to deal with this."

My lawyer said, "I don't think this will go to court. But you know X better than I do."

"Well," I replied, "I really don't. That was my mistake. I never knew him."

The tragedy of this situation is that the beautiful little person in the middle has to pay for her parents' mistake.

Ball de Neige

I just awoke from a long recovery nap. Today was one of those spectacular winter days of bright blue sky, sun, and crisp snow that will live on in memory forever, likely, because it made A so happy. Her little friend's dad and I spent hours with four bright little girls who ran and rolled and slid and spun about in the snow. They also fought and cried and fell and fussed. At one point A turned to me and said, "Mommy, I'm so happy! I'm so happy to be here with my friends." Later, she wasn't so happy when she and her little friend argued about who got to catch me at the bottom of the slope, but made me proud when she apologized to her friend after the falling out.

If I can do anything right, I hope I can give A the courage to be loving, kind, faithful, and true to herself and others. That would go a long way to helping me feel that her father's influence will not have a lasting detrimental effect.

Last week she said to me, "Why did you make my daddy sad?" because apparently he told her that he left me because I made him sad.

"I don't know sweetheart," I replied. "I didn't mean to make him sad. I think it is important that if someone makes you sad you talk about it. You work things out."

A's father doesn't know how to talk about things or work things out. However, I'm sure she'll know better. It seems to me she already does, and I'm grateful for that.

Hanging out with her little friends, I can see that A's personality is far more retiring and measured than those of her peers. Her teacher told me as much. At the meeting I had with her this week, she reassured me that A is doing much, much better, which was a huge relief. She also said that A holds her own and isn't easily influenced by her friends and their bad behaviours. I know, however, that she is hurt by slights and fights, and she won't be able to avoid those from what I can see.

I'm happy she'll have today, though. This will be a magical memory of sparkling snow; long, icy slides; fuzzy mascots; maple taffy; immense snow sculptures; friends, and sheer winter fun.

Finally

I finally heard from my lawyer. He said what I hoped he would, that no judge would impose the kind of restrictions on me that my ex is trying to impose on me.

"It's all about him," he said, and I thought, exactly.

So, we are sending it back, saying, no, can't agree to that, and we'll see what happens.

I'm still exhausted, but I'm trying to keep up. Tomorrow I'll go on a field trip with A's school. Tonight is a parent/teacher meeting. E is out of town, interviewing people. We'll have a romantic dinner out this Saturday, when I'll hope to feel well enough for a glass of deep red wine.

I bought E a bag of sweets and treats and A a sparkly little dress. I promised A I'd take her out for a Valentine's dinner so that she could wear her new dress (she peeked and saw the dress in the bag).

I just want to celebrate love.

Slow

After starting anti-biotics on Friday, I seem to be coming around, but slowly. Without the capacity to smell, the International Buffet was a bit of a disappoitnment. Besides, E and I have vowed to eat better, smaller meals, and going there wasn't really going to help facilitate that. We watched Going the Distance at home later, which I found rather crude and a turn-off, but maybe that just means I'm getting old.

My lawyer still hasn't returned my request for a call. I want to work something out, but it may be that nothing can be worked out if the only option is to agreed to be restricted in unreasonable ways. Looking back, I'd have to say that my relationship with my ex was co-dependent and it still has aspects of that to it. He is really tryint to control my life by dictating how and where I live and what I do with my daughter. I cannot understand how someone who is supposedly happy with his new partner and child can keep harassing me.

Anyway, thank God I don't have to live with him on a daily basis. The problem is that A will carry the conflict in her cells and that it will eventually surface and cause some variation of hell for her, if it isn't already doing that.

After the death of my dryer, perhaps from unwittingly overloading it with bedsheets, I had to do out and buy a new set. I was already to purchase one at Sears when I found what I thought was a better deal on a higher rated consumer reports pair at The Brick. I spend my precious Sunday afternoon alone to go to check it out. The set I wanted, Whirlpool Duet, according to the salesguy wasn't nearly as good a deal as the Front Loading LG set on sale . . . so, I was seduced by the talk, and bought the more expense (and blue) washer and dryer. The problem will be how to install it, since my current dead dryer is wired directly into my electrical panel. I have an electrician coming today. That may involve more expense than for the laundry set . . . and I was going to try to renovate my bathroom this spring.

Oh, household expenses! The reason I'm not entirely balking is because my daughter's schoolmate's parents just had their little house reappraised after a lot of small improvements to the property and it went up from their purchase price of $247,000 to $335,000. Quite the jump in value. If I can slowly work through some changes here, rent the place if I choose to live with E, keep paying the mortgage, maybe this house will appreciate too. I certainly appreciate it, but I'm sure it takes a special kind of buyer to live as small as we do.

Fever

I've been out for almost a week with a fever. So has A. Now she has a secondary ear infection and I have a secondary sinus infection and we're still miserably uncomfortable. Or I am. My nose is raw on the outside, edged in crust, and still gooey with immovable gunk inside. A seems relatively well. She certainly enjoyed having lots of one on one time at home this week, whereas I didn't think I'd survive it, as I tried to keep up to my classes, deal with my broken down clothes dryer, shovel my 40 foot long driveway, and entertain her while battling a raging fever and feeling like I'd been imbibing lead.

Anyway, the worst is over (I'm knocking on wood). I have the International Buffet to look forward to tonight, a movie with E, then 120 papers and my special research project tomorrow. Meanwhile, I'm still waking up at 4 am and pacing with frustration over my ex's counter offer, which clearly illustrates his self-centeredness, as he is demanding that all of her schooling and extra-curricular activities take place within a 10 K radius of his house. It isn't about her with him, it is all about him.

January

E and I met with the principal of A's school on Monday. To my great relief, because they offer a specialty program, if I do move across the border, A can still attend the school if her father remains in Ottawa, which I am pretty sure he will. That means that maybe someday I can move in with E. I was convinced that in order for her to stay at the school, I'd have to stay in the district. I lost much sleep over this. After our meeting, E said, "See. You didn't have to worry about it after all."

How can I possibly explain to him that I feel like I have to worry about everything all the time?

So, that was good news. However, there is no other news. I'm waiting to hear if "the other side" will accept my offer. It looks like they'll revise it entirely and send it back, but it has been over a week and I've not heard anything.

Meanwhile, I am still concerned about how A is doing. I volunteered in her class last week and, after being away from me the previous day, she clung to me and cried, which made things awkward for everyone. However, we had a talk about that and I'll try again tomorrow. I want her to know I'm there and involved and care. I'm having a hard time imagining how we will both cope with being away from each other more often.

My other issue is my sense of longing for what it is I'll never have . . . another child, a biological family with E, the ideal family I've imagined for longer than I can remember. I realize I should focus on what I do have and express gratitude for all the riches of my present life. I try to do that, but I still long for more . . . and I don't know what to do about it.

The trauma of New Year's Eve involved his children being dropped off by their mother, who was distressed and had told them they couldn't stay with her anymore. The kids were panicked and E dropped everything to focus on them, leaving A and me to slip away to bed while the rest of the house banged about in various states of unrest. E woke me at midnight, but I wasn't in a celebratory mood. I was even less keen on new beginnings the next morning. So, it wasn't a great start to a New Year, but it was a reminder that the way of the blended family will not be easy. Perhaps the year ahead will further explore its complications; I'm not looking forward to that.

What I'm trying to do right now is survive the winter. I've been dragging myself to the gym every day for the last month, doing yoga, eating well, and trying to get back in shape. It is harder than it used to be, especially when I bring my four-year-old with me. I have to do something though, I have to feel that I have some control when everything else in my life is so far beyond it.

New Year

My New Year's Resolution was to write here every day.

Here I am 3 weeks later just starting.

That's pretty much what this year has been like so far -- a series of delays and good intentions that don't quite seem to come to anything.

New Year's Eve was traumatic. New Year's Day was a reality check. The lead up to next week's court date was unbearable.

Now that court date's been delayed until March 11th and I have sent out a Settlement Offer I am once again waiting . . . and trying to determine what course my life may take as a result. There is no clear path and I am invariably compromised. I tend to see everyone else getting what they want while I give up what is most important to me, which is . . . a strong and cohesive family and a fulfilling career. As things stand, E and I won't live together for perhaps a decade and I'll have to keep working all the time at whatever pays my bills. To do anything else would put my daughter in a difficult position and I'm not willing to do that.