Coming out of The Playground Incident, I was more determined than ever to have the perfect Disneyland vacation. I had already reserved and paid for the key elements: airfare, transportation, hotel, tickets. I had done my research on the area, and knew what times the parks were open and when the fireworks were. I knew where to find a stroller, which rides Little One was tall enough for, and which rides had those fancy Fast Passes.
I also really wanted to prove to myself that I could do this - that I could take Little One on a trip, all by myself, and we could have the time of our lives.
And that, my friends, is exactly what happened. We had what will go down in Disney history as one of the all-time best mother-and-daughter vacations.
First of all, our hotel - the Grand Californian Hotel - somehow got the notion to upgrade us to the concierge level. This meant a bigger room, and free access to their concierge lounge the first night. (This was, honestly, their mistake - I had not paid for, nor requested, the concierge amenities. And to their credit, they actually felt bad enough for their mistake, that they gave us full access the first night. Then they told me that I could keep those amenities, for an extra $150 a day. Given that I was only paying $200 a day for the hotel, I said thanks, but no thanks. But we still got the larger room!)
The first morning we were there, we walked in early during the special hotels-only hour. And who was waiting there for us, with no line? Mickey Mouse. It was barely 8am, and we were getting our picture taken with Mickey Mouse. We were both thrilled. It was like being in one of those Disney commercials.
Then, I whipped out my brand-new camera, only to discover that it didn't come with a strap. (Who the heck sells a camera with a strap holder but no strap? Canon, that's who. Sillies.) I walked down Main Street to the camera store on the corner, and asked the shop keeper if he had one to sell me. "I don't have one to sell," he said, opening a drawer next to the cash register. "But I have one I can give you." I stammered a thank-you, and we were off.
It was moments like this where I felt the lack of a "partner" most keenly. I had no one to turn to and say, "Look at that! Did you see what just happened? We just met Mickey Mouse and then I got a free camera strap and it's barely 8:30 in the morning! This is awesome!" Sure, Little One and I would share these experiences. But that wasn't what I was missing. So - I called my Mom and told her. And that was good, in the moment. I also imagined telling D about this, and rubbing it in. I didn't. But I imagined it, and that was good too. Then I would try and remind myself how lucky I was, and not sharing it with a partner didn't mean that it wasn't real and wonderful anyway. (This is a theme I've come back to often since this trip.)
Each day, we had breakfast with the characters. The best one, by far, was the Princess breakfast at Ariel's Grotto. Little One, decked out in her finest Belle nightgown (she got to choose the dress, so that's what she wore!), gasped in delight as each princess's name was announced. The pictures from that brunch are priceless, each one sweeter than the last. My camera - with its handy, free strap! - captured the joy and bewilderment that Little One shared with everyone around her.
My Little One was fearless. Haunted Mansion? Sure, three times. Thunder Mountain? Yes, please. Two times. Thunder Mountain? Three times, once at night. She was boundless with energy and enthusiasm, which we mirrored back and forth to each other throughout the trip. Mommy was never cross, and Little One was never grumpy. In that, it was the perfect trip, and every little fortune accumulated along the way felt that much more like validation of the path I'd been taking all along.
For five bright, shining, all-too-brief days, I had Little One all to myself, and we were in one of my favorite places. I was finally giving her the experience I'd dreamed of since I was little: taking my own family to Disney. Okay, so it hadn't exactly turned out the way I'd thought it would. But it was still pretty damn terrific. And while this was not my first trip to Disney with Little One, the first one had been pretty damn tragic in its timing, what with the whole bellydancer-coming-over-when-we-were-in-Florida thing that I found out about later. (That kind of tarnished the memories of the trip, as you can probably imagine.)
When I came back from Anaheim, however, it was nearly a year to the day after I'd had The Talk with D. You remember, the one where I'd confronted him about Jay Daniels? Yeah, that talk.
I couldn't think of a more perfect testament to where that talk had brought the three of us: Little One and I, exhausted, bonded, and happy to have gone to Disneyland together. And D, not there. Just - not there. This trip was the biggest game-changer I could have asked for. It marked a corner turned: I was no longer the Penelope I'd been, and I had no idea who the Penelope was I would eventually be. But I kinda liked the Penelope I'd become so far, and that was plenty.
Emboldened by my success, I did something else that would mark a corner: I enrolled in eHarmony, and started to stretch myself outside of my comfort zone - in all directions.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
40. The Final Fight?
I heard D's truck coming up the hill, bringing my Little One home, and I felt safe. So when he brought Little One inside, and refused to make eye contact with me, I said, "Okay, Little One, say goodbye to Daddy." "Bye, Daddy," she said from the other side of the room. I turned to D, and smiled politely.
"You can get the fuck out now," I said quietly, smiling an all-too-evil smile. (It felt really good to do it, but even then I knew it was not the kind of behavior I'd be proud of. It also jump-started his defensive reflex, ensuring that we were in for a fight.)
And - if you've been reading this blog for a while now, this will come as no shock! - he actually looked surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"Goodbye," I said, trying to close the door. I closed it, with him still standing right there. Essentially, I closed it in his face. He waited about 10 seconds before starting to knock.
I swung the door open. "What?" I asked.
"What the fuck was that?" he said. We were still trying to speak in hushed tones, hoping that Little One couldn't hear us from her place in the other room.
"What the fuck was THAT? What the fuck was THAT?" I repeated, aghast. "What the hell did you do today? You brought Sally into Little One's life within three hours of our conversation where I TOLD you how upset I was about this, and you didn't tell me ahead of time? What, were you going to tell me about it later? Or maybe you were never going to tell me. You do that best, don't you? Never tell me things until I have to find them out from other people. Or - and this is even advanced for you! - until I drive by the fucking playground and your car is parked right in front of it. THAT's where you chose to have Sally come play with Little One? In the playground that you KNOW I drive past on my way home every single fucking time I get my haircut?"
He was blinking like a deer in headlights. "Get OUT," I said as ferociously as I could muster.
I closed the door again, almost slamming it. 5 seconds, then the knocking began again. I swung the door back open, and didn't say anything, just crossed my arms, watching him.
He sputtered for a moment and I let him. Then he started yelling about custody and lawyers. He was going to fight me for full custody of Little One, he said. "Good luck with that," I replied. He was going to get his dad to help him pay for a lawyer. "Are you going to fucking bury me?" I asked. He balked, and stopped talking. I could tell he remembered the last time he'd used that phrase against me, roughly a year prior to this conversation. "Please," I said horribly, "please give me something I can tell a judge about. Come on, please?" My voice dripped with disdainful sarcasm.
[Sidebar. When I think about this conversation now, the thing I'm struck by is how unafraid of him I was at this point. I no longer had the fear I'd had a year, or even 6 months, before this. And that lack of fear emboldened me, as did the knowledge that D really, truly didn't give a shit anymore about what I thought - not until he got caught doing something he shouldn't. Was I overly controlling? Maybe. But in this moment, all I knew was that I wasn't afraid of him anymore. And that is part of why what happened next, happened. End sidebar.
I was baiting him so badly. I regret it now. But right then? It felt good. Really good. And then I kept talking. "You want a fight?" I said. "I gotta tell you, I'm good for one. In fact, after what you did today? I'm ready for all kinds of fun stuff. All you and Sally do when you're together is lie, cheat, and manipulate. Are you proud of yourself? Is this how you want to be perceived?"
I was speaking rapidly, harshly. I was speaking in tones that I never, ever speak in. I was speaking in ways that my Little One simply could not process, and did not equate with her mother.
So she walked over to us, standing in the doorway, and - physically - put herself between D and I. Ironically, she stood in exactly the same place that I'd stood all those months and months ago, when I'd tried to keep D from driving drunk, right where he had grabbed my shirt and pushed me down, right before the police had come and taken him away.
She didn't look at D. She looked at me. "Mommy," she said, firmly. "Stop yelling! Why are you so angry? Don't be angry."
Aside from feeling like the shittiest parent in the world at that moment, it was also not lost on me that she didn't bother to tell her father the same thing. (Later, I would come to process this as, it was much more of an odd event for me to behave this aggressively than it was for him, and so she focused her need for stability on me. Later, I would feel okay about that. In this moment? Not so much.)
So I looked at her. "You know what, honey?" I replied. "You are absolutely right. I shouldn't be yelling. I'm sorry."
She pointed her sweet little finger at me. "No more fighting," she said to me.
I smiled. "No more fighting." She walked away, back to her toys.
I looked at D, who was now fighting back tears. "I'm so sorry," he said. And then he just let it all out, tears, fears, and all.
Among the things conveyed in this conversation:
- He "missed me every day" and that he would get mad at himself and Sally for how they treated me, and it was starting to affect their relationship. I replied, "I appreciate that." Inside, part of me felt sad. Another part was elated; another? Just pissed.
- He wished now he'd been able to ask for time away from our relationship (a separation) rather than plow our way right to divorce. (You could have asked, D. I wouldn't have given it to you.)
- I told him that he hadn't been a cheater or a liar until Sally came along. He realized that there was a pattern there, and that it undermined my ability to trust him to take care of Little One when Sally was around. He knew it had to stop. (So he said.)
- I will always be the mother of your child, I told him. No matter how long his relationship with Sally or anyone else lasted, he needed to carve out some new, respectful way of treating me in this area because I WILL ALWAYS BE AROUND. Sally or whoever else may not be. (This part, sadly, is true. And while D being in my life for the next couple of decades feels very much like a jail sentence, I am cautiously optimistic that it will continue to feel better than it has.)
- I knew that Sally had two kids, and I proposed that he integrate Sally into Little One's life as "someone's mommy," not as "Daddy's special friend" or some such crap, because Little One had no context for romantic relationships. Mommies and daddies and kids, though, she got. He agreed, but it took a while to get to the point where he'd listen to me about "what's best for Little One and how that may be different from what's best for D." That part was hard for him, because he said he has no other friends besides Sally, and when he has Little One he wants to do fun stuff, but doesn't know where to go, and Sally could help him, etc. You get the idea. (Essentially, he needed his new sugar momma to help him figure out where to take his own kid.)
- I also told him that if he wanted this to work, he and Sally had to stop going around me and start working WITH me. All they'd done is go behind my back to get their way. They had to make me a part of what happened to Little One when she's with him, and he agreed to that too, by providing information on what they'll be doing and whether Sally would be there.
- He told me he nearly crapped his pants when he looked up and saw me standing behind Sally at the playground. (I had figured as much, but he had a good poker face.)
- I asked him how Sally manages when he shows his temper. He said, without irony, "She does it differently than you do. She comes from a history of abuse in her family, and she has a different perspective." (There's so much there, I don't even know where to begin.) What that did tell me, though, was that she hadn't really seen his temper yet. Otherwise his reaction would have been much different. It also told me that there is much yet to play out here. But I would continue trying really hard to disassociate myself from that and just have it be about Little One, not be about wishing them ill.
- Sally had had to move out of her house (her husband was living in it), the divorce was still going really badly, and she'd been living in a one-bedroom apartment and would likely have to file for bankruptcy. (I will admit that this made me feel better. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.)
- I told him I lied to him about having the emails that he'd asked me for. I explained that the reason I had lied was a) I didn't want to argue about it and b) I didn't want to get involved in their divorce the way they'd gotten involved in ours.
- I told him to be careful about integrating Sally too much into his time with Little One, since I had concerns about the long-term health of a relationship that started the way theirs did. He actually seemed to understand this point, though I doubt it'll make a difference since it's probably just once a week that Sally and Little One would overlap, and hey, it's D we're talking about here.
- And last but not least, he planned on moving in with Sally sometime next spring or summer.
So.
At the end of the conversation, we hugged. It was a very cathartic talk, and I heard a lot that actually made me feel better. (I promise you that 50% of what I typed above - things that D told me - are simply lies that he told me, and himself, in the moment, to make the conflict go away, and to keep himself from looking like a total shit-head cad. But lies or not, him saying them still felt pretty good.)
Little One overheard all of it. At the time, I was so entrenched in that moment, I didn't really think it would matter. Looking back, I wish I hadn't taken that risk, though it does seem like she remembers nothing about this night.
Seeing Sally in person, too, and understanding her situation a bit better, forced me to humanize her, and that process quickly stripped away some of the superhuman qualities (bellydancer! cheater! liar! husband stealer! family killer!) that I had ascribed to her. She simply became...human, and damaged. I didn't feel kindly towards her, but I maybe felt slightly more indifferent than I had before. I certainly wasn't going to thank her for getting me out of my marriage. But even though her presence had helped me in some ways, it still...hurt.
And so I found myself, once again, in a situation where D's irresponsible behavior, and me finding out about it through circuitous means, had tipped the power balance in the relationship back in my favor. This time around, it didn't matter nearly as much as it had the last time. But at least I knew that he and Sally would be more responsible going forward, in paying attention to what they needed to do to (once again!) earn my trust.
We have not fought since this night, which was 7 months ago.
But after this fight, things started looking up. I still had the trip to Disneyland to look forward to, and that started the ball rolling towards other events. As did an unexpected Facebook exchange with someone who was keenly interested in D's past.
All in good time.
"You can get the fuck out now," I said quietly, smiling an all-too-evil smile. (It felt really good to do it, but even then I knew it was not the kind of behavior I'd be proud of. It also jump-started his defensive reflex, ensuring that we were in for a fight.)
And - if you've been reading this blog for a while now, this will come as no shock! - he actually looked surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"Goodbye," I said, trying to close the door. I closed it, with him still standing right there. Essentially, I closed it in his face. He waited about 10 seconds before starting to knock.
I swung the door open. "What?" I asked.
"What the fuck was that?" he said. We were still trying to speak in hushed tones, hoping that Little One couldn't hear us from her place in the other room.
"What the fuck was THAT? What the fuck was THAT?" I repeated, aghast. "What the hell did you do today? You brought Sally into Little One's life within three hours of our conversation where I TOLD you how upset I was about this, and you didn't tell me ahead of time? What, were you going to tell me about it later? Or maybe you were never going to tell me. You do that best, don't you? Never tell me things until I have to find them out from other people. Or - and this is even advanced for you! - until I drive by the fucking playground and your car is parked right in front of it. THAT's where you chose to have Sally come play with Little One? In the playground that you KNOW I drive past on my way home every single fucking time I get my haircut?"
He was blinking like a deer in headlights. "Get OUT," I said as ferociously as I could muster.
I closed the door again, almost slamming it. 5 seconds, then the knocking began again. I swung the door back open, and didn't say anything, just crossed my arms, watching him.
He sputtered for a moment and I let him. Then he started yelling about custody and lawyers. He was going to fight me for full custody of Little One, he said. "Good luck with that," I replied. He was going to get his dad to help him pay for a lawyer. "Are you going to fucking bury me?" I asked. He balked, and stopped talking. I could tell he remembered the last time he'd used that phrase against me, roughly a year prior to this conversation. "Please," I said horribly, "please give me something I can tell a judge about. Come on, please?" My voice dripped with disdainful sarcasm.
[Sidebar. When I think about this conversation now, the thing I'm struck by is how unafraid of him I was at this point. I no longer had the fear I'd had a year, or even 6 months, before this. And that lack of fear emboldened me, as did the knowledge that D really, truly didn't give a shit anymore about what I thought - not until he got caught doing something he shouldn't. Was I overly controlling? Maybe. But in this moment, all I knew was that I wasn't afraid of him anymore. And that is part of why what happened next, happened. End sidebar.
I was baiting him so badly. I regret it now. But right then? It felt good. Really good. And then I kept talking. "You want a fight?" I said. "I gotta tell you, I'm good for one. In fact, after what you did today? I'm ready for all kinds of fun stuff. All you and Sally do when you're together is lie, cheat, and manipulate. Are you proud of yourself? Is this how you want to be perceived?"
I was speaking rapidly, harshly. I was speaking in tones that I never, ever speak in. I was speaking in ways that my Little One simply could not process, and did not equate with her mother.
So she walked over to us, standing in the doorway, and - physically - put herself between D and I. Ironically, she stood in exactly the same place that I'd stood all those months and months ago, when I'd tried to keep D from driving drunk, right where he had grabbed my shirt and pushed me down, right before the police had come and taken him away.
She didn't look at D. She looked at me. "Mommy," she said, firmly. "Stop yelling! Why are you so angry? Don't be angry."
Aside from feeling like the shittiest parent in the world at that moment, it was also not lost on me that she didn't bother to tell her father the same thing. (Later, I would come to process this as, it was much more of an odd event for me to behave this aggressively than it was for him, and so she focused her need for stability on me. Later, I would feel okay about that. In this moment? Not so much.)
So I looked at her. "You know what, honey?" I replied. "You are absolutely right. I shouldn't be yelling. I'm sorry."
She pointed her sweet little finger at me. "No more fighting," she said to me.
I smiled. "No more fighting." She walked away, back to her toys.
I looked at D, who was now fighting back tears. "I'm so sorry," he said. And then he just let it all out, tears, fears, and all.
Among the things conveyed in this conversation:
- He "missed me every day" and that he would get mad at himself and Sally for how they treated me, and it was starting to affect their relationship. I replied, "I appreciate that." Inside, part of me felt sad. Another part was elated; another? Just pissed.
- He wished now he'd been able to ask for time away from our relationship (a separation) rather than plow our way right to divorce. (You could have asked, D. I wouldn't have given it to you.)
- I told him that he hadn't been a cheater or a liar until Sally came along. He realized that there was a pattern there, and that it undermined my ability to trust him to take care of Little One when Sally was around. He knew it had to stop. (So he said.)
- I will always be the mother of your child, I told him. No matter how long his relationship with Sally or anyone else lasted, he needed to carve out some new, respectful way of treating me in this area because I WILL ALWAYS BE AROUND. Sally or whoever else may not be. (This part, sadly, is true. And while D being in my life for the next couple of decades feels very much like a jail sentence, I am cautiously optimistic that it will continue to feel better than it has.)
- I knew that Sally had two kids, and I proposed that he integrate Sally into Little One's life as "someone's mommy," not as "Daddy's special friend" or some such crap, because Little One had no context for romantic relationships. Mommies and daddies and kids, though, she got. He agreed, but it took a while to get to the point where he'd listen to me about "what's best for Little One and how that may be different from what's best for D." That part was hard for him, because he said he has no other friends besides Sally, and when he has Little One he wants to do fun stuff, but doesn't know where to go, and Sally could help him, etc. You get the idea. (Essentially, he needed his new sugar momma to help him figure out where to take his own kid.)
- I also told him that if he wanted this to work, he and Sally had to stop going around me and start working WITH me. All they'd done is go behind my back to get their way. They had to make me a part of what happened to Little One when she's with him, and he agreed to that too, by providing information on what they'll be doing and whether Sally would be there.
- He told me he nearly crapped his pants when he looked up and saw me standing behind Sally at the playground. (I had figured as much, but he had a good poker face.)
- I asked him how Sally manages when he shows his temper. He said, without irony, "She does it differently than you do. She comes from a history of abuse in her family, and she has a different perspective." (There's so much there, I don't even know where to begin.) What that did tell me, though, was that she hadn't really seen his temper yet. Otherwise his reaction would have been much different. It also told me that there is much yet to play out here. But I would continue trying really hard to disassociate myself from that and just have it be about Little One, not be about wishing them ill.
- Sally had had to move out of her house (her husband was living in it), the divorce was still going really badly, and she'd been living in a one-bedroom apartment and would likely have to file for bankruptcy. (I will admit that this made me feel better. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.)
- I told him I lied to him about having the emails that he'd asked me for. I explained that the reason I had lied was a) I didn't want to argue about it and b) I didn't want to get involved in their divorce the way they'd gotten involved in ours.
- I told him to be careful about integrating Sally too much into his time with Little One, since I had concerns about the long-term health of a relationship that started the way theirs did. He actually seemed to understand this point, though I doubt it'll make a difference since it's probably just once a week that Sally and Little One would overlap, and hey, it's D we're talking about here.
- And last but not least, he planned on moving in with Sally sometime next spring or summer.
So.
At the end of the conversation, we hugged. It was a very cathartic talk, and I heard a lot that actually made me feel better. (I promise you that 50% of what I typed above - things that D told me - are simply lies that he told me, and himself, in the moment, to make the conflict go away, and to keep himself from looking like a total shit-head cad. But lies or not, him saying them still felt pretty good.)
Little One overheard all of it. At the time, I was so entrenched in that moment, I didn't really think it would matter. Looking back, I wish I hadn't taken that risk, though it does seem like she remembers nothing about this night.
Seeing Sally in person, too, and understanding her situation a bit better, forced me to humanize her, and that process quickly stripped away some of the superhuman qualities (bellydancer! cheater! liar! husband stealer! family killer!) that I had ascribed to her. She simply became...human, and damaged. I didn't feel kindly towards her, but I maybe felt slightly more indifferent than I had before. I certainly wasn't going to thank her for getting me out of my marriage. But even though her presence had helped me in some ways, it still...hurt.
And so I found myself, once again, in a situation where D's irresponsible behavior, and me finding out about it through circuitous means, had tipped the power balance in the relationship back in my favor. This time around, it didn't matter nearly as much as it had the last time. But at least I knew that he and Sally would be more responsible going forward, in paying attention to what they needed to do to (once again!) earn my trust.
We have not fought since this night, which was 7 months ago.
But after this fight, things started looking up. I still had the trip to Disneyland to look forward to, and that started the ball rolling towards other events. As did an unexpected Facebook exchange with someone who was keenly interested in D's past.
All in good time.
39. Meet-up at the Devil's Playground! C'mon, everyone!
When I got out of my car at the playground, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my chest. I was so angry, yet I actually appeared calm on the outside. I walked carefully, deliberately, slowly. I was so mad at myself for having relinquished control of this situation. But mostly, I was livid with D for having pulled the bellydancer into Little One's life within hours of our conversation.
"Responsibly" was simply not a word that registered with D.
I walked steadily towards the scene. It was a playground with older equipment, including a serpent which undulated up and down from ground level up about 3 feet. On one high point, sat Sally, wearing a page boy cap, white pea coat, jeans, and brown leather knee-high boots. She was watching D and Little One, turned away from where I was. So she didn't see me.
On another part of the serpent, D was holding Little One's hand, helping her climb up and down the waves of the serpent's body. He was intently focused on her well-being, watching her, which meant he knew that he was being watch by someone whose opinion he valued. I knew he was showing off for Sally.
So he didn't see me either.
Neither of them actually saw me, standing there, cold, and furious. But Little One did. She looked up, and saw me, standing about 30 feet away from the serpent. "MOMMA!" she exclaimed happily. Sally visibly startled, and looked over to where I was. I didn't acknowledge her. I was watching D for his reaction, and it was not a disappointment.
His head snapped up quickly, like he'd been hit in the jaw, from looking at Little One, to find me standing there. He looked me in the eye, and as Sally watched us both, back and forth (I have excellent peripheral vision), she tried to keep her face calm. She watched him much more than she watched me. She actually looked concerned.
I watched his face change as he realized the implications of what he'd done. Then I watched as it dawned on him that he had no idea what was going to happen next. I wish I could say I didn't relish the moment. But I did. I was thoroughly, and completely, in control.
Except for one beautiful, three-year-old, bright-eyed factor: Little One.
She was, thankfully, oblivious to the adult dynamic happening around her. "Mommy!" she yelled again, letting go of her dad's hand and racing over to me for a big hug. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Hi sweetie!" I said, trying to keep my voice as normal as possible, but projecting loud enough so Sally and D could hear me. "I was driving by here on my way home after getting my haircut. And I saw Daddy's truck, and wanted to come say hi."
My daughter, who is, and always will be my favorite person in the whole world, said, "I like your haircut."
I fought back tears.
Little One's next move was to run back to her dad and proclaim, "Daddy! Mommy's here!" He was still watching me, warily, not smiling, and very, very scared.
Then Little One ran over to Sally, and looked at me, and pointed to Sally. Little One's face was happy and open. I tried to mimic it as best I could. "Is that your new friend, honey?" I asked her.
"Yes, she's Sal-ly," she said carefully, enunciating each syllable. She smiled coyly, like it was a secret. "Can you stay and play with us, Mommy?"
"Oh, sweetie," I said. "Even I'm not capable of that, I'm sorry." I paused. "I just wanted to come by and say hello. I'll see you when we get home."
"NO!" she yelled. "You have to stay! Watch what I can do. Daddy, Daddy, show Mommy what I can do!"
And so I now found myself standing 10 feet away from the bellydancer, who still perched atop the serpent. (I'm sure there's some lovely mythological analogy I could push here, but it escapes me at the moment.) Little One held her dad's hand as she climbed up and down, up and down the curves of the serpent. She looked to me to make sure I was still watching. So I made small talk in the meantime. I was not going to play invisible.
"So, Sally," I said politely and evenly, not quite looking at her, not smiling. "It's been a while. What's it been, a little over a year? How are you." That last sentence is not missing a question mark. I actually said it as if to say I'm simply making small talk. I don't really care how you are.
I could see D watching us as he held Little One's hand. I kept my eyes on D as I conversed with Sally. Sally replied, nicely enough, "Doing well, thank you." It was then that I looked at her for the first time, I mean, really looked at her face.
She looked awful. And I don't mean that in a snippy way. I mean, in the 14 months since I'd first met her, she looked like she'd aged about a decade. Her previously smooth, bright face was gaunt, and bags had appeared under her eyes. Her bright red hair, peeking out from under her cap, was now a muted, dull auburn. Mostly, she just looked concerned for D, and sad. Unfortunately, I could not glory in this moment, because all I felt was sorry for her. Fucking good upbringing, I thought. I wish I could enjoy this more.
We made some more polite small talk as we both watch D with Little One. I honestly don't remember what was said. I was operating on a polite level, but only because I knew I was going to nail D to the wall when he came to my house later that afternoon to drop off Little One.
I called out to Little One to come over to me. I bent down on one knee, and put my eyes level with hers. "Listen, honey, you have fun here with Daddy and Sally," I said. "I have to go home now and let the doggies out."
"No!" she said. "I want you to stay here and play with me and Daddy and Sal-ly."
"I'm sorry, honey, I can't," I replied. She looked crestfallen, and I hated myself for it. "I just have to get going now, because the doggies really need to go out, okay? And Daddy will bring you home real soon."
"Okay, Momma," she said. She ran back to her dad, who was watching me.
"We'll talk later," I said to D. I nodded towards Sally. "Goodbye," I said.
I walked solidly back to the car, turned it on, backed out of my parking space, drove home, and found that I had exactly 38 minutes until D would bring Little One to my house. That was, I knew from previous experience, just enough time to have a hell of a good cry and still clean myself up enough to where it wouldn't look like I'd been crying.
So I used that 38 minutes to do exactly that, and was ready for battle when I heard Loud n Dusty come up the hill.
"Responsibly" was simply not a word that registered with D.
I walked steadily towards the scene. It was a playground with older equipment, including a serpent which undulated up and down from ground level up about 3 feet. On one high point, sat Sally, wearing a page boy cap, white pea coat, jeans, and brown leather knee-high boots. She was watching D and Little One, turned away from where I was. So she didn't see me.
On another part of the serpent, D was holding Little One's hand, helping her climb up and down the waves of the serpent's body. He was intently focused on her well-being, watching her, which meant he knew that he was being watch by someone whose opinion he valued. I knew he was showing off for Sally.
So he didn't see me either.
Neither of them actually saw me, standing there, cold, and furious. But Little One did. She looked up, and saw me, standing about 30 feet away from the serpent. "MOMMA!" she exclaimed happily. Sally visibly startled, and looked over to where I was. I didn't acknowledge her. I was watching D for his reaction, and it was not a disappointment.
His head snapped up quickly, like he'd been hit in the jaw, from looking at Little One, to find me standing there. He looked me in the eye, and as Sally watched us both, back and forth (I have excellent peripheral vision), she tried to keep her face calm. She watched him much more than she watched me. She actually looked concerned.
I watched his face change as he realized the implications of what he'd done. Then I watched as it dawned on him that he had no idea what was going to happen next. I wish I could say I didn't relish the moment. But I did. I was thoroughly, and completely, in control.
Except for one beautiful, three-year-old, bright-eyed factor: Little One.
She was, thankfully, oblivious to the adult dynamic happening around her. "Mommy!" she yelled again, letting go of her dad's hand and racing over to me for a big hug. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Hi sweetie!" I said, trying to keep my voice as normal as possible, but projecting loud enough so Sally and D could hear me. "I was driving by here on my way home after getting my haircut. And I saw Daddy's truck, and wanted to come say hi."
My daughter, who is, and always will be my favorite person in the whole world, said, "I like your haircut."
I fought back tears.
Little One's next move was to run back to her dad and proclaim, "Daddy! Mommy's here!" He was still watching me, warily, not smiling, and very, very scared.
Then Little One ran over to Sally, and looked at me, and pointed to Sally. Little One's face was happy and open. I tried to mimic it as best I could. "Is that your new friend, honey?" I asked her.
"Yes, she's Sal-ly," she said carefully, enunciating each syllable. She smiled coyly, like it was a secret. "Can you stay and play with us, Mommy?"
"Oh, sweetie," I said. "Even I'm not capable of that, I'm sorry." I paused. "I just wanted to come by and say hello. I'll see you when we get home."
"NO!" she yelled. "You have to stay! Watch what I can do. Daddy, Daddy, show Mommy what I can do!"
And so I now found myself standing 10 feet away from the bellydancer, who still perched atop the serpent. (I'm sure there's some lovely mythological analogy I could push here, but it escapes me at the moment.) Little One held her dad's hand as she climbed up and down, up and down the curves of the serpent. She looked to me to make sure I was still watching. So I made small talk in the meantime. I was not going to play invisible.
"So, Sally," I said politely and evenly, not quite looking at her, not smiling. "It's been a while. What's it been, a little over a year? How are you." That last sentence is not missing a question mark. I actually said it as if to say I'm simply making small talk. I don't really care how you are.
I could see D watching us as he held Little One's hand. I kept my eyes on D as I conversed with Sally. Sally replied, nicely enough, "Doing well, thank you." It was then that I looked at her for the first time, I mean, really looked at her face.
She looked awful. And I don't mean that in a snippy way. I mean, in the 14 months since I'd first met her, she looked like she'd aged about a decade. Her previously smooth, bright face was gaunt, and bags had appeared under her eyes. Her bright red hair, peeking out from under her cap, was now a muted, dull auburn. Mostly, she just looked concerned for D, and sad. Unfortunately, I could not glory in this moment, because all I felt was sorry for her. Fucking good upbringing, I thought. I wish I could enjoy this more.
We made some more polite small talk as we both watch D with Little One. I honestly don't remember what was said. I was operating on a polite level, but only because I knew I was going to nail D to the wall when he came to my house later that afternoon to drop off Little One.
I called out to Little One to come over to me. I bent down on one knee, and put my eyes level with hers. "Listen, honey, you have fun here with Daddy and Sally," I said. "I have to go home now and let the doggies out."
"No!" she said. "I want you to stay here and play with me and Daddy and Sal-ly."
"I'm sorry, honey, I can't," I replied. She looked crestfallen, and I hated myself for it. "I just have to get going now, because the doggies really need to go out, okay? And Daddy will bring you home real soon."
"Okay, Momma," she said. She ran back to her dad, who was watching me.
"We'll talk later," I said to D. I nodded towards Sally. "Goodbye," I said.
I walked solidly back to the car, turned it on, backed out of my parking space, drove home, and found that I had exactly 38 minutes until D would bring Little One to my house. That was, I knew from previous experience, just enough time to have a hell of a good cry and still clean myself up enough to where it wouldn't look like I'd been crying.
So I used that 38 minutes to do exactly that, and was ready for battle when I heard Loud n Dusty come up the hill.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
38. Really? This playground? Really. Really?
Through the fall of 2010, D had become increasingly insistent that Little One should be able to start spending time with Sally. I, in my infinite wisdom, had vilified Sally to the point where I could almost picture her with fangs, horns, and a pitchfork. Almost.
And so yeah, mostly on principle, I was determined to keep that crazy-ass, two-timing, husband-stealing, inappropriate-texting, [gasp] BELLYDANCER away from my kid.
Yeah. Even then, I knew this was going to have to change. But it pissed me off that D kept asking about it. Like, at least once a week, through September, into October. My therapist and I had talked about this extensively.
"What are you trying to do here?" he'd ask.
"Control the situation," I'd reply.
"Why do you feel you need to?" he'd ask.
"Because I can, and I hate what they did to me, and I don't want that woman near my daughter," I'd reply. "I hate the thought of her being near someone who is so wonderful."
"You don't really think she's a threat to Little One, though, right?" he'd say.
"No," I would honestly reply. Try as I might, when pushed, I could eventually find the objectivity.
"There's nothing for you to gain in that conversation with her," he'd say.
"I know," I'd reply, resigned. And then I would sulk for a while, knowing he was right.
But this dialogue - whether with my therapist, or simply in my head - continued to haunt me for weeks. And every once in a while, D would poke at it with that fucking stick, pushing at buttons that I was still hard-pressed to turn off.
And so, one afternoon in October, I just...snapped.
I was dropping off Little One at her dad's for a late afternoon visit, and he asked me once again, nicely enough: "So, I was hoping that you could maybe talk to Sally sometime soon so that she could start spending time with Little One. She really just wants to touch base and make sure you're comfortable with her being around Little One."
I took a deep breath. "You know what, D?" I said, aggressively. "I don't want to meet her. I don't want to look at her. I don't want her near my kid, but it's going to happen whether I like it or not, isn't it? So what's the fucking point of me having this conversation with her?" I stopped and took a deep breath, relishing the startled look in his eyes. "There is nothing for me to gain from that conversation whatsoever," I said. "You two need to figure out the most responsible way to incorporate Sally into Little One's life, and we can talk about that. But I want nothing to do with her."
I think - no, I know - he was shocked. "Well, fine," he said. His startle reflex had popped up and led him quickly to its destination, Defensive Corner. "Whatever."
"Fine," I said. "Just stop asking me about this. Just - whatever. Okay? I'm tired of you asking me, and you're just going to do it anyway. Just do it responsibly, and give it some thought, and we can work it out."
Somehow, he stepped out of Defensive Corner long enough to look at me kindly and - miraculously - get where I was coming from. "Okay," he said. I felt a mild sense of tenderness in that moment, because it seemed like he was understanding the pain that this was causing me. I'm so freaking naive sometimes.
I turned to Little One, who had barely maintained any level of interest in our conversation, thanks to the football that was on D's TV, and gave her a squeeze goodbye. I told D I'd be going to our local mall to get a haircut, and would be back home by 7.
So I left and went and got a haircut. Haircuts were fun those days. Whenever I had a new stylist (which was frequent because I could never seem to plan ahead and get someone I've had before, so I'd take whoever was available), I could regale that new person with the story of the Husband and the Bellydancer. It was usually a hoot, actually, and got me to laugh at it. But it still stung every once in a while.
During this particular haircut, I told the patient stylist the story, and the follow-up: "And now my ex wants this bellydancer to be a part of my Little One's life." "No. WAY. Oh my GAWD that SUCKS!" was the generous reply. Yep. Sting.
With the haircut over, I made my way back home, traveling along the main roads. On that main road back to my house, there's a playground, which I knew D sometimes took Little One to. And sure enough, his truck Loud n Dusty was parked there. My first thought was, warm fuzzies. I'll surprise them, and we can all play together. Won't that be nice.
My second thought was, "Huh, that SUV parked next to Loud n Dusty kind of looks familiar. And it has a bumper sticker that refers to the part of town that Sally lives in. And - you have got to be fucking kidding me."
And so, with the knowledge that D had waited approximately 3 hours to "responsibly bring Sally into Little One's life," I felt that familiar surge of adrenaline course through my chest. I did a u-turn in the middle of the road, and parked in a different lot at that same playground. I girded myself for battle, turned off the ignition, got out of my car, and started to walk towards them.
And so yeah, mostly on principle, I was determined to keep that crazy-ass, two-timing, husband-stealing, inappropriate-texting, [gasp] BELLYDANCER away from my kid.
Yeah. Even then, I knew this was going to have to change. But it pissed me off that D kept asking about it. Like, at least once a week, through September, into October. My therapist and I had talked about this extensively.
"What are you trying to do here?" he'd ask.
"Control the situation," I'd reply.
"Why do you feel you need to?" he'd ask.
"Because I can, and I hate what they did to me, and I don't want that woman near my daughter," I'd reply. "I hate the thought of her being near someone who is so wonderful."
"You don't really think she's a threat to Little One, though, right?" he'd say.
"No," I would honestly reply. Try as I might, when pushed, I could eventually find the objectivity.
"There's nothing for you to gain in that conversation with her," he'd say.
"I know," I'd reply, resigned. And then I would sulk for a while, knowing he was right.
But this dialogue - whether with my therapist, or simply in my head - continued to haunt me for weeks. And every once in a while, D would poke at it with that fucking stick, pushing at buttons that I was still hard-pressed to turn off.
And so, one afternoon in October, I just...snapped.
I was dropping off Little One at her dad's for a late afternoon visit, and he asked me once again, nicely enough: "So, I was hoping that you could maybe talk to Sally sometime soon so that she could start spending time with Little One. She really just wants to touch base and make sure you're comfortable with her being around Little One."
I took a deep breath. "You know what, D?" I said, aggressively. "I don't want to meet her. I don't want to look at her. I don't want her near my kid, but it's going to happen whether I like it or not, isn't it? So what's the fucking point of me having this conversation with her?" I stopped and took a deep breath, relishing the startled look in his eyes. "There is nothing for me to gain from that conversation whatsoever," I said. "You two need to figure out the most responsible way to incorporate Sally into Little One's life, and we can talk about that. But I want nothing to do with her."
I think - no, I know - he was shocked. "Well, fine," he said. His startle reflex had popped up and led him quickly to its destination, Defensive Corner. "Whatever."
"Fine," I said. "Just stop asking me about this. Just - whatever. Okay? I'm tired of you asking me, and you're just going to do it anyway. Just do it responsibly, and give it some thought, and we can work it out."
Somehow, he stepped out of Defensive Corner long enough to look at me kindly and - miraculously - get where I was coming from. "Okay," he said. I felt a mild sense of tenderness in that moment, because it seemed like he was understanding the pain that this was causing me. I'm so freaking naive sometimes.
I turned to Little One, who had barely maintained any level of interest in our conversation, thanks to the football that was on D's TV, and gave her a squeeze goodbye. I told D I'd be going to our local mall to get a haircut, and would be back home by 7.
So I left and went and got a haircut. Haircuts were fun those days. Whenever I had a new stylist (which was frequent because I could never seem to plan ahead and get someone I've had before, so I'd take whoever was available), I could regale that new person with the story of the Husband and the Bellydancer. It was usually a hoot, actually, and got me to laugh at it. But it still stung every once in a while.
During this particular haircut, I told the patient stylist the story, and the follow-up: "And now my ex wants this bellydancer to be a part of my Little One's life." "No. WAY. Oh my GAWD that SUCKS!" was the generous reply. Yep. Sting.
With the haircut over, I made my way back home, traveling along the main roads. On that main road back to my house, there's a playground, which I knew D sometimes took Little One to. And sure enough, his truck Loud n Dusty was parked there. My first thought was, warm fuzzies. I'll surprise them, and we can all play together. Won't that be nice.
My second thought was, "Huh, that SUV parked next to Loud n Dusty kind of looks familiar. And it has a bumper sticker that refers to the part of town that Sally lives in. And - you have got to be fucking kidding me."
And so, with the knowledge that D had waited approximately 3 hours to "responsibly bring Sally into Little One's life," I felt that familiar surge of adrenaline course through my chest. I did a u-turn in the middle of the road, and parked in a different lot at that same playground. I girded myself for battle, turned off the ignition, got out of my car, and started to walk towards them.
Friday, May 6, 2011
37. Walt Disney's "The Brave Divorcee," Coming Soon
So I continued to lie to D about the whereabouts of the emails he'd asked me for. Missed your chance, buddy, I thought spitefully. I tried to give you those emails way back when we had the Jay Daniels chat. But you couldn't look at them then, and your bellydancer girlfriend or whatever you call her certainly can't have them now to make her divorce easier. Sorry.
Part of me didn't like that I was lying. But the rest of me was appalled - appalled, I say! - that he'd even asked me for them, especially in the context of her wanting to met me but not wanting to talk about her part in my divorce. Yeah, sorry, lady.
[Sidebar. Yes, I remembered that D had been lying to both of us. But in my mind, she had taken on the visage of the villain. See, I was still royally pissed about what a douchebag D had been during the marriage, during the divorce, and now - after the divorce, too. But I had to play nice with him, because, well, I had to. Little One needed me to treat him well, so that her world could be as normal as possible. I was hell-bent on giving her the dad she deserved, and not the one she actually had. This was how I justified my generally pleasant demeanor towards him. It was also how I justified my rage at the bellydancer. That rage had to go somewhere, I figured. Best that it fit on the head of the person who was not someone I had to deal with everyday. That would change, eventually, however. More on that later. Fini sidebar.]
I relished the fact that I could still control one aspect of D's life, namely, whether he was spending time with Sally and Little One together. I wasn't ready for that. But I knew it was coming, and it was. It was a freight train, and while I couldn't really point my finger at what exactly was bugging me about it, I knew myself well enough to know that principle and pride were two giant factors for me.
In September, which is now a year out from me filing for divorce, I decided that Little One and I needed a Disney vacation. What better way, I reasoned, to spend her couple of days off from preschool around Veteran's Day, than to fly to Southern California, bask in the sunlight, and chase furry animals around the park? So I planned out the most exquisite of Disneyland trips: a stay at the Grand Californian Hotel (built in my favorite architectural style, Craftsman), airline flights which worked with our sleep schedules, a car to drive us to the park and back. I mean, I totally worked it. I was proud of myself for having made enough money to treat us both to a dream trip like this, and I was even more proud of myself for thinking that I might just be brave enough to pull it off.
So I planned it all, paid for it up front, and thought, Okay, I'm really doing this. And yes, I need to prove something again, but this time it's more proving something to myself than to D. And I guess that's something. I guess I figured that, if I was brave enough to get a divorce - and have survived that - well, then, I could certainly take my Little One on a trip all by myself. This would be the first time ever - with flights involved - but I had a feeling I could do it. I was emboldened by my suddenly-discovered balls. And I enjoyed the feeling.
[Sidebar #2. In late June, I had tried to do a beach weekend for us which, for four glorious hours, actually felt like a beach weekend, because that's how much sun we actually got during the four days we were on the coast. The rest of the time, we rolled around in the damp, cold sand, flew kites, tried to keep our hoods from flying off our soaked heads, and watched movies in the cabin. All in all, not a bad trip. But certainly not the ideal that I'd made up in my head.]
In September, I also decided I was ready to change jobs at my company. I'd worked on the same team for 5 years - nearly unheard of in my industry - and I realized that I needed to clean out that last vestige of my married life. So I found, applied for, and, eventually, got a job in an area of that industry which I LOVE. Things were firing on all cylinders. I was starting to feel really steady, rock solid. I had successfully damped down the need for male companionship, about which I felt really good. (I mean, honestly, who needs them. Right? [crickets] Right.)
It was a really good thing that I had that Disney trip to look forward to in November, because one event that happened in October...really kind of sucked. Hard.
Part of me didn't like that I was lying. But the rest of me was appalled - appalled, I say! - that he'd even asked me for them, especially in the context of her wanting to met me but not wanting to talk about her part in my divorce. Yeah, sorry, lady.
[Sidebar. Yes, I remembered that D had been lying to both of us. But in my mind, she had taken on the visage of the villain. See, I was still royally pissed about what a douchebag D had been during the marriage, during the divorce, and now - after the divorce, too. But I had to play nice with him, because, well, I had to. Little One needed me to treat him well, so that her world could be as normal as possible. I was hell-bent on giving her the dad she deserved, and not the one she actually had. This was how I justified my generally pleasant demeanor towards him. It was also how I justified my rage at the bellydancer. That rage had to go somewhere, I figured. Best that it fit on the head of the person who was not someone I had to deal with everyday. That would change, eventually, however. More on that later. Fini sidebar.]
I relished the fact that I could still control one aspect of D's life, namely, whether he was spending time with Sally and Little One together. I wasn't ready for that. But I knew it was coming, and it was. It was a freight train, and while I couldn't really point my finger at what exactly was bugging me about it, I knew myself well enough to know that principle and pride were two giant factors for me.
In September, which is now a year out from me filing for divorce, I decided that Little One and I needed a Disney vacation. What better way, I reasoned, to spend her couple of days off from preschool around Veteran's Day, than to fly to Southern California, bask in the sunlight, and chase furry animals around the park? So I planned out the most exquisite of Disneyland trips: a stay at the Grand Californian Hotel (built in my favorite architectural style, Craftsman), airline flights which worked with our sleep schedules, a car to drive us to the park and back. I mean, I totally worked it. I was proud of myself for having made enough money to treat us both to a dream trip like this, and I was even more proud of myself for thinking that I might just be brave enough to pull it off.
So I planned it all, paid for it up front, and thought, Okay, I'm really doing this. And yes, I need to prove something again, but this time it's more proving something to myself than to D. And I guess that's something. I guess I figured that, if I was brave enough to get a divorce - and have survived that - well, then, I could certainly take my Little One on a trip all by myself. This would be the first time ever - with flights involved - but I had a feeling I could do it. I was emboldened by my suddenly-discovered balls. And I enjoyed the feeling.
[Sidebar #2. In late June, I had tried to do a beach weekend for us which, for four glorious hours, actually felt like a beach weekend, because that's how much sun we actually got during the four days we were on the coast. The rest of the time, we rolled around in the damp, cold sand, flew kites, tried to keep our hoods from flying off our soaked heads, and watched movies in the cabin. All in all, not a bad trip. But certainly not the ideal that I'd made up in my head.]
In September, I also decided I was ready to change jobs at my company. I'd worked on the same team for 5 years - nearly unheard of in my industry - and I realized that I needed to clean out that last vestige of my married life. So I found, applied for, and, eventually, got a job in an area of that industry which I LOVE. Things were firing on all cylinders. I was starting to feel really steady, rock solid. I had successfully damped down the need for male companionship, about which I felt really good. (I mean, honestly, who needs them. Right? [crickets] Right.)
It was a really good thing that I had that Disney trip to look forward to in November, because one event that happened in October...really kind of sucked. Hard.
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