“Co-Parenting” Rant
If you get divorced in New Hampshire and you have children under the age of 18, you are required by the state to take a seminar in co-parenting before they will sign off on your divorce. This is a fabulous class filled with wise tidbits about why you shouldn’t call your ex an asshole in front of your kids, and they show little video snippets of “what not to do” wherein actors guild rejects scream at each other while little Johnny sits on the step and cries.
I was awarded primary custody of our two children, and my ex–oops, I mean, my co-parent (positive lingo helps the process, dontchaknow)–has very generous visitation. For any faults he may have, he does love the kids more than life itself, and always wants to maximize his time with them (which is usually a good thing).
This weekend the children are at Daddy’s, but it just so happens that our church is having a girls’ tea this morning. I carefully broached the subject with the ex weeks ago, offering him extra time at another point in exchange for “borrowing” our daughter for a few hours so that we could participate in the tea at church. At 6, this little girl still pretty much lives for any mommy-daughter stuff, and as she’s had a very rough time of it with the divorce (6 going on 16, this one) I thought it important that we go. The ex agreed.
Well, I’m out at a friend’s house last night (I do not socialize on the evenings/weekends when I have the kids unless it’s a family thing, so this is a rare treat), having a good time, when my cell phone rings from my ex at nearly 10:00. I answer the phone with great trepidation and ask if one of the children is sick. No, he says, they’re not sick. But they won’t go to sleep. (Cue overblown “peace-shattering global event” music here.) I bit my tongue, tried not to laugh, and asked him what exactly he wanted me to do about that.
“Well,” he says, “I just wanted to let you know that I just said if she doesn’t go to sleep in the next five minutes, she’s not going to be allowed to go to the tea tomorrow.” Oh, my. What is wrong with this statement? Let me count the ways:
- Our daughter had been threatened with a huge consequence, while our son was “just having trouble settling down.”
- Our daughter has a slight cold and even the ex admitted that perhaps that was part of the problem.
- She is acting up for her father so the punishment is to be less time with her mother.
(I’m not even going to touch the fact that I parent these kids 24/7 without calling him to whine about it, and I certainly wouldn’t be calling anyone on their cell phone at 10:00 at night on a rare free evening unless there was blood or fire involved….)
So, what did I do? I was calm. I suggested he give her some cold medicine. I asked him to call me in the morning to let me know how it all worked out.
This morning I took a deep breath and informed him that he is not to threaten my time with the children in response to misbehavior with him, that he’ll need to find another way to deal with it and if I ever did such a thing (“You kids better knock it off or you’re not going to Daddy’s!”) he’d probably haul me back into court, and that I was very disappointed with how he chose to handle this. Like the gentleman he is, he responded with… complete silence. When pressed with “Do you disagree?” he said that no, he didn’t. He didn’t apologize. (Huge surprise, that.)
We’re going to the tea, by the way.
Okay, I will need to continue dealing with this until the youngest graduates from college… so that’s only… 18 more years… ooooohhhhhh yeah… I think I need to go outside and dig in the dirt for a while… maybe bury myself completely….
Digging in the Dirt
Yesterday I mowed the lawn and got my flower beds prepped. Today I got my annuals planted. The frenetic I-must-accomplish-something-tangible drive that I experience these days demands that the outside of the house look good. When I was still married, I didn’t care as much. I mean, I cared, but what didn’t get done didn’t get done. Now I’m paranoid; I’m convinced that if the grass gets too high or my flower beds remain neglected for too long, the entire neighborhood will be gossiping about how I just can’t keep it together without a man. How pitiful is that?
It’s even sillier when you consider that where I live, you’re lucky if you know your neighbors’ names. Winter lasts… oh… about 8 months of the year, here. So folks aren’t out and about all that much except in the summer, and even then a lot of people kind of stay to themselves. Given how few people I actually know in this neighborhood, surmising that my landscaping is even a blip on the radar is probably the height of narcissism.
Anyway. Back to my flowers. I planted. I mulched. I watered. I repositioned the resin turtle band figurines which my children picked out last year because all those huge flowers weren’t enough decoration, apparently. I got all dirty and sweaty and smelly after a while, which was of course when the oil delivery guy and the cute UPS guy showed up. Oh well. When it was all done I came inside and cleaned up and gave myself a little mental pat on the back for Getting Something Done (the main goal of my life these days).
While I was out there working in the dirt, I felt very calm and happy and zen-like. Well, inbetween swatting at bugs, I did. My mind emptied… I thought mostly about the task(s) at hand… the feeling of sinking my hands into the cold soil on such a warm day… wondering what the heck that flowering tree at the front of my lot is that smells so good… methodically picking out rocks for one pile and carefully returning earthworms to the soil in an undisturbed corner…. I wasn’t inside for two minutes before I started obsessing over every to-do list and annoying bit of minutiae I need to attend to. I don’t get it. What is it about having dirt imbedded under your fingernails and mosquitoes in your hair that makes you more mellow? Do you suppose that if I just stopped showering I could maximize these effects?
“We are over-educated useless people!”
My friend Marcey came to this startling revelation the other day while we were discussing the fact that although we hold six university degrees between the two of us, neither of us has any practical household skills (plumbing, electrical, etc.). Marcey, however, is gainfully employed… whereas I have fallen into that large crack in the economy reserved for Imperfect Engineers. There are many things that can render an engineer imperfect in today’s market; in my case, I stepped off onto the “Mommy Track” and wiping noses and changing diapers full-time for several years has apparently dragged down my IQ by 40 points or more. At least this is what I surmise from my complete and utter failure to solicit any interest in my resume.
But hey; I’m flexible. I’m willing to train. I’m open to doing something else. I’ve applied for a broad range of positions, and the bottom line is always one of two: 1) You’ve been out of the field too long for us to believe you still know how to be productive in a way that doesn’t result in more human beings or 2) You are overqualified for this crappy job and even though you are a single parent with a mortgage payment and would happily give even this job your all, we don’t want to talk to you because there are things on your resume that we don’t even understand, therefore it would be dangerous to let you work here.
I’m sure my parents are very pleased that the thousands of dollars they spent on my education have brought me to this point. I know I am.
I’ve spent a good deal of time over the last year wallowing about my career plight (among other things). But that’s over now. (Probably. Maybe. Well, this week, for sure.) I’m working on a whole new strategy to get me in a more forward-thinking place, as I’m often guilty of the woulda-coulda-shouldas. This blog is part of it; perhaps it will give me some accountability I need to keep from slipping back into old (bad) habits.
So as regards the career plans: Summer Vacation. School is out in less than a month and the kids and I are taking the Summer off. Why should they be the only ones who get vacation?? I need a break from surfing Monster for hours, and wracking my brain to compose enticing-yet-witty-yet-serious cover letters for jobs I either will never get or don’t really want. I need a break from trying to figure out what I want and need out of life aside from being a mom and how I can make that happen while paying a daycare bill that exceeds my mortage payment.
And let’s face it… the world kinda blew up for me and the kids this last year. I am ashamed to admit that I have sarcastically referred to my ex as “Fun Daddy” so often that my youngest actually calls him that, now. (Oops.) I want a shot at being Fun Mama. I want to build sandcastles and go on nature walks and swing on the swings and not have to race to school in the morning, not be distracted and stressed out and constantly trying to plan for that job that might show up but never does. Sure, I’m going to have to figure it out eventually… but not this Summer. This Summer, I am going to play with my kids. And enjoy it. So there. I’m pretty sure they’re just as impressed with my degrees and resume as everyone else.
So if you need me in late June, or July, or August, my useless over-educated ass will be at the beach… with no regrets.