Cosmic justice takes a long time..

I have to vent. My ex-husband is such a stingy bastard. He won't pay for any extra-curricular activities for our daughter. He won't pay for the added cost of full-day kindergarten (and would you believe the law does not require him to pay for half because he is not the custodial parent!). Next year he will make $180,000 +; I will make a fraction of that as a professor. I am buying Folgers (I know, cry me a river bc I can't afford Starbucks anymore -- such first-world problems I have!) and counting every penny. Christmas will be rather thin over here.

Now for the thing that has my blood boiling: yesterday I got a statement from the bank through which we financed the car that he is driving. He PAID THE ENTIRE BALANCE remaining on the car. In cash. Now he has no car payments. I am struggling to pay for basic expenses and to make a monthly payment on my HUGE legal debt; meanwhile, he can just WRITE A CHECK to pay off his car. No fair.

A friend who visited last summer, when I had just kicked him out and was really weepy all the time, made a really great comment. Cosmic justice takes a really long time, she said. That's my mantra today, because it seems like life is so easy for him right now and that he suffers no negative consequences for all of his dishonorable, unethical actions.

Final thought: I really want to redefine what "wealth" means to me. I am rich in friends, in family, in work I feel passionate about, in a life worth living. I have everything that I need, which is so much more than what most people in the world have.

Ten years ago...

Last night, my daughter was pawing around in my closet while I changed the sheets on my bed. She turned up a purse, which she promptly packed with various odds and ends, including a lone Barbie shoe, some coins from Russia, and an old piece of hot pink tissue paper. She also unearthed one of my old journals. While she became engrossed in dramatic play involving the mentioned props, I became engrossed in my journal.

Ok, if you knew me, you'd think: very bad idea. Like Anne Lamott writes in Operating Instructions, my mind at night is like an alley after dark: it's not a good place to be wandering around alone.

This was a journal I had started keeping while traveling in south central Russia a decade ago. I kept writing after returning home and to grad school. Aside from stressing out about coursework and dissertation topics, I mainly wrote about the reservations I had about Fred as a life partner!! I wrote that I was attracted to his vitality and ambition, but I worried that he directed that energy toward professional pursuits, not family life or relationships. I actually expressed the fear that "I might end up spending a lot of time alone, if we end up together." I wrote that I hated how he only seemed to relax after consuming copious amounts of beer (or whiskey). I wrote that he had elitist tendencies. Hello!!! How right I was!

Reading about my many reservations -- and wanting to slap myself for how many were spot on -- actually did NOT lead to a downward spiral in mood. I felt better, actually. Ok, I gave it ten years. Turns out he is a workaholic, as I feared, and probably an alcoholic. I didn't know then that he has a wandering eye. That might have helped me to end it back when I was prevaricating and talking myself into marriage with him.

I am beginning to see -- and really feel -- that I was never going to be happy with him. I wish that he would have ended our marriage with some dignity, some honor. But I'm beginning to recover my true self, and it feels great.

Lather, rinse, repeat

To riff on Ani DiFranco: he's just a liar with nothing to lie about.

My ex, I'll call him Fred, is living up to the worst stereotypes of litigators, cheating spouses, and deadbeat dads. He continually cancels his weeknight visitation with our daughter because of "work" obligations (he always used work as an excuse for avoiding the unglamourous domestic duties like raising one's children). In the 3 months since our divorce became final, he has kept the schedule he insisted upon only a handful of times. Yet he accuses me of not honoring his right to see his daughter.

So, he cancels again this week, citing work obligations. I decide to call his bluff and I offer to reschedule for any other day that will work for him. He dissembles, then admits he'll be gone only 2 days, leaving plenty of time to see his daughter, if that were something he actually WANTED to do. But he doesn't want to.

(I think this post is becoming a rant, which I guess was sort of the idea of this blog. )

So, how do I co-parent with this person, who doesn't seem to WANT to parent? How do I not go crazy? I tried the no-contact approach, but I have to admit that it is not in our daughter's best interest for her parents to not be on speaking terms. It put her in the unintended role of messenger.

He told me that he is moving in with his girlfriend, Krispy, into the house she owns with her husband (they legally separated only 2 weeks ago), but that it is none of my business where he lives or whether he is buying the house. But our daughter will have overnights with him, wherever he lives. So is it my business? Or am I just not letting go, not accepting that he moved on last spring (or earlier)? Am I obsessing? How do I move on when I can't really cut off contact?

Our daughter came home from day care today with an art project featuring three figures. The captions read: "Mommy" "Daddy" "Krispy." Maybe some day it won't break my heart.

A New Life, A Radical Reorientation

On May 3, 2008, I opened the inbox on my husband's Blackberry. I instantly knew he was having an affair. The first forty messages were from a woman I recognized as his colleague at his law firm, with whom he traveled. (Of course! So cliche. Not even original.) I'll call her Krispy. She was married, too.

Fast forward a few months: Krispy is pregnant (expecting in February -- you do the math); I filed for divorce. Now my 5-year-old daughter and I are on our own. I spent the summer in the fetal position, but I'm feeling (most days) like I'm back on my feet.

I miss the feeling of security I had when I was still married to an attorney, even though now I know that was a false sense of security. I miss it anyway, the way some Russians miss the Soviet Union, miss the illusion of being taken care of and feel nostalgia for a simpler time, even while acknowledging the oppression and loss of freedom that came with it. Actually, I now feel pretty shabby, having compared my situation to the real , often violent oppression of millions of people.

So, let me just say that I sometimes have nostalgia for a lie. Therein lies the comparison.