The A,B,C’s of Divorce

Three priorities in life:

A – Family

B – Self

C – Work

I know in what order I believe A, B, and C should lie. You may or may not agree.

But I do know that trying to maintain a relationship with someone who says “B, C, A,” when I’m thinking “A, B, C,” or “C, A, B,” just isn’t going to work.

I presented this once, supremely confident that the receiver of said presentation would slap his own forehead and say “What was I thinking? Of course it’s …”

Didn’t get that. Instead I received, “You’re right, if A includes you then A doesn’t come first.”

And there it was.

Black and white.

Divorce.

And the good news is….

…there is a God(dess). I’ve met her. Her name is SC.

She is a CPA.

She has parted the red sea of my despair.

All of this garnishment stuff definitely got to me (as you could maybe guess.) In some ways, too, that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Since I had never done the taxes while we were married and before that I had been able to complete the 10W-EZ for my paltry $5,000/year Outward Bound income, filing as a single mother with a foreclosure and cashed out retirement fund was extremely intimidating.

And when I get overwhelmed, I stall out.

I had everything together, ready to go; had every intention of filing – it’s not that I was trying to pull anything off that was illegal – I just kept freaking out and putting the folder back under the folder of bills to pay.

But this recent “incident” with the State motivated me. I was so outraged that he hadn’t filed – you pay your taxes, dammit – yet here I was a few years behind.

Hypocrite.

So I decided to sit down and do it. Took a nap instead.

Went to H&R Block. Apparently I have to sit there with them while they do it – and write a check on the spot. Wasn’t going to work for me.

So then I decided to do what regular people often do…I found myself a CPA. I took everything to her, cried my little overwhelmed and extremely guilt-ridden heart out, then said, “call me when it’s done.”

Call me she did. When she first called, she let me know that I might owe some money – not too much, much less than I had feared given the IRA and the fact that I hardly have anything taken out of my paychecks because I need every penny possible. I was so relieved that it wasn’t worse that the amount that I did owe seemed worth celebrating.

Then she worked a little more magic – dependents, earned income credit, and a few other things that apparently a single mom with almost no income can use, and…

Voila! 

A refund.

Halle-fuckin’-lujah.

Enough, even, to cover the (very large) amount of money that I owe her.

Which is totally and unquestionably worth it because of the guilt relieved and the peace of mind restored. I am no longer a hypocrite and can return to looking down my nose at him for not fulfilling his civic duty (and legal responsibility) that comes with living in a free country.

After this garnishment deal is over with, I will be completely in the clear and I won’t have to worry about getting pulled over for a broken tail light and ending up in federal prison for tax evasion.

Yes, my mind does have a tendency to head towards worst case scenario.

Lesson learned: pay taxes.

48

River

Amazing children

Love

Sunshine

Catfishing

Milkshakes

Raven, Ibis, Herons

Big horn sheep

Contentment

Siestas in the shade

Wonderful company

Laughter

Who says getting older isn’t any fun?

Tweetsie

tweetsie-railroad

Right?

Oh yeah, for those of you in the know, I don’t have to say another word.

For those of you who aren’t, it’s a train. But not just any train – it is the best train ever and was a huge, no HUGE, part of my childhood.

Tweetsie was an entire world unto itself.

Mountains of North Carolina; you drove up into the hills and suddenly you were in an old western town, with cowboys, stagecoaches and a “saloon.”

No different, really from where I live now.

And there was Tweetsie – standing proudly, shiny and green, steam billowing out, waiting for me. My brother and I would actually shake in anticipation – and a little bit of fear because we knew the hazards of riding a train through the hinterlands of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Bears, indians (white ones of course – this was the South), train robbers. Guns, arrows and the cavalry, thank the Lord.

Kent and I would sport our very best hats and boots, holsters with pop guns around our waists. One year, my brother got so scared trying to protect our family from the thieves that he held the gun backwards, sweat pouring down his face, and shot himself.

Good thing it was only a toy.

But it scared him so badly I think he still has nightmares.

After the train ride, you could either have lunch at the saloon, get a sepia photo taken of you and your family or go up the mountain to The Giant’s Castle and see the big guy asleep and snoring in his bed.

Terrifying – everyone whispered for fear of waking him up.

There were a few kid-sized rides and lots of bright colors.  But it paled in comparison to the old-tyme world down below.

My grandparents lived on a mountainside across the valley from Tweetsie’s. There was a deck on the back of the house from which I could see the smoke from her stack as she circled the lush, green peak around which her route lay.

Hours. I would watch for hours from that deck. I could see when Tweetsie was stopped at the station. I knew how long it would take for her to get moving again. I saw the smoke stand still, indicating that the train had stopped and was in the process of being attacked by “redskins.”  Then, the plume would disappear behind the hill.

I counted the minutes in anticipation, knowing exactly how long it would take for the train to round the bend and make her way back towards the station.

And every damn time I worried that she wouldn’t round the bend because they’d all been killed during the robbery.

It never got old.

Periodically, I talk to someone who knows about Tweetsie, whose childhood also included that magical world and it creates and instant, ever-lasting bond.

Dating a (or, as a) single mom: part 2

N and I were talking about being single parents.  One of the things that she said was, “I have trouble finding the humor when it’s just me…you know, like you don’t laugh out loud as much when you watch a funny movie alone.”

So I am not finding humor in being treated poorly tonight. I feel ganged up upon, taken for granted, disrespected and disappointed because I was going to make a really nice dinner and have a lovely evening and I just cancelled it.

All about chores. It’s the usual; they have a list to tick off on Sundays. I remind them of it at some point midday and give them a time by which everything must be completed and then when I get upset when they are sitting on their asses at the established time, I am the bad guy.

“We were just about to get up.  We did the chores. (Yes, but not all of them.) I didn’t know we had to do that? (It’s on the GIANT white board in the kitchen.) You can’t expect me to look at that. Why do they have to be done on your time frame? Mom, all you do is flip out for no reason. I swear if you get mad at me when I haven’t done anything wrong, I’ll be really pissed. Mom, I haven’t done anything wrong – you’re just too strict. Why do we have to spend our Sundays doing chores? Excuse us for being human beings and making mistakes.”

And on and on ad nauseam.

I feel so fucking alone and frustrated.

What I really want in this moment is someone who will say to them, “Gentlemen, you do not get to treat your mother this way,” and, “Just buck up and help out around here and quit sniveling.”

Is that too much to ask?

But, you can’t just ask the person who was supposed to be here for dinner to do that.  It’s not their place and if there is any hope of that person truly becoming part of your family, then that won’t be a good early step.

I don’t have any clue when the other person does have that right, can take that role without it completely backfiring, but I know that it’s not early on and it’s not a step to be taken lightly.

K or D could say that to my guys if they were here and it was going on, but chances are, if they were here, it wouldn’t be going on.

The other day, a friend said that what she found to be the hardest, in the dating evolution, was when her children treated her poorly in front of the man.  He had (has) a really difficult time watching that, witnessing someone being disrespectful to the woman he loves.

And that’s just when I want someone to not only witness but make it stop.

In oder to be able hear that from someone, especially a man, my kids absolutely have to respect that man and care about what he thinks and feels. BUT they aren’t going to respect him if he jumps to my defense too soon.

Tricky.

And they aren’t going to get it from their dad because when they talk to him about it they make me out to be the cranky bitch and he ends up siding with them.

So if you want to take on a mom, know that you are going to have to figure this out – very carefully and thoughtfully – no sudden, impulsive lectures or discipline.

If you are the mom (or dad), know that when the relationship gets rich enough for you to actually start emotionally depending on that other person, when you really need support, you might not be able to get it.

Dating a (or, as a) single mom: part 1

I have a group that I belong to that is for folks who are in, or are trying to remove themselves from, relationships with narcissistic exes. These folks (men and women) are helping me to keep my sanity.  We talk about everything from our children to finances to work to frustrations and hopelessness.

And periodically, someone will ask, “When is it time to start dating?” or, “How do you know this is a good person?”

Both good questions, both made that much more complicated if there are children involved.

And both I learned the lesson to, the hard way, so my initial response is, “Never. There aren’t any.”

Nope, not bitter or cynical at all.

And it’s so interesting because I did all of the reading, checked in with the available “experts” and still made my own decision based on what felt right to me at the time.

Who I should have checked in with, and really listened to, is my children.

They seem to have WAY better douchebag detectors than their mother.

If only they’d been there when I said “Yes.”

But actually, this isn’t meant to be about my stupid mistake.  This is about when and who.

Because, from what I’ve seen, those folks who get immediately involved with someone else, usually end up with a broken heart. Not always, mind you, but certainly more often than not.

Divorce sucks. There’s no way around that, even when you are the person who can’t wait to get out of the marriage. Even if it’s amicable, mutual and respectful. It just plain old sucks.

So then, you (I) get involved with someone who is most likely vastly different from the person to whom you were married and not only is it wonderful to feel loved and probably have an active sex life once again, but because this person seems to be all that your spouse wasn’t, you feel like you’ve grown, evolved and learned.

And maybe you have, and maybe with this person, you actually will have the opportunity for a lot of growth and self-exploration. But, from my experienced and expert perspective, if you haven’t taken that time to be alone, to feel the agony of the divorce and to truly rediscover who you actually are as a person, the relationship is doomed.

Because seriously, you are not the same person you were when you walked down the aisle and you won’t be the same person that you were in a shitty marriage – if you give yourself recovery time.

I didn’t and ended up with someone even more destructive than my former husband.

And we won’t even talk about what’s happened to my ex.

The thing is, that time to figure out me was basically forced on me in an incredibly mean way, and every single day, I am thankful for it. Who I am today and who I was for the last 40 some odd years are barely even the same gal.

This gal wouldn’t make those same stupid stupid stupid mistakes.

This gal can figure out who’s a good person.

And this gal can walk away from someone who isn’t.

So the answer to the questions…

“If you have to ask, then not yet, and (s)he’s not.”

Turkey hunting

See.....You don't have to give up style to kill things

See…..No need to sacrifice style to kill things

Shotgun and ammo?

Check

Betty the decoy?

Check

Old and worn, yet still solid Red Wing work boots?

Check

Duofold longjohns (none of that hippie capilene shit)?

Check

Insulated Carhartt coveralls?

Check

Cammo fleece, balaclava?

Check

Backup, nylon, cammo balaclava (in case it warms up)?

Check

Primaloft, cammo hunting jacket?

Check

Cammo hand muff?

Check

Prada jacket?

Check

Thinking about sex

When I hear my pubescent boys talking about having sex, I cringe; mostly because they are pubescent boys – all sweaty and stinky and hormonal and awkward and they don’t even remember to brush their teeth half of the time. Plus, they are my babies – they can’t be getting it on with a girl.

But the other piece that really makes me hope that they will wait – at least for a while – is that I am just now figuring out what sex is really all about, and there is so much more to it than their little brains can comprehend.

When I was their age, losing our virginity was all my friends and I could talk about. And, I was years older than they are when I finally did. And, it was rather disastrous. And, I was just so anxious to get it out of the way that it didn’t really matter who-what-where-when-or-how.

And yes, I got completely blown off the next day.

At their age I understood nothing about power, intimacy, connection, love, trust or passion.  (Apparently, there is a difference between true passion and just getting carried away in the moment.) I had no idea that “good sex” could be “great sex” if there were feelings involved – feelings other than this is what I am supposed to do or I have a hard-on and therefore can’t think straight or sure this feels good so I might as well.

Once I did become sexually active, I had no words for the loneliness and emptiness that often came right after we did. I had absolutely no understanding of the joy of pleasing my partner or vice versa.

No true connection.

My practically sex-less marriage did nothing to broaden those horizons, although I did learn a lot about sex without intimacy, connection and love.

I am not saying that they should wait until they are married – not only do I understand that that is highly unlikely, but I don’t necessarily think that’s a great idea. Their father is taking care of the abstinence perspective because apparently he was somehow a born again virgin when he got married.

Which, by the way, is a fact that I truly wish I didn’t know, but unfortunately, I do.

I just want them to wait until they can comprehend the bigger picture.  I want them to do it with someone about whom they really care. Most of all I want them to treat the girl with kindness, love and respect.

I want them to not have to begin understanding the power of sex after they’ve made a bunch of mistakes and felt that loneliness one too many times.

And I want them to understand that sex can be really really fun.

And yes, gentle reader, I DO talk to them about it – quite frequently as a matter of fact – much to their chagrin (and that of their friends since I like to include everyone in these conversations.) Believe it or not, they really don’t want to talk about sex with their mommy so the conversations tend to be awkward and filled with “Mom, really???”

They are also truly opposed to hearing anything that even hints of their mother’s sex-life.

So I hope that they make good, well thought out choices and learn to love and appreciate sex for all of its potential.

And now, I don’t want to think about it any more.

Sorry to go on and on

Recently it was pointed out to me that liking black widows, tarantulas and turkey vultures isn’t necessarily attractive, intriguing or even endearing.  It might just be plain old weird.

But, I can’t suddenly turn off those feelings, just because they make me look like Marilyn Munster.

And since I can’t, and have decided, instead, to celebrate my love for harbingers of death, I have one more turkey vulture tidbit to share:

They seem to have chosen a new hang out.  Not a roosting tree, but a daytime, observe the people, take off to soar on the currents place.

And that tree is in my yard.

There were a few here the other day watching me while I packed my camping gear. They supervised, I asked for their advice, we communed.

Apparently they appreciated my company and told their friends to come on over (just like my kids and their friends.)

So today, when I got home from work, the tree was full to overflowing with their huge black bodies.  The branches shook each time one of them moved a wing. The sound where I stood at first seemed like something was about to land on my head.

And then….

They lifted up into the sky and there were at least 45 – 50 of them soaring above my head, above my house.

I giggled out loud. I called out ,”Hey!” I literally laughed.

Who knows why, after all of their years in the same snag, they have decided to bust a move, but…

I believe they chose this tree, this yard, this person, because they know that they will not  be merely welcome but they will be the guests of honor.