As we approach the pizza shop I shake those memories from my head, thinking my girlfriends had been right all along. They'd never really warmed to J. and it took me far longer to find out all the reasons why. A repeat performance on my part. At least I had not married this loser. At least I'd discovered the lies, and the drinking, and the hidden agenda and the charade before taking a single step down the aisle. And it seems now I've truly managed to wash that man right outta my hair. And evidently for good. I doubt his ghost would have the nerve (or the strength) to come and haunt me. Please let his mother enjoy that distinctly unpleasant experience if it must happen. And please let his apparition show that stupid tattoo in full color for her viewing pleasure. Let it remind her day and night what a crackpot she raised.
The kids and I order our pizza and find a table. We have a clear view of the forbidden television which is broadcasting the opening ceremonies of the Summer Olympics. We can't hear anything but it sure seems zany. Gotta love the Brits. They have made the festivities uniquely their own. Choreographed hospital bed routine? Audible farting? A sky diving queen?
I am torn. I am such a fan of the Olympics. The pageantry. The spirit. The love of the sports. Kids who have devoted their lives and forsaken all else for this chance. I am in awe of the sheer power of them. Such drive. Such physical and personal strength. And I barely survive a work week at my desk, by comparison.
But in a 99% television-free town, I would have to go find a sports bar to watch each night. Not exactly what we came here to do...so I opt to forget about watching the drama unfold and patiently learn of the pertinent results from my FB friends and online news apps on my phone, and instead immerse myself in the joys of vacation. I can On-Demand any old thing I am still dying to see when we get home. Time like this with my kids is rare and fleeting. The Olympics come along every few years.
Hil's birthday is around the corner and she is turning 13. The Big Day when she flips the switch from tween to teen happens the day after our vacation ends and she has returned to her father's house. And she is acutely aware of the difference that will make in the celebration. Has roundly criticized her father's ideas about what constitutes an appropriate birthday celebration, much less a milestone like this one.
And the heat is on. Like everything else in my post-divorce life with my kids, I need to come up with a way to fill in the gaps. Make things whole. Make Lars' inadequacies invisible if not unimportant.
This will be my biggest mission yet.
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