Prepare for Impact

This time, I prepare way in advance.

Charlotte is booked for moral support.  And lunch after. Hopefully celebratory.

I have the perfect Soccer Mom outfit. No one needs to go into court looking shabby, but an Armani suit would probably defy the logic of the hearing.

I have copies of everything my letter from Domestic Relations indicated I should bring:  Six months of pay stubs, my tax return, my W2, a letter from my boss indicating my last day of employment and the terms of my departure, copies of benefits that I have and benefits available to me.  All copied in triplicate. One for me, one for His Honor and one for Randee, Lars' hired gun.

What I am not prepared for is the judge.

Just like last time, Randee jumped up and started spouting off stipulations.  And just like last time, I stand and interrupt her. I ask the judge to let me speak, as I was the one that filed the complaint.

Oh. No. Wrong word. It is a "petition."

And His Honor is on me like a screech owl on a field mouse.

"IT'S NOT A COMPLAINT! IT'S A PETITION."

I am humbled momentarily and repeat my sentence, this time using the right word.

"IF YOU ARE GOING TO COME IN HERE WITHOUT A LAWYER, YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO GET THE TERMS RIGHT."

"You're right," I say. "But I think we are clear about why we're here."

"WE'RE HERE BECAUSE YOU WANT TO TAKE FOOD OUT OF YOUR CHILDREN'S MOUTHS!"

I can hear Charlotte gasp behind me. Or was that me? 

Here we are in open court, with all the Deadbeat Dads, and Disappearing Moms and their friends and kids and lawyers, and the judge is accusing me of wanting to deprive my kids.  Of...of...of I don't even know what. Just deprive them.  In general.

In my head I form the sentence, "It will never come down to food from their mouths, Your Honor. It's more like this skateboard or that skateboard."  But I don't think I actually said it. I was stunned silent.

And from there is deteriorated, if that is at all possible.