U - Turn

I could immediately feel myself relax. Again. I had been home from vacation a grand sum total of 90 minutes and was already back to Reality. Yes, with a capital R. As in Raw. But now I could breathe deeply. I could stop wringing my hands. I could gear up for a new battle with Lars. And it would be a battle. Just not for a few days. I had a reprieve.

As is customary when you are the idiot sister in the operation, I called Charlotte to tell her what I'd done. And like so much about all things Domestic Relations, it needed a lot of explaining. You would think that logic would dictate so much more. That changes in income would be snatched from your employer (or in my case, the State in which I was "on the dole") and redo the math and pay whomever whatever amount - unless someone objected and asked for a hearing. Wouldn't that be nice? We can put a man on the moon but somehow it takes The Village People (or something like that) to get the simplest thing accomplished. And evidently puts hundreds of butts in office chairs that would otherwise be vacant.

There was still an active order out there in Domestic Relations Land that said I had to continue to pay Lars Child Support even though I had absolutely no means to do so. From a legal standpoint, I was a deadbeat Mom. Headed to jails unless I started paying up. (Hence all the hand wringing.)

My alarm came from the fact that Lars' lawyer Randee had - bless her little sidewinding heart - promised and sworn on a stack of old testaments and Child Support Code that she would withdraw Lars' order if it got to be July and I was still not working.

Well duh. It's August and my wallet is not any fuller, people. Worse, I'd gotten no response from Randee or Lars to the numerous explicit, imploring emails on the topic.

What are the chances that Randee had gone and done what she'd committed to without patting herself on the back as Lawyer of the Year? And what are the chances that Lars had followed through and insisted it be done? Or done it himself by visiting the Domestic Relations Office?

None. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Goose egg. Never would happen.

And my panic came from the fact that nestled in my week old pile of mail was a letter from the State stating that I had racked up a giant pile of arrears and if I did not satisfy the order in five days (With what? My good looks?) a bench warrant would be issued and I'd be arrested and dragged to the pokey. (Oh good! Free food!)

I think my call to Charlotte did more to infuriate and confuse her than to inform and calm her. (Bench warrants have a way of doing that.)

But while we chatted she mentioned that she was taking the train to NYC to see Jack and Gregory (a newly minted Wall Street employee!) and that the cottage would be empty all weekend.

I told her that A) Gidget had made one of the upholstered window bench cushions her own personal toilet and I'd left it out on the porch, and B) I'd like to go back for the weekend.

She was more than happy to oblige. I repacked a bag. I packed up the laptop. I placed a bottle of wine and some snacky stuff in a bag. When I dropped off the kids to Lars an hour or so later, I'd be back on the road. This time solo. I needed the quiet solitude and uncluttered, unhurried existence that being in a remote house you don't own brings. Back to basics. Back to me.