Period, The End

With my weekend plan in place, I focus on home. Getting the cats fresh water and fresh bowls of food that will last the weekend. Making sure the kitty litter is pristine for Their Royal Highnesses. Making sure there is a doorstop in every open doorway so that Gidget, in her endless quest to pounce on whatever is under the door (usually nothing) does not inadvertently lock herself in a bedroom. We all know Trinket would not be a good sport and nose the door open for her from the other side.

I drop in on each of the kids in their rooms. They are catching up on Facebook and XBox 360 and making weekend plans of their own. I am glad thay can shift gears on custody hand off days. I am also sad to end such a wonderful week with their undivided company. It had been our first week without guests at the cottage. In years past we'd been joined for a day or two by J. and his girls, or Scott and his girls, or Mom and Bill. This week had been just us and it had been awesome. I wonder how many more there will be. The kids are about that age when they'll blow me off. And I am constantly reminded that I miss 26 weeks of time with them every year as it is. I'm amazed they remember my name.

Soon, all too soon, it is time to get in the car and go. I linger as long as I can. I feel like I am headed to the gallows. And once they've left the car and bounced up the steps into Lars' house, I need to focus. I miss them. I already miss the cats. I need to wallow. But I need to get to the cottage first.

And for that I need gas. I can get gas at the grocery store and while I am there, grab a made to order salad for dinner when I get to the cottage. A shower, little wine, a little lobster salad, a little time on the porch and I should be right as rain.

I make my way through the hellish grocery store experience (It's Friday, people? Where's the mirth?) and pull up to the pumps. While the petrol is flowing, my phone begins to ring.

I answer (I know, it is against all things OSHA) and am shocked to hear unintelligible sobbing from the other end. It is Hil. Evidently, she's gotten her First Period.

I put on my "talk the lunatic off the ledge" voice I have honed in my line of business and ask her to take deep breaths so I can understand what she is saying.

She chokes out that she got her period and she is upset. I want to tell her to get comfortable with the idea. The Big P will be a returning guest for 40 years. Instead I congratulate her on being a young woman. She is not thrilled.

I mentally scrap my plans for the weekend and ask her if she'd like me to come get her. Lars and I have an understanding. If this very thing were to happen, Hil could come to my house for TLC and tutorials on the equipment involved in the care and feeding of ones' menstrual cycle. The New Liza will have no such honor.

She is breathing normally now, and I hear her say that she knows what to do and she does not need me to come get her.

"Do you WANT me to come get you? THAT is my real question."

She is calmer. She says she'll be fine. So I ask her why she is crying. This can be such an exciting time. She is growing up. She'll get boobs. Her hair will thicken. She'll be even more beautiful.

The real bummer she says is that she ruined her favorite shorts. I tell her how to tell Lars how to wash them and ask her if she needs anything from the store. Inclusive of the things Lars will need to wash her shorts, and presumably other articles of clothing that will be wrecked while Hil gets adjusted to her new state of womanhood.

She tells me she has all the things she needs. I ask her if she has chocolate. She laughs and tells me she does. She is going to be just fine.

And with an even heavier heart, I finish pumping my gas and pull away from the station. I am on my way to the cottage with another milestone having flown by.

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.

The Business End Of Things

The long drive back from the cottage was quiet. Actually, it's more accurate to say that the people in the car were quiet and the cats were meowing in stereo. And in sync. It was enough to scramble my brain.

Unloading from vacation is so much less fun than loading up the car to leave on the trip. I feel like the boxes and bags are made of lead and contain way more stuff than we started with. Sorting laundry and putting things where they belong and reopening the house seems like a cruel reminder that vacation is over.

I know. Vacation from what? I was not even working. But you'd be surprised how much you can need a break from the routine nothingness that unemployment can bring.

While the kids put away their clothes and got on line and generally reacclimated to the house and their lives, I began a Google search for one of the three matrimonial lawyers I'd known. They'd left the firm we'd worked for shortly after I had so I had no idea where to start. I only knew their first names, and I knew they practiced in a neighboring county - but could still give me advice on procedure. That little song and dance has very few versions. And any advice would help. I had no idea what I was doing. Completely clueless.

I found what seemed like a generic directory for matrimonial lawyers in the county and read the description of the first one ----"Personalized service, superior representation, affordable billing plans."

That's me. Personalized, superior and affordable. I wonder if it was one of the ladies?

There was a little green button to press on my smartphone to call directly. Someone answered cheerfully on the first ring. So far we had the personalized part down.

I assumed I was talking to a receptionist so I launched into a diatribe about the reason for my call, expecting to hear "Please hold for Ms. Blahblahblah." But instead the voice said, "Give me a little background information. Who was the judge you went before in May? An older gentleman, white hair, as mean as a snake?"
"YES!!!!" I practically shrieked! And I definitely scared the cats. I had the airborne hairballs to prove it.

I told her the story about his insulting rant and his aggressive behavior toward me. She told me not to take it personally, it is his schtick. He is all about support for the kids and is especially harsh with parents who try to reduce it. She told me a horrifying little tale of woe concerning a carpenter who wanted to get his support order reduced because his business had failed. Hiz Honor had insulted his skills as a tradesman and a business owner. said he'd never hire him himself. Looked him up and down as though her were scum. And didn't reduce his order a cent.

And I realized I was talking not to the receptionist, but my new lawyer. She had answered her own phone on one ring and gave me her undivided attention for an hour. An hour filled with back stories and horror stories and income information and detailed instructions about what I needed to do first thing on Monday morning. She agreed to attend the hearing with me that Wednesday and she'd meet me Monday at the courthouse after I followed through with my instructions. We'd grab a cup of coffee and get all the business out of the way. It would be fun.

Fun?

The train was back on the tracks. And I had a new engineer in the locomotive!

I Know Someday You'll Have A Beautiful Life

And in retrospect I did make the best use of the summer. And when my work was done - my work on my lawn, my work on my health, my work on my house, my work on myself, my work on my kids - my work toward a new career paid off.

Just around the time when my viable leads were fizzling out, three new ones magically appeared. And by magically appeared, I mean they seemed to simply fall from the sky.

One was a creative Human Resources Talent Management position. Identifying high potential talent across a broad, far flung organization and closing gaps to between each of the high performers and their next career move. Loads of fun. Very hot to trot company.

Another I stumbled upon by accident. A broad Human Resources role within a boutique firm who never had an HR function before and was sure they were about to wander aimlessly into compliance problems since they'd recently grown in size and surpassed some of the Federal Government regulatory thresholds. They specifically wanted a seasoned, grizzled HR Executive with an English degree and who can write. I was tempted to simply show up and make myself at home in the available desk.

And the last was a huge, household name e-retailer. The headhunter who had placed me in my last job must have felt guilty about leading me to the gates of Hell and had given my contact information to the hiring manager to connect with me. I wasn't even sure when I'd spoken with the woman that she wasn't a headhunter herself. But she was not, and she was lovely. I clicked with her in an instant. We got each other. I wanted to work for her and she wanted to work with me. The second, third and fourth steps came rapidly, and so did the offer. I was over the moon. And I was finally employed!

I had paid my dues and done my work over the summer. It was paying off in spades. I had a sexy new job, an easy commute, a cool, fun, employer, a beautiful office building brimming with really, really smart people. Pinch me.

But there was some unfinished business to resolve. And that would surely take the shine off of things eventually.

Let's back up.

Back in the summer while I was staying at Charlotte and Jack's cottage, I'd had a couple of epiphanies.

First, I'd endured some long silences from Craig. Troubling silences. Silences that made me sad. I heard a Pearl Jam song called "Black" that resonated with me...well the end of it did. It talks about someone being the sun in somebody's sky. And I decided I wanted to be that. The sun in someone's sky. And if not Craig's then someone else's. Sad as the idea was to have it be someone ELSE's sky.

And second, I needed to get my shit in a pile about the pending child support hearing where I could be facing Lars and that dirty-looking lawyer of his and that nasty judge. The hearing was less than a week away. I was petrified and I had no plan, no argument, no leg to stand on.

The end of our vacation is always so sad for me anyway, but as I packed to leave and cleaned and remade beds, and stuffed the cats into their carriers, I was weary. Weary of the world. Weary from not working. Weary of the fight. Weary from wondering what would become of me and all the things in my life that are important.

As I drove home I made two decisions.

I would contact one of the extremely helpful and kind matrimonial lawyers (Yes there is such a thing!) I'd worked with at one time to see if I could get some sage advice about the hearing. How hard could they be to find?

And I would call Charlotte to see if I could turn around and drive back to the cottage alone after I'd gotten the cats settled and the kids back to Lars. I craved a little self-imposed isolation and the cottage would be perfect.

Part of the Plan

So maybe this is what this summer has been about. Maybe there was nothing accidental about any of what has been happening in my life. Maybe it is all part of some big playbook that makes no sense at all until you get to the end zone and you realize what just happened to you makes a lot of sense in a cosmic, big picture way.

When Scott went over the wall last year, I hinted at my misery on Facebook. And since I have a much more buoyant than miserable persona on Facebook and everywhere else, people took notice. They reached out. You know how this happened. I wrote it all down for us both. So horrible it was almost funny. Almost.

And I met some great people, and strengthened some relationships that were only in their infancy until then. Solidified some acquaintances into full-blown, tried and true friendships. And got a little romance of it to boot! And as you may recall, that gave me the emotional edge when Scott came calling again. The edge and the strength to not give in. To not go back. To love myself more than he could ever love me.

And those friendships were tested yet again...when my career took an unexpected detour. Those same friendships (with the exception of Jane who had shown her true colors earlier in the mayhem and whose friendship I decided I needed to live without) came roaring to life even louder, offering support and advice and networking and pats on the back.

My summer of job searching had its ups and downs. I had a lot of first interviews. I had some fourth interviews. I interviewed for some great career opportunities and for jobs that would have been no more than just jobs. I ran into a lot of dead ends.

And with each peak and valley, my friends and my family (at least those that I am on good terms with...) were there for me. Telling me it would happen for me. That I would find my way. That there is a purpose to all of this. There is a plan.

And in hindsight (I have landed a great job...but we'll get to that!) I see what the plan had been all along.

First, I had to get Scott out of my life. The road we were on was leading to nothingness. I couldn't see it then but now I can. He was smart to have made the move for both of us, the cruelty and cowardice notwithstanding.

I needed to realize who my true friends were. The Toms and the Craigs and the Kates and Joys and Tonis and Dels. And my sister and my cousins. Jane can go live her little pathetic life of gossip and pettiness without me. With the friends I have I have no need for pretenders. The friends I have made it obvious that they would step up to the plate every time. Jane made it clear that she would throw a bean ball when you least expect it.

And I needed to leave my toxic, dead end job with the Mean Girl mentality and simmering ethics problems. Who needs to waste their time and energy and good looks on a company that has places no value on you or what you do and is more concerned with whether or not you are wearing pantyhose than if you can accomplish a on time or on budget or at all.

And I needed time. Time to focus on my kids - especially Hil - as they wandered unwittingly into the milestone year. The year that eclipses the age I was when my mother left. I suppose it is a more important time of reflection for me than for them - they have no idea about the significance of the time. But it is meaningful to me to have had the uninterrupted time to devote to them. As if to say to them that I will never ever make my mother's mistakes. I am better than that. I am better than her. They matter to me more than I did to her. Even if I am really only saying it to myself.

And frankly, I needed time for me. Not only to walk miles upon miles in peaceful isolation for my physical well-being, but to use the time in quiet solitude to reflect on my mother's decisions and decide once and for all that her mistakes are no reflection on me. Her mistakes will not be repeated. They will not make me something I don't choose to be. And I will not let her decisions make me question my worth, my worthiness, my strength or my character.

And even now, when her preposterous lack of motherliness makes me scratch my head, it will not strike at my heart. No need to pick the petals from a flower and repeat "She loves me, she loves me not." She loves me not. And that's just fine. I will not chase her around grasping for her apron strings. She was the one to have run. I'll just let her go.

Round Two

And now it was Hil's turn.

Of course, Hil was only seven when I told Lars I would not be hanging around 'til Death do us part. (Unless of course, I decided to go the ground glass in the turkey tetrazzini route and finish him off before a single paper was filed in Domestic Court.)

And Lars and I did not exactly play the separation game any better than my parents had. But to be truthful, they'd had less to argue about.

1 - There was no custody battle. There was nary a custody discussion. Dad said he would die without us. Mom said she had no intention of taking us with her. She was leaving us all, make no mistake. Next issue, please.

2 - There was no dispute about the house. Dad insisted on staying in the house. Mom, for once, made no argument. She would have taken up residence in an appliance carton on Vine Street if necessary in order to get out.

3 - There was no alimony or child support. Any attempt by either party to collect anything from the other would have been offset by a competing claim. Why pay a lawyer to do the math?

And by contrast, Lars had made me the villain. did everything he could to alienate the kids from me, took every penny he could legally squeeze from me (and a few he did nefariously - like draining our bank account on the day I was paid), took every possession from the house right down to the last roll of toilet paper and the last box of cereal when he left, and tried to take the kids away from me entirely. Such a poor loser. But a loser nonetheless. The ground glass idea grew exponentially more appealing.

But there is one thing I am certain I did right, in spite of the cards being stacked against me. I will go to my grave satisfied that I did it right - would implore separating couples to concentrate on doing it right. I am sure I connected with my children about the changes they were facing in their young lives and assured them that no matter what changed, my love for them, my presence in their lives and their presence in my heart, my devotion my connectedness, my very Mom-ism would never, ever diminish. They were the center of my heart; I would always be a safe place. The world would change around us, but "we" would always be "us."

Looking back, however grim the picture, I have generally blamed Lars for a lot. And blamed the fact that he never came to terms with the fact that his mother did not loved any of her children for a lot of what made him the dark brooding father and spouse he eventually became.

And looking back at how it shaped him has made me realize two things:

1 - I never, ever doubted my Dad's love for me. Not for one second. It never crossed my mind. There were no signs to the contrary.

2 - I did however doubt that my Mother ever really loved us in any genuine way. And when she finally left our house, I had the distance and quietness of mind to make observations and decide that she didn't. And the distance and fortitude to begin to care less. The moments when she seemed to take interest or be proud or give a damn about anything were fleeting, and the episodes of rage and inaccessibility and short temperedness and impatience and indifference were bountiful. They could be hurtful, but hurt less and less as time went on and maturity found its footing.

The only thing that irks me now is that she thinks she fooled everyone.

A Walk To Remember

Casey and I got off the bus and began to walk home.

Remember Casey? He was the kid I grew up with who was later my Date from Hell after I broke up with J. The one with the bad jokes and the worse breath. We'd been friends as kids. Even had crushes on each other. But mostly friends - inspite of the fact that he eventually spent all of his time mooning over another girl on the block who looked like a linebacker for the Green Bay Packers. And in spite of all the frequent episodes of neighborhood politics and Mama Drama. (Our mothers were both famous bickerers).

Casey was finishing 9th grade. I was finishing 8th. He had been a little distant recently - feeling like a big shot heading off to high school (even though he still fit in Toughskin jeans from the Boys department at JC Penney).  He normally strutted off the bus and up the block at a record pace. But today he was walking a little more slowly. Slow enough for me to catch up with a little effort (since I felt like I had turned to lead between 7th and 8th period classes).

When I caught up and we'd said our hellos, I asked him, "Did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"My Mom is moving out. I guess my parents are getting divorced, but no one is saying."

"Mine too," he said quietly.

"Your Mom is moving out, too?" I could hardly believe it. It was a conspiracy! His Mom! My Mom! And probably that lady on the next street who made her husband get a perm and who has the checkerboard frosted hair and wears striped toe-sock knee-highs with her platform sandals.

"No. My Dad is. But my parents are splitting up like yours."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"  I say, defiantly using my mother's most hated off-color word.

"Blows."  Casey said. I have no idea how his mother felt about that word.

We walked in relative silence the rest of the way to our street. We crossed to our side of the block. A creepy old guy lived in the house on the corner. He was a well-known Dirty Old Man. Famous for inappropriately touching all the little girls when they came to play in the yard with his grandsons.

"Watch out. Don't let the Bogey Man get you" Casey half joked.

"The real Bogey Man is probably drinking coffee in the kitchen talking to your Mom on the phone."

Casey attempted a smile. We walked toward my house.

I felt like I wanted to keep walking with Casey. Wanted to keep talking even though we weren't really talking. At least not out loud. But we were in a special club together now. We both knew it.

When we got there he looked over at me and said, "Hang in there." 

"You, too," I said back.

I walked up the driveway to the front door knowing my brother and mother would be inside. I wished again that I could have kept walking.