I am truly hopeful that my ex loves his kids and will want to be a constant, positive, loving father to them for the rest of their lives. In case there's any confusion about the money thing, let's set the record straight:
1. Four months before my affair, this was the same man that left for a three day trip to Las Vegas and never called me or the kids while he was there.
2. Instead of conversation or even mediation, I was served two weeks after he left me for 50% custody of the children. I had no desire to sue my ex for child support (we were never legally married so spousal support was a non-issue) because I didn't want to fight over money. He was quick to sign the custodial plan because he had no interest in offering that money to me anyway (confirmed by legal counsel on both sides).
2. After a few months of dating, my ex moved in with me and lived rent and expense free for almost six months before I wrote the check from my funds to put a down payment on our family home. The loan was also secured in my name alone because his credit was destroyed when we met and he was broke. I believe he still owes several parties anywhere between $40,000 - $60,000 in defaulted debt today.
3. When his parents came here from another country (his mother needed colon surgery which then turned into multiple surgeries over the course of two years), at my encouragement, my ex allowed me to source the down payment and once again I took a loan in my name to buy a small apartment for them. My ex paid the mortgage to support his parents so that they wouldn't have anything to worry about. These expenses made my job even more of a necessity, but I didn't care. I was happy about this arrangement - my children would have the time and love of at least one set of grandparents living in the same city. I still have no regrets about this decision, and have offered to walk away from this property to keep their living situation intact. Their own son wants to sell the condo to split the equity.
3. While I worked full time in a demanding sales job that required weekly travel, my ex was able to build a flourishing web based business that can be valued today at approximately $5 to $6 million. He had a five minute commute to his office.
4. Only during the course of financial discovery, I learned that his reported income was equal to or greater than mine for the last three years. And as a business owner, you usually pocket much more than what you report. Sad to say, he became less transparent about his earnings as the money started rolling in. While I went back to work after 6 weeks of maternity leave and boarded planes with tears and a breastpump, he was happy to cry poverty. Oh, and he made sure that we contributed equally to household expenses. He never forgot to reimburse himself at the end of the month for half the groceries, the utilities, etc.
5. When he left, he demanded that I pay him half the equity of the home, along with half of all other assets I may have owned BEFORE we were even together. He even handed me an excel spreadsheet to review. When I told him coming up with this kind of cash was impossible and force me and the children out of the house, he told me that wasn't his problem. In fact, he enlisted lawyers to initiate a frivolous lawsuit based on the famous Lee Marvin case (unmarried cohabitants) or what I call the "psychological mind fuck" lawsuit which included:
a. Strangers (large men) serving you papers at your home when you are alone after hours when opposing counsel is fully aware that all correspondence needs to go to your lawyers.
b. Financial discovery (i.e. coming up with four huge file boxes of any and all possible financial records for the last seven years of your life that takes almost a week of your time organizing and photocopying at Kinkos) even though I was not asking for child support.
c. Leveraging the legal fees that are incurred when phone calls are made, documents faxed, and court dates scheduled. For the activities of the civil lawyer for the month of December 2007 alone, I had to write a $9000 check. This does not include the seperate fees of the estate lawyer (up until a week ago, if I got hit by a car and ended up on life support, my ex had the legal right to pull the plug and take everything if he wanted) and the family lawyer.
6. In the hopes of creating an opportunity to move forward, I formally offered to come up with half of what he was looking for in December. My family and friends said I was crazy to put myself in this financial duress. I told them I just wanted it all to be done, and this would give both of us a chance to move forward. His lawyers accepted the offer. Two weeks went by and we had not received any signed paperwork. Instead, my ex decided to fire the lawyers and find new counsel to continue the legal harassment.
I know that many of you out there can relate to what it is like to struggle growing up. I had a father that couldn't hold a job because of his drinking problem and subsequently, there wasn't much financial stability in my household. I put myself through college with an academic scholarship and juggling 2-3 part-time jobs. Immediately after graduation I started an entry level position with a media company while four of my best girlfriends toured Europe on an all expense paid graduation present from their parents. I ate a lot of Ramen noodles that first year just so I could pay rent.
At 24, I cashed out whatever savings I was able to scrape living in NYC and moved home to help my mother save her house. That next year, I accepted a promotion that required me to relocate 3000 miles away from family and friends to a city where I knew no one because it was an opportunity to improve my life. I built a life and a career on my own.
At 30, I met my ex and fell in love. I supported him emotionally, physically, and financially, but he never really returned the favor. And after six years of providing him with a financial safety net to help him build a business, he still wants to grab as much cash as he can before he goes. I have not requested one penny from him during this process.
I want to believe that my ex really loves his children, but his actions tell me that he loves money more, even if he hasn't earned it. So if it is selfish and indulgent to wonder if this is a father who has his children's best interests at heart, or someone who is purposely logging the hours to insure he doesn't have to part with the mighty dollar while leveraging the emotional strain he knows I'm feeling when I'm apart from my children, then so be it.
Remember that $9000 check I wrote in December for legal fees? Yeah...wouldn't a father who loves his kids prefer that to have gone into a college fund?
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
"I'll send an S.O.S. to the world..."
"Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh...
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world...
I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle"
At twelve years old I fell in love with Gordon Sumner, front man for The Police and have continued the school girl crush for the solo artist, most notably known as Sting, into my adult years. Funny thing, it wasn't really his voice or his looks that translated into the sex appeal for me at twelve. It was the poetry of his lyrics. Now, as a woman, I dig the yoga enthusiast, tantric love-making, environmentally conscious package he represents (looks and voice included). And I still love the poetry of his lyrics.
The first time a man ever wrote a poem for me, it was P. from the rooftop bar in NYC. It was shortly after our meeting last year when we decided to have the affair. It was a beautiful piece. It still sends chills down my back to read such powerful words, spoken from the heart.
I spent the first month after my ex, G., learned about the affair, in silent despair. With the exception of my best friend, my sister, and my mother, I did not share what was happening in my life with anyone else. I did not know how to reach out. I convinced myself that things were not over. We tried couples counseling to sort through the pain. How do you tell the world the truth if there was a chance that you and your partner might be able to work through the mess? The Chinese way is not to "lose face." You lose face when you have failed at a task, when you have disappointed another, when you have done something to warrant shame and it is known by others. You do not want to show this face. Thousands of years ago, it was not unheard of to choose death over this fate.
Business colleagues asked about my ex casually. "Any vacation plans coming up?" "How are things going with his business?" I would bump into neighbors while taking out the trash. "How is G. doing? I haven't seen you guys around much." I changed the subject, gave vague answers. As long as everything seemed status quo, I had not "lost face."
I thought I could handle this privately. Isolation was my answer. Let me function in a vacuum and fix everything and then come back out into civilization when I could stand tall and be proud again. But it was killing me. And ultimately, I realized I was not functioning at all. I sobbed in front of my children, lost focus on work, stopped sleeping and eating.
In July of last year, after she learned about what happened, my best friend raced to my house and let me crumble in hysterics in her arms. But I couldn't bombard her a hundred times a day anymore with my tearful phone calls. With a very full life of her own, my emotional roller coaster, left unchecked, would suck the life force out of her.
By September, I decided to share the separation with one more friend, and then another. How terrifying to admit failure, to reveal the shame, to tell people that the father of your children hates you so much that he has enlisted legal assistance to systematically dismantle you?
And then how amazing to form stronger bonds with these friends, some who have been through a divorce with children themselves and then later come to terms with their own true sexuality, some that are currently married or have children and confess that they are in the midst of similar relationship challenges, and some that are in loving, healthy relationships, but still offer open arms and hearts to you.
In October, I scheduled a meeting with my children's preschool director so that their teachers and school staff were aware of the changes in our family dynamics. She provided her expert counsel on how to insure that my kids could better process the break-up. But it also became a heart-to-heart that I didn't even expect. I learned that she went through a divorce herself, with three small children to take care of. And now she is the owner of one of the most well regarded and highly successful private preschools in my major metro. And her children are grown and wonderfully well adjusted in spite of the divorce (her youngest actually works at the school and she is lovely). "Make sure you are good to yourself." she smiled warmly. "Have a glass of wine with friends. Go see a movie." And then she added, "You may not see this now, but you will come out a winner."
In December, I had lunch with a client while on a business trip. I had always admired her drive, her tenacity, and her sense of humor. We talked about a few business issues, and then she shared that her mother had passed recently. I was amazed at how open and honest she was as she recounted the feelings leading up to her mother's death. It wasn't an ideal relationship - the one she shared with her mother - but it was real and raw. And the most personal discussion I had ever had with her. I wanted to connect with her in that same way, and so I told my client my story. "You know I'm a single mom," she shared, "and I went through a messy divorce too. You're a wonderful mother and a good person. And good things happen to good people. You're going to be fine - hang in there."
Last weekend, a friend of mine came into town and I suggested that we take a drive to a nearby coastal beach. It is a near pristine walk and a short hike to the top of one of the most beautiful views. When you stand there and listen to how peaceful and quiet it is, and see how blue and calm the ocean can be from this vantage point, it actually feels like it's cleansing your soul. Afterwards, we took a drive back into town for a coffee. While waiting in line behind a mom and two small children (they were about the same age as mine) for the one female restroom, I couldn't help but comment on how gorgeous and animated her little boy and little girl were, delivered with the amusement and interest of one mom to another.
"Twins?" I asked. The mom nodded and smiled "They are both three and a half. We're heading to a birthday party. Do you have kids?"
This was a complete stranger. "Yes, " I confessed, " but they are with their father this weekend. I've got a four year old and a two year old."
"Divorced?" she asked, and I nodded. "Me too." She winked at me. "It is actually so much better this way. I used to think I had three kids to take care of. Now I'm doing great." And then she ushered the children into the restroom.
When it was my turn, she walked out and took my hand. "It was really nice talking with you. You know, you look like you're doing great too. "
I watched her head towards the parking lot with her tots in tow, and then she turned around and smiled at me. I gave her a big grin of thanks in return. I realized that I had not "lost face" by reaching out. Instead, I have gained strength. My thanks to all of you. I intend to pass it forward.
"Walked out this morning, don't believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone in being alone..."
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh...
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world...
I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle"
At twelve years old I fell in love with Gordon Sumner, front man for The Police and have continued the school girl crush for the solo artist, most notably known as Sting, into my adult years. Funny thing, it wasn't really his voice or his looks that translated into the sex appeal for me at twelve. It was the poetry of his lyrics. Now, as a woman, I dig the yoga enthusiast, tantric love-making, environmentally conscious package he represents (looks and voice included). And I still love the poetry of his lyrics.
The first time a man ever wrote a poem for me, it was P. from the rooftop bar in NYC. It was shortly after our meeting last year when we decided to have the affair. It was a beautiful piece. It still sends chills down my back to read such powerful words, spoken from the heart.
I spent the first month after my ex, G., learned about the affair, in silent despair. With the exception of my best friend, my sister, and my mother, I did not share what was happening in my life with anyone else. I did not know how to reach out. I convinced myself that things were not over. We tried couples counseling to sort through the pain. How do you tell the world the truth if there was a chance that you and your partner might be able to work through the mess? The Chinese way is not to "lose face." You lose face when you have failed at a task, when you have disappointed another, when you have done something to warrant shame and it is known by others. You do not want to show this face. Thousands of years ago, it was not unheard of to choose death over this fate.
Business colleagues asked about my ex casually. "Any vacation plans coming up?" "How are things going with his business?" I would bump into neighbors while taking out the trash. "How is G. doing? I haven't seen you guys around much." I changed the subject, gave vague answers. As long as everything seemed status quo, I had not "lost face."
I thought I could handle this privately. Isolation was my answer. Let me function in a vacuum and fix everything and then come back out into civilization when I could stand tall and be proud again. But it was killing me. And ultimately, I realized I was not functioning at all. I sobbed in front of my children, lost focus on work, stopped sleeping and eating.
In July of last year, after she learned about what happened, my best friend raced to my house and let me crumble in hysterics in her arms. But I couldn't bombard her a hundred times a day anymore with my tearful phone calls. With a very full life of her own, my emotional roller coaster, left unchecked, would suck the life force out of her.
By September, I decided to share the separation with one more friend, and then another. How terrifying to admit failure, to reveal the shame, to tell people that the father of your children hates you so much that he has enlisted legal assistance to systematically dismantle you?
And then how amazing to form stronger bonds with these friends, some who have been through a divorce with children themselves and then later come to terms with their own true sexuality, some that are currently married or have children and confess that they are in the midst of similar relationship challenges, and some that are in loving, healthy relationships, but still offer open arms and hearts to you.
In October, I scheduled a meeting with my children's preschool director so that their teachers and school staff were aware of the changes in our family dynamics. She provided her expert counsel on how to insure that my kids could better process the break-up. But it also became a heart-to-heart that I didn't even expect. I learned that she went through a divorce herself, with three small children to take care of. And now she is the owner of one of the most well regarded and highly successful private preschools in my major metro. And her children are grown and wonderfully well adjusted in spite of the divorce (her youngest actually works at the school and she is lovely). "Make sure you are good to yourself." she smiled warmly. "Have a glass of wine with friends. Go see a movie." And then she added, "You may not see this now, but you will come out a winner."
In December, I had lunch with a client while on a business trip. I had always admired her drive, her tenacity, and her sense of humor. We talked about a few business issues, and then she shared that her mother had passed recently. I was amazed at how open and honest she was as she recounted the feelings leading up to her mother's death. It wasn't an ideal relationship - the one she shared with her mother - but it was real and raw. And the most personal discussion I had ever had with her. I wanted to connect with her in that same way, and so I told my client my story. "You know I'm a single mom," she shared, "and I went through a messy divorce too. You're a wonderful mother and a good person. And good things happen to good people. You're going to be fine - hang in there."
Last weekend, a friend of mine came into town and I suggested that we take a drive to a nearby coastal beach. It is a near pristine walk and a short hike to the top of one of the most beautiful views. When you stand there and listen to how peaceful and quiet it is, and see how blue and calm the ocean can be from this vantage point, it actually feels like it's cleansing your soul. Afterwards, we took a drive back into town for a coffee. While waiting in line behind a mom and two small children (they were about the same age as mine) for the one female restroom, I couldn't help but comment on how gorgeous and animated her little boy and little girl were, delivered with the amusement and interest of one mom to another.
"Twins?" I asked. The mom nodded and smiled "They are both three and a half. We're heading to a birthday party. Do you have kids?"
This was a complete stranger. "Yes, " I confessed, " but they are with their father this weekend. I've got a four year old and a two year old."
"Divorced?" she asked, and I nodded. "Me too." She winked at me. "It is actually so much better this way. I used to think I had three kids to take care of. Now I'm doing great." And then she ushered the children into the restroom.
When it was my turn, she walked out and took my hand. "It was really nice talking with you. You know, you look like you're doing great too. "
I watched her head towards the parking lot with her tots in tow, and then she turned around and smiled at me. I gave her a big grin of thanks in return. I realized that I had not "lost face" by reaching out. Instead, I have gained strength. My thanks to all of you. I intend to pass it forward.
"Walked out this morning, don't believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone in being alone..."
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Affair: "You make your bed, you lay in it."
It's an expression my Chinese mother would always use as I was growing up: "You make your bed, you lay in it." Translation: your choices determine your consequences. It's also what my Chinese grandmother said to my mom in anger when she decided to marry a Caucasion man. One that turned out to be a womanizer and an alcoholic. So it has been no surprise that my mother has used this phrase often during my lifetime when she knew I was about to make what she felt was a poor decision.
How ironic that this has became the metaphor for the affair I had last year. I'm certainly laying in the bed I've made.
It amazes me how we are so quick to pass judgment on someone who has cheated. My ex informed me that it is the "worst of betrayals" and "you should have left first if you were so unhappy." I have been cheated on too during my adulthood - the pain is horrible. So you might naturally assume, once someone has cheated on you, that it is definitely something you could never put another person through. But people, we are human, and whether it is anger or loneliness, sadness or fear, addiction or boredom, or even falling in love with another person, can we all agree that IT HAPPENS often? I'm not saying it makes cheating right, but it certainly, from my perspective, doesn't make it wrong. Instead, it is a choice, and it comes with consequences. When my ex found out, he threatened to walk up and down our neighborhood block and inform our neighbors, as well as family and friends, that I was a homewrecker and a liar. When I told my best friend of his intentions, she chuckled and said "Your neighbors are going to hear the news, shrug their shoulders, and say to someone else at the dinner table 'Can you please pass the potaotes?'"
Trust me, things were pretty awful in my relationship with my ex for two years before the affair happened. I didn't just wake up one morning, look at my life, and think "Hmmm....I want to go screw somebody else." Somewhere between trying to create a home for two children and the responsibilities of both parents working full time, we lost track of each other. I watched other people become my ex's first emotional and financial priority - his business partner, his friends, and even his parents. And I was still in denial, waiting for the recognition that I was yearning for as the mother of his children, as a significant income producer, as a home-maker, care-taker, laundry washing, dinner cooking, social coordinating water-buffalo attached to a thankless yoke.
Desperate to make this relationship a success, we found ourselves in and out of couples counseling for several years. I remember being pregnant and/or nursing our second child and sitting in the therapist's office in tears. Things would get a bit better for a week after the session, and then he would gravitate towards the same behavior. And after a productive hour with our therapist, he would be armed with new information to attack me with during our next argument. "You're the one with the issues" he would say, "you're the one who needs help."
Our home was full of the latest and greatest in technological advancements - a showcase to my ex's other interests. I stare at an obnoxiously huge flat screen television hanging from gravity-defying mechanics on the center of the living room wall with such resentment. We've got all the gadgets - overpriced and just released to market. I happen to love books and the theater. A hike in the mountains with a picnic basket. A walk on the beach. After almost six years together, he still doesn't know who my favorite author or muscial artist is.
For his 35th birthday, I threw a huge dinner party on my dime for almost twenty of his closest buddies and our mutual friends. My ex was just launching a business and flat broke at the time, and I remember how his friends would talk about weekend dirt bike excursions, and how he couldn't justify spending the money on one for himself so that he could join them. The look on his face when the brand new dirt bike was wheeled into the restaurant was priceless. It brought me so much joy to arrange that day and that gift for him.
That was five years ago. Last year, for my 35th birthday, I got a digital picture frame and a pat on the back.
In an effort to insure that my 35th received a bit of the fanfare it deserved, my east coast girlfriends encouraged me to book a ticket and fly to New York for a fun weekend. They treated me to a wonderful night on the town in NYC, and that was when I met P. on a rooftop bar. We talked about our respective families, our children, our work. And he told me that my ex was a lucky guy, that I was very special. He told me that I was beautiful. And when we said goodnight, we shared one kiss. There was no exchange of numbers, no running to hotel rooms for one-night stands. The honest truth is that we said good-bye. And there was no communication until I received that phone call almost a month later when he managed to find a way to track me down.
It took a few months (actually five) when the affair finally happened. But the wheels were already set in motion when we met and when we reconnected.
When my ex learned about the affair, it was the catalyst to hasten a process that was already well underway. But that's when things got ugly. Because in the course of our relationship, I had also learned that he would never take responsibility for his actions. He could never say, "That was my fault. I was wrong." He couldn't even say "I take my share of blame." And because, from his perspective, he needed to place the blame on me, how better to justify his position than to make sure I was punished in some way? So he left, with no desire for reconciliation. And hence, the legal battle over money.
It worried me more when my mother learned about the affair. I waited for her to say in disappointment "You make your bed, you lay in it." And you know what happened? Instead, with tears in her eyes, she held both of my hands in hers. She said, "I never want to see you suffer the way I did with your father. I was not happy with him and I stayed in that marriage for too long. You deserve your happiness in this life. You deserve to be loved. You did a good thing. You did a good thing."
So yes, I am dealing with the consequences of my actions. But they are not all bad. I have a chance at happiness again, and I do deserve it.
How ironic that this has became the metaphor for the affair I had last year. I'm certainly laying in the bed I've made.
It amazes me how we are so quick to pass judgment on someone who has cheated. My ex informed me that it is the "worst of betrayals" and "you should have left first if you were so unhappy." I have been cheated on too during my adulthood - the pain is horrible. So you might naturally assume, once someone has cheated on you, that it is definitely something you could never put another person through. But people, we are human, and whether it is anger or loneliness, sadness or fear, addiction or boredom, or even falling in love with another person, can we all agree that IT HAPPENS often? I'm not saying it makes cheating right, but it certainly, from my perspective, doesn't make it wrong. Instead, it is a choice, and it comes with consequences. When my ex found out, he threatened to walk up and down our neighborhood block and inform our neighbors, as well as family and friends, that I was a homewrecker and a liar. When I told my best friend of his intentions, she chuckled and said "Your neighbors are going to hear the news, shrug their shoulders, and say to someone else at the dinner table 'Can you please pass the potaotes?'"
Trust me, things were pretty awful in my relationship with my ex for two years before the affair happened. I didn't just wake up one morning, look at my life, and think "Hmmm....I want to go screw somebody else." Somewhere between trying to create a home for two children and the responsibilities of both parents working full time, we lost track of each other. I watched other people become my ex's first emotional and financial priority - his business partner, his friends, and even his parents. And I was still in denial, waiting for the recognition that I was yearning for as the mother of his children, as a significant income producer, as a home-maker, care-taker, laundry washing, dinner cooking, social coordinating water-buffalo attached to a thankless yoke.
Desperate to make this relationship a success, we found ourselves in and out of couples counseling for several years. I remember being pregnant and/or nursing our second child and sitting in the therapist's office in tears. Things would get a bit better for a week after the session, and then he would gravitate towards the same behavior. And after a productive hour with our therapist, he would be armed with new information to attack me with during our next argument. "You're the one with the issues" he would say, "you're the one who needs help."
Our home was full of the latest and greatest in technological advancements - a showcase to my ex's other interests. I stare at an obnoxiously huge flat screen television hanging from gravity-defying mechanics on the center of the living room wall with such resentment. We've got all the gadgets - overpriced and just released to market. I happen to love books and the theater. A hike in the mountains with a picnic basket. A walk on the beach. After almost six years together, he still doesn't know who my favorite author or muscial artist is.
For his 35th birthday, I threw a huge dinner party on my dime for almost twenty of his closest buddies and our mutual friends. My ex was just launching a business and flat broke at the time, and I remember how his friends would talk about weekend dirt bike excursions, and how he couldn't justify spending the money on one for himself so that he could join them. The look on his face when the brand new dirt bike was wheeled into the restaurant was priceless. It brought me so much joy to arrange that day and that gift for him.
That was five years ago. Last year, for my 35th birthday, I got a digital picture frame and a pat on the back.
In an effort to insure that my 35th received a bit of the fanfare it deserved, my east coast girlfriends encouraged me to book a ticket and fly to New York for a fun weekend. They treated me to a wonderful night on the town in NYC, and that was when I met P. on a rooftop bar. We talked about our respective families, our children, our work. And he told me that my ex was a lucky guy, that I was very special. He told me that I was beautiful. And when we said goodnight, we shared one kiss. There was no exchange of numbers, no running to hotel rooms for one-night stands. The honest truth is that we said good-bye. And there was no communication until I received that phone call almost a month later when he managed to find a way to track me down.
It took a few months (actually five) when the affair finally happened. But the wheels were already set in motion when we met and when we reconnected.
When my ex learned about the affair, it was the catalyst to hasten a process that was already well underway. But that's when things got ugly. Because in the course of our relationship, I had also learned that he would never take responsibility for his actions. He could never say, "That was my fault. I was wrong." He couldn't even say "I take my share of blame." And because, from his perspective, he needed to place the blame on me, how better to justify his position than to make sure I was punished in some way? So he left, with no desire for reconciliation. And hence, the legal battle over money.
It worried me more when my mother learned about the affair. I waited for her to say in disappointment "You make your bed, you lay in it." And you know what happened? Instead, with tears in her eyes, she held both of my hands in hers. She said, "I never want to see you suffer the way I did with your father. I was not happy with him and I stayed in that marriage for too long. You deserve your happiness in this life. You deserve to be loved. You did a good thing. You did a good thing."
So yes, I am dealing with the consequences of my actions. But they are not all bad. I have a chance at happiness again, and I do deserve it.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The Custodial Plan
What a formal and almost benign phrase for "how to turn your children's world upside down." In my case, my ex didn't even bother to discuss this situation amicably. Instead, two weeks after he left, I was served with papers early in the morning, at my home, in front of my children, that stated I was being sued for 50% custody.
At first I was in denial. These are OUR children, for god's sake. He was there in the delivery room when each of them entered the world. We bathed and dressed them together. We changed their diapers together. Went grocery shopping as a family on weekends. Sat vigil in the hospital when our son needed surgery and when our daughter was in respiratory distress from bacterial pneumonia. Raced from work and attended every preschool tour as a couple. We were a united front in the care and welfare and the raising of our children since the day each of them were born. And now, he was using a legal hammer to crush that dynamic.
Although my heart was screaming for full custody of my kids, it wasn't a realistic option during this legal process to insist on a greater custodial share. Unless my ex was a drug dealer, child abuser, or a dead beat dad, the courts would protect his desired share requirements. Even if I could insist on a 60%/40% or 70%/30% time split in my favor, my income was too close to his to be able to sue for child support. This would translate into figuring out how to manage the additional expenses on my own. And with the demands of a full time sales job, the children would end up having more face-time with a nanny or sitter that I couldn't afford than with their father. And so we paid lawyers dearly to ink an arrangement that adds to the never-ending anxiety that I am unable to shake.
The children spend Mondays through Wednesdays with one parent, Wednesday evening through Saturday morning with the other parent, with weekends alternating between parents. Essentially the children are being shuttled back and forth every 2-3 days.
The schedule is tough. I can't help but wonder if this is causing unnecessary stress on these little minds and bodies. And to compensate, they get away with a bit more than they used to. I let them sleep in bed with me. I end up buying a few more toys or goodies than I really should.
I know that the boundaries and structure is what will help them feel secure. But how do I shake the overwhelming guilt? Friends with one school of thought say that a two year old and four year old will get used to this situation and are very resilient at this age. But I can't help but notice the extra "acting out" that has been happening these last few months and spending the first day of each chunk of time with my kids trying to undo behavior that didn't get the mommy seal of approval the last time it was displayed.
It's a struggle knowing that I have a limited amount of control over what happens with their father, and if he is maintaining boundaries and structure as well. We are forced to talk about topics that require communication (i.e. if the kids are sick), but since I'm involved in a bitter battle over money with my ex, I'm lucky if I can get a few one syllable words and grunts from this individual. No stories about new milestones that I'm missing or life's lessons that the children are learning, no tales of how these beautiful little people are growing or changing when I'm not with them. He has no interest in sharing any of it.
And of course, when you no longer have a say regarding your ex partner's personal life, you realize you have limited control over who comes in contact with your children. And it's a harsh reality to know that your ex may have a new girlfriend, someone that you pray will be a positive and loving influence. I have yet to meet a divorced couple that have been able to share a story about this truly happening.
Well, the law says he's got to contribute to medical expenses. He better choose wisely. Or I'll make sure he foots the bill for the therapy costs of my kids having to deal with a mean, jealous bitch.
At first I was in denial. These are OUR children, for god's sake. He was there in the delivery room when each of them entered the world. We bathed and dressed them together. We changed their diapers together. Went grocery shopping as a family on weekends. Sat vigil in the hospital when our son needed surgery and when our daughter was in respiratory distress from bacterial pneumonia. Raced from work and attended every preschool tour as a couple. We were a united front in the care and welfare and the raising of our children since the day each of them were born. And now, he was using a legal hammer to crush that dynamic.
Although my heart was screaming for full custody of my kids, it wasn't a realistic option during this legal process to insist on a greater custodial share. Unless my ex was a drug dealer, child abuser, or a dead beat dad, the courts would protect his desired share requirements. Even if I could insist on a 60%/40% or 70%/30% time split in my favor, my income was too close to his to be able to sue for child support. This would translate into figuring out how to manage the additional expenses on my own. And with the demands of a full time sales job, the children would end up having more face-time with a nanny or sitter that I couldn't afford than with their father. And so we paid lawyers dearly to ink an arrangement that adds to the never-ending anxiety that I am unable to shake.
The children spend Mondays through Wednesdays with one parent, Wednesday evening through Saturday morning with the other parent, with weekends alternating between parents. Essentially the children are being shuttled back and forth every 2-3 days.
The schedule is tough. I can't help but wonder if this is causing unnecessary stress on these little minds and bodies. And to compensate, they get away with a bit more than they used to. I let them sleep in bed with me. I end up buying a few more toys or goodies than I really should.
I know that the boundaries and structure is what will help them feel secure. But how do I shake the overwhelming guilt? Friends with one school of thought say that a two year old and four year old will get used to this situation and are very resilient at this age. But I can't help but notice the extra "acting out" that has been happening these last few months and spending the first day of each chunk of time with my kids trying to undo behavior that didn't get the mommy seal of approval the last time it was displayed.
It's a struggle knowing that I have a limited amount of control over what happens with their father, and if he is maintaining boundaries and structure as well. We are forced to talk about topics that require communication (i.e. if the kids are sick), but since I'm involved in a bitter battle over money with my ex, I'm lucky if I can get a few one syllable words and grunts from this individual. No stories about new milestones that I'm missing or life's lessons that the children are learning, no tales of how these beautiful little people are growing or changing when I'm not with them. He has no interest in sharing any of it.
And of course, when you no longer have a say regarding your ex partner's personal life, you realize you have limited control over who comes in contact with your children. And it's a harsh reality to know that your ex may have a new girlfriend, someone that you pray will be a positive and loving influence. I have yet to meet a divorced couple that have been able to share a story about this truly happening.
Well, the law says he's got to contribute to medical expenses. He better choose wisely. Or I'll make sure he foots the bill for the therapy costs of my kids having to deal with a mean, jealous bitch.
Monday, January 14, 2008
You really need some personal time
Let's just say that I am sick and tired of hearing that. The other day, I was on the phone with a well meaning business colleague that said that I needed to put on some lipstick, go out, and have a drink and a few laughs to help me feel better. This was while the phone was cradled between my ear and shoulder, my arms full of vomit covered towels and sheets during what must have been the tenth trip in the last twelve hours to my washer. While my two-year old was battling a stomach bug, and her four-year old brother was delivering a fabulous temper tantrum over being told that he would not be getting chocolate pudding for lunch, it was all I could do to keep up and not throw the phone in the toilet.
Lipstick? How about under-eye concealer in spackle strength? Right now, I look like someone has dragged me across the 405 Freeway face down. I need a complete overhaul before I can even begin to muster up the courage to venture out to a bar or restaurant and try to dress as if I'm back on the market. Because there's nothing better for the ego than to go out to a hip night spot in a major city dressed in the smelly sweats I've been sporting for the past 48 hours (covered in vomit). Let's not mention the roots (not the ethereal, Gwyneth Paltrow, fashionably darker roots that are beautifully complemented by the long golden blonde tresses that I read about in In Style magazine at the LAST hair appointment). These roots, that have suffered two missed appointments in the last month - cancelled because mommy duty calls- have evolved into the airport landing strip (this expression, borrowed from my lovely best friend), artistically delivered by the garish contrast of brown-black and premature gray that now covers about a third of my scalp. As my mom would say "NO so pretty. How come you don't try to get a permanent? Curly hair cover gray." With all due respect to my mother, I find that Asian women that sport salon-assisted curly hair should be placed in the same category as Asian women that think blonde is an attractive hair color option.
Sure I'd love to go out. For the last two months, I've been trying to hire a part-time sitter that will work on a consistently inconsistent schedule. Everyone who needs to pay rent and make a reliable wage is absolutely jumping through hoops to secure the some hours this week/no hours next week/maybe some hours the week after situation I can generously offer. That's the beauty of having a sales job that requires varied travel and coming up with a custodial share agreement with your ex that switches weekdays with the kids each week and alternates weekends. Let's not forget to mention what this is doing to the kids, but I will save that story for another time. And of course, I should also mention that I've got children that live in the "life is a petri-dish" age range and 'tis the season for for a viral circuit party. So on nights off, I've been staying in, taking care of sick little ones, regardless of who is supposed to have the kids. Because let's face it, when they are sick, who do they really want anyway?
Sure I'd love a drink. How about a swig of Pedialyte? And a few laughs? Someone call me when the lynch mob is finished with my ex.
Yeah...great suggestion regarding going out for a drink. I'll file that with "you need to get laid" and "you have to remember to take care of yourself" and "at the end of this, you're going to be ok." Because as much as you love the well-meaning family and friends that want to provide you with support and words of wisdom on how to feel better, sometimes just hearing someone say "This really sucks, I'm so sorry" does the trick. I promise that you don't have to rack your brains to come up with the appropriate comment.
Personal time is a wonderful idea to me. Kind of like winning the lottery right now. Keep dreaming. I'll save the dollar, since I really need it to pay the bills.
Lipstick? How about under-eye concealer in spackle strength? Right now, I look like someone has dragged me across the 405 Freeway face down. I need a complete overhaul before I can even begin to muster up the courage to venture out to a bar or restaurant and try to dress as if I'm back on the market. Because there's nothing better for the ego than to go out to a hip night spot in a major city dressed in the smelly sweats I've been sporting for the past 48 hours (covered in vomit). Let's not mention the roots (not the ethereal, Gwyneth Paltrow, fashionably darker roots that are beautifully complemented by the long golden blonde tresses that I read about in In Style magazine at the LAST hair appointment). These roots, that have suffered two missed appointments in the last month - cancelled because mommy duty calls- have evolved into the airport landing strip (this expression, borrowed from my lovely best friend), artistically delivered by the garish contrast of brown-black and premature gray that now covers about a third of my scalp. As my mom would say "NO so pretty. How come you don't try to get a permanent? Curly hair cover gray." With all due respect to my mother, I find that Asian women that sport salon-assisted curly hair should be placed in the same category as Asian women that think blonde is an attractive hair color option.
Sure I'd love to go out. For the last two months, I've been trying to hire a part-time sitter that will work on a consistently inconsistent schedule. Everyone who needs to pay rent and make a reliable wage is absolutely jumping through hoops to secure the some hours this week/no hours next week/maybe some hours the week after situation I can generously offer. That's the beauty of having a sales job that requires varied travel and coming up with a custodial share agreement with your ex that switches weekdays with the kids each week and alternates weekends. Let's not forget to mention what this is doing to the kids, but I will save that story for another time. And of course, I should also mention that I've got children that live in the "life is a petri-dish" age range and 'tis the season for for a viral circuit party. So on nights off, I've been staying in, taking care of sick little ones, regardless of who is supposed to have the kids. Because let's face it, when they are sick, who do they really want anyway?
Sure I'd love a drink. How about a swig of Pedialyte? And a few laughs? Someone call me when the lynch mob is finished with my ex.
Yeah...great suggestion regarding going out for a drink. I'll file that with "you need to get laid" and "you have to remember to take care of yourself" and "at the end of this, you're going to be ok." Because as much as you love the well-meaning family and friends that want to provide you with support and words of wisdom on how to feel better, sometimes just hearing someone say "This really sucks, I'm so sorry" does the trick. I promise that you don't have to rack your brains to come up with the appropriate comment.
Personal time is a wonderful idea to me. Kind of like winning the lottery right now. Keep dreaming. I'll save the dollar, since I really need it to pay the bills.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Forgive me for my trespasses...
New Year's Eve 2007 marked a turning point in my divorce. And divorce, in the very sense of the word, meaning the separation (or the physically gut-wrenching, heart ripping apart, emotional and mental roller coaster ride) from a relationship that was never formally legalized, but encompassed six years of my thirties, two beautiful children, a home full of memories, and truly - my heart and soul.
I had never spent a holiday season so pissed off in my life. My Chinese mother now refers to him as the "summa na bitch" and continues to advise me not to let the stress "eat me out." In the three months since the legal battle was initiated by my ex to start a methodical breakdown of my mental, emotional, and financial well-being, I had no choice but to throw away at least one year's worth of tuition at a private university for one child by today's standards. I am still in shock with this ugly, bitter, vicious man that has replaced the loving, giving, gentle person that I first fell in love with. If someone had bet me a million dollars six years ago that the father of my children would be attacking me this way, I would have doubled down and said they were smoking crack. I would have lost that bet big time. And with the help of several lawyers on both sides, I'm losing big right now.
I thought of the man that I met six years ago, who couldn't rub two nickels together while he decided to launch a business. I thought of the man whose passenger side door handle of his beat up old car that came off in my hands at the end of one of our very first dates, and how endearing this was to me when he gave me this goofy grin of embarassment. The same man that tripped on the walk home from a restaurant and almost threw both of us to the ground. I thought of the man that put me on a pedestal, that made me his number one priority, that showered me with love and affection and promises of what a future together would hold. This was the same man that I decided to have a child with when I learned I became pregnant by taking less precautions and taking more of a stake in the power of love.
This became the same man that I happily supported when my career was thriving, when I was making more money than I thought I ever could in my early thirties. I watched him build his business with pride and affection when I became pregnant with our second child, choosing not to recognize his conscious choices, small at first, to put others before me, to keep me separate from other parts of his life - his friends and his work, and then to watch in despair how numerous attempts to appeal to the man I fell love with would not or could not see me anymore, and instead, continued to let me down.
That was when I said yes to the affair.
I could not help thinking about all of the Christmases spent in this home, first with our newborn son, and soon after, our daughter with his extended family and friends. This year, I spent Christmas Day alone with my children and no matter how hard I tried, the pain and anger of it all sent me into a tailspin of depression. The icing on the cake was when I realized that I couldn't help my four year old put together the goddam Sponge Bob Lego Rocket. Whoever invented Legos is an evil person.
This New Year's Eve I decided to pray for the first time since G. left me in July. And it was not the Catholic upbringing palms pressed, rosary beads, on my knees begging God for something I thought I needed or wanted. It was a silent and peaceful request to forgive myself for my part in this process. And it was when I was brushing my teeth that evening, and looking in the bathroom mirror at the tired eyes that haven't stopped crying for months and the drawn face marked with stress and worry about the future, that is when I sent my prayer to God for the New Year. "Give me the ability to come to terms with the fact that I am alone, and give me the strength to take care of my children and a full time job and a house I don't know if I can afford anymore. Give me strength during this vicious legal battle. And God, please let me forgive myself too. I want to be happy." And for the first time that night, in almost six months, I slept like a baby while 2008 gently entered my life.
I had never spent a holiday season so pissed off in my life. My Chinese mother now refers to him as the "summa na bitch" and continues to advise me not to let the stress "eat me out." In the three months since the legal battle was initiated by my ex to start a methodical breakdown of my mental, emotional, and financial well-being, I had no choice but to throw away at least one year's worth of tuition at a private university for one child by today's standards. I am still in shock with this ugly, bitter, vicious man that has replaced the loving, giving, gentle person that I first fell in love with. If someone had bet me a million dollars six years ago that the father of my children would be attacking me this way, I would have doubled down and said they were smoking crack. I would have lost that bet big time. And with the help of several lawyers on both sides, I'm losing big right now.
I thought of the man that I met six years ago, who couldn't rub two nickels together while he decided to launch a business. I thought of the man whose passenger side door handle of his beat up old car that came off in my hands at the end of one of our very first dates, and how endearing this was to me when he gave me this goofy grin of embarassment. The same man that tripped on the walk home from a restaurant and almost threw both of us to the ground. I thought of the man that put me on a pedestal, that made me his number one priority, that showered me with love and affection and promises of what a future together would hold. This was the same man that I decided to have a child with when I learned I became pregnant by taking less precautions and taking more of a stake in the power of love.
This became the same man that I happily supported when my career was thriving, when I was making more money than I thought I ever could in my early thirties. I watched him build his business with pride and affection when I became pregnant with our second child, choosing not to recognize his conscious choices, small at first, to put others before me, to keep me separate from other parts of his life - his friends and his work, and then to watch in despair how numerous attempts to appeal to the man I fell love with would not or could not see me anymore, and instead, continued to let me down.
That was when I said yes to the affair.
I could not help thinking about all of the Christmases spent in this home, first with our newborn son, and soon after, our daughter with his extended family and friends. This year, I spent Christmas Day alone with my children and no matter how hard I tried, the pain and anger of it all sent me into a tailspin of depression. The icing on the cake was when I realized that I couldn't help my four year old put together the goddam Sponge Bob Lego Rocket. Whoever invented Legos is an evil person.
This New Year's Eve I decided to pray for the first time since G. left me in July. And it was not the Catholic upbringing palms pressed, rosary beads, on my knees begging God for something I thought I needed or wanted. It was a silent and peaceful request to forgive myself for my part in this process. And it was when I was brushing my teeth that evening, and looking in the bathroom mirror at the tired eyes that haven't stopped crying for months and the drawn face marked with stress and worry about the future, that is when I sent my prayer to God for the New Year. "Give me the ability to come to terms with the fact that I am alone, and give me the strength to take care of my children and a full time job and a house I don't know if I can afford anymore. Give me strength during this vicious legal battle. And God, please let me forgive myself too. I want to be happy." And for the first time that night, in almost six months, I slept like a baby while 2008 gently entered my life.
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