Proof the Universe Has a Sense of Humor

Dating: 2 years

Married: One month shy of 9 years

Time spent filling out paperwork: 12 hours

Time spent waiting in line at the (mandated) Family Legal Information Center: 6 hours

Time spent redoing paperwork after the FLIC worker pointed out all the errors and omissions: 4 hours

Time spent waiting in line at the FLIC a second time: 2 hours

Money spent on the (legally mandated) divorce (with minor children) paperwork packet, filing fees, Scotch, and Valium (only without the Scotch and Valium) : $300.00

Time spent in the (mandated) Divorcing Parents class: 4 hours

Money spent on the (mandated) Divorcing Parents class: $50.00 each

Time spent holding down a bench in the courtroom: 40 minutes

Time spent actually standing in front of the judge saying "Yes, sir." or "Nor, sir.": Less than 3 minutes.

Time spent filing final divorce decree: 2 minutes

Proof the Universe has a sense of humor when you climb into the van with your newly minted ex-husband for the ride home after filing the final divorce papers, turn the key, and hear the opening strains of Queen's Another One Bites the Dust: Priceless.

My Own Personal D-Day

September 2, 9:30 Am, Courtroom 3 - Divorce court.

I'm told it's like traffic court (wouldn't know, never been) and everyone slated for the docket that day waits their turn. We'll see. I'm bringing a book, because I think my usual origami pastime might not be appropriate.

Now for something not depressing:

Rook likes to nap against my leg. I like to let her.

Lingering Shades

Warning: It's long (even though I shortened it), gets personal, isn't always pretty, and may be offensive or a little grown up to some folks. Continue at your own risk.
~~~~~
I grew up without a father, for the most part.

Dad wasn't dead, or in a coma, or in hiding - I was one of the growing statistics, a child with divorced parents.

I distinctly remember realizing that the word "Dad" had a different meaning for other kids, kids with "intact" families, than it did for me. For me, it meant the occasional stranger who would show up for a few hours, maybe a few days, and hang out doing...not much. It was the word on the rare gift tag or birthday card.

Mum never bad-mouthed Dad, although she had a right to...he wasn't a bad man, but he didn't make a lot of effort toward his two kids, either. He still doesn't make contact very often...we usually talk when I call him, maybe see each other every few years. I love him dearly and wish our lives were more intertwined, but I accept that he is who he is and that's not going to change now.

I heard my Mum call Papa "Dad" and knew he was her father...but never wondered who my own father was, or why I didn't seem to have a "Dad" in my life. I think my grandfather sort of filled that roll, or at least was the predominant male roll model in my life when I was little...and Papa was awesome and I adored him, so that was OK. But he wasn't my father.

Last night, I attended the State mandated Seminar for Divorcing Parents.

I came away with a few thoughts.

One was "Whew...some of these poor folks are a train wreck."

Another was "We already do these positive things, and while we've engaged in a little of the negative behavior, we recognized what we were doing and stopped pretty dang quick."

Also "Hey, I have an idea for a children's book!"

And finally (although there were more, this is the last one I'll bore you with) "Oh...crap...that hurt...a lot."

What hurt? So glad you asked.

It was a simple enough question, asked by one of the seminar leaders.

It began when she asked for a show of hands of people who lost a parent during or after divorce. Me and another man raised our hands, but the other man wanted clarification - did she mean had a parent died? No...she meant a parent who just...went away.

Then she asked "When one parent withdraws from the relationship and disappears, what's the message they send to the child?"

I was the only person in the room who answered. "You have no value to me."

I have no idea where that came from.

Yes I do.

It came from the well of memory, from all those years as a child with only her Mum and a Dad who couldn't, for whatever reason, seem to call, write, or show her she had meaning to him.

The seminar leader was pleased - it was the answer she was looking for. Me? I was glad I was sitting in the back so I could pause for a few minutes and think about that.

All these years later, it still hurts.

And it's something that echoes in who I am today.

At my heart, in the Center, down deep where the Shades rustle restlessly to remind me they are there, they are waiting for their chance to rise if only I will give them the tiniest of openings...at my heart, then, I still believe I have no value.

I have no meaning,

I am worthless.

My father didn't even want me...how can I expect anyone else would?

The seminar leader was explaining that these feelings tend to come to a head when the child reaches their twenties, no matter when the divorce took place in their youth.

I can see that.

I have never believed any man would want me...and I've had plenty of rejection to enforce that idea.

In my middle twenties, I met the first man who ever asked me out, ever wanted to date. I married him in my late twenties. I thought I loved him. I thought he loved me. I thought no one else was ever going to want me, that this was my only chance at happiness. I thought I could fake it until I felt it.

I was wrong about one or two of those things.

I am divorcing him in my late thirties, having realized that he may have loved me, and maybe he was the only one who would ever want me, but these are not the foundation for a marriage. I am full of anger from years of swallowing all the things that were "wrong" in this relationship, because I didn't want my son to be without a Daddy, didn't want him to suffer a change in the life he knows, just because I'm deeply unhappy. My happiness doesn't matter. What right do I have?? And yet...this is not what I want my son to see as a model for love, marriage, or life in general.

The seminar leader pointed out that people who "lost" a parent in divorce were more likely to fight like Hell to keep their own child's non-custodial parent in the picture.

Yep.

I will.

It doesn't matter, now, that we had no business getting married - if we did nothing else in this marriage, we made our son, and he's amazing and worth every moment of...whatever.

I will make certain that the Evil Genius never has that particular Shade lingering in his emotional closet, waiting to haunt him - he will always know his Daddy loves him, wants him, and values him.

Stop! Vader Time

I think I'll let the video speak for itself.



Is that not awesome??

Reminds me of DragonCon...all those nice Storm Troopers...and my mad desire to chase after them with a giant nut-cracker and help them out of their suits...

In other news, T and I are taking the Seminar for Divorcing Parents this evening. The seminar is mandated by the courts, even if the divorce is amicable. It's also fifty dollars per person, which seems a bit unfair to me - if you're going to mandate a course, it shouldn't cost a fee, or at least it shouldn't cost that much.

Ah, well - it's because so many people us the children as pawns...which is just wrong...

I imagine we'll be an oddity - the divorcing couple attending the class together.

This is the last thing we need to do before the court date...less than a month from now.

Wish us luck...or something...

Three Hours Later

I picked up the van this morning, and wow...what a difference a new compressor makes - suddenly, the A/C blows cold air! Imagine!

I owe Mum a huge thanks - she funded the fix, else I would be forlornly riding with bottles of frozen water (yes, that would be ice) in my armpits and between my getaway sticks - that's how I survived the summers in Clementine (first car, Chevy Malibu Classic with 305 v8, arrr, arrr, arrrrghhhh), who had no A/C and only two windows that opened. I loved that car... But it's not how I care to make my way along these days.

I buzzed home, got the roast started for tonight's dinner, loaded T and the Evil Genius into the now delightfully arctic van, and headed for the courthouse.

We hurried up and waited.

Bird played with the toys available outside the Family Legal Information Center (FLIC, for short). I remembered to bring some Origami paper in with me and made flowers and cranes that flap their wings, and T held down a rowdy bench so others waiting in line could sit as well. Bird appointed himself entertainment director and began racing cars along the carpet for our amusement, announcing the races as he went.

Finally, after watching others come and go, meeting an engaging toddler who played with Bird for a bit, and wondering if maybe I should have packed a picnic, or at least a pillow, we were brought into the tiny office, shown what to change, correct, or initial, and permitted to sign at the bottom, thankyouverymuch.

It wasn't over, though. Nope. Just the beginning. We then had to cart the papers to the Clerk of Court, three copies (I think I herniated something carrying it all), for a case number, then collect a Rule Nisi (and, lovely people in the clerk's office, it's pronounced Neesee, not Nighsigh, unless my Latin diction professor lied), go back up to the FLIC floor where the judges reside, collect a court date on the Rule Nisi, than back down to the clerk's office to file the Rule Nisi with the rest of the papers...

Whew.

Up, down, up, down...seems about right...

After three hours, though, the end is in sight...we have only to take a class (and that's a topic for another day) and show up at our hearing, and the divorce will be final.

We left the courthouse feeling like yo-yos suddenly without strings.

So...twelve hours or so of paperwork, several courthouse walking marathons, a four hour class, and a few hours in court...and more than eight years is undone.

Hardly seems adequate, does it?