Those were the words at the top of the car. Valentine's Day 2005.
Daniel was 18-months-old, and the man I married (I think I will use that label until I can start officially using "ex") was so very worried about our son's communication struggles.
I was a bit worried, too, but my baby was happy and healthy -- and, oh, so very loving. And I have always had a "glass is half full" kind of attitude anyway.
Back to the card.
It has one of the sappy sweet messages on the front. And I don't usually go for those types of cards, but this one appealed to me.
I felt so very certain the day we said "I do"
That I was just as much in love as I could be with you.
But all our days together, our plans, our dreams, our fun,
The little ups and downs we've had and sweet things that you've done,
Have made me see that my love then was really just a start ...
Of the deeper love I feel for you
today within my heart.
Inside I wrote the following message:
D,
You are a wonderful husband and father. I wish you weren't so worried about (our son), but I know it is only because you love him so much. And I know you're worried about taking the best possible care of your family. For that, and for thousands of other reasons,
I love you.
L
Last week at our mediation, the man I married proposed giving me the minimum amount of statutory support under the Texas guidelines ($1,875 per month for both kids). He also proposed paying for HALF of our non-verbal six-year-old son's therapy and HALF of our children's medical bills.
Let me remind you that the man I married voluntarily moved six hours away from his children. And he is physician, so you can imagine the salary.
Today I am handing over the massive CD collection he requested in our mediation. You see, he can live without the family, but NOT without his music.
Along with those CDs will be the card.
PS: We have not reached a final agreement with regard to child support. My hope is that we do so next week. Send prayers, thoughts and energy my way.
November 29, 2009
November 23, 2009
True Worth
So, dear readers, a question for you:
What does a garden hose, a green Lay-Z-Boy recliner, a porch swing, and my children's baby blankets have in common?
Are you stumped?
They are all things that my "husband" thinks are worthy of valuation by a mediator/judge so that he can lower the amount of money I receive in child support and estate distribution.
Well, sure. The garden hose, after all, must be worth at least a few dollars, right? Well, maybe not -- given that it LEAKS.
The Lay-Z-Boy is more than 13 years old. It smells like my dog. And it has a hole in the fabric. So, even the good folks at the Salvation Army would say, "Thanks, but no thanks."
The porch swing is an exception. It is, indeed, quite valuable. It is beautiful. And it was hand-crafted. BY MY FATHER.
And how do you put a value on your children's baby blankets? Some of them were knitted by my mom and by dear friends. And the rest were purchased by dear friends, including my wonderful Aunt Mary, who passed away this year, and who would be so saddenend to know what my children and I are experiencing.
How does one put a value on the things that pile up as we travel through life? Some of them, like the garden hose, we never even think about. (Unless we are trying to keep every single penny to ourselves and out of the hands of our children, the same beautiful, young children we decided to move 6 hours away from in our quest to start a new life).
Others, like our children's baby blankets, are pure treasures. They are valued not for their monetary worth but because they remind us of the pure innocence of our children, of the bliss we felt as they fell asleep in our arms.
So, as my "husband" (I've got to think of a better label for him) filled out the list of "tangible items in possession of his wife" for purposes of marital estate distribution, what in the world was he thinking?
I do not know.
But I know this: his list of tanglible assets tells me much more about the value he placed on his marriage and his family than it does about the value of the junk sitting around my house.
In comparison, how does one put a value on those who grieve with you as the marriage you once thought so special crumbles to pieces?
How does one put a value on the mother who takes your daughter to school and your son to speech therapy while you attend a mediation with the man you once thought would be here foerver. The same mom who vacuums your house and reads bedtime stories to your daughter while you prepare notes for that mediation.
How does one put a value on the friend who stands by your side while your "husband" picks up the kids from the local bouncey-house venue? She knows that he hasn't seen his children in over two weeks, and only twice in over a month, because she has asked. She knows that he has inquired about them only once in the past two weeks, that he has accepted a job in another state, that he has left me to deal with every emergency, with every problem, on my own. She stands there, silent and stoic. And she walks with me, stride-for-stride, as my "husband" follows me out to the parking lot with the kids. All so he can play "Daddy" for a few hours before fighting me about money and then returning to his new life.
It is as if she is standing there, holding me up, saying to him, "Go ahead, just say something to make her mad. And see what I will do."
How does one put a value on the friend who calls you every day, sometimes even more than once a day, just to see how you are doing? The friend who brings you a bottle of wine, cake, and donut holes the night before your dreaded mediation.
She knows. She knows how much I grieve the loss of this marriage. She knows how hard I have tried, for the sake of my children, to bring their father back to planet Earth. Would I have lost my mind without her? Quite possibly. Will I love her forever? Would I accept her own children as my own? Without a doubt.
As I try to mentally prepare for the day that awaits me tomorrow, for the battle with a man I no longer know about money and child visitation, I will try to remind myself of the immeasurable value of the many treasures in my life.
Value of the garden hose, the smelly furniture, the leaf blower and the dining room table:
Who knows?
The friends who hold me up, the parents who tell me not to worry, the son and daughter who throw their arms around me each and every day:
PRICELESS.
What does a garden hose, a green Lay-Z-Boy recliner, a porch swing, and my children's baby blankets have in common?
Are you stumped?
They are all things that my "husband" thinks are worthy of valuation by a mediator/judge so that he can lower the amount of money I receive in child support and estate distribution.
Well, sure. The garden hose, after all, must be worth at least a few dollars, right? Well, maybe not -- given that it LEAKS.
The Lay-Z-Boy is more than 13 years old. It smells like my dog. And it has a hole in the fabric. So, even the good folks at the Salvation Army would say, "Thanks, but no thanks."
The porch swing is an exception. It is, indeed, quite valuable. It is beautiful. And it was hand-crafted. BY MY FATHER.
And how do you put a value on your children's baby blankets? Some of them were knitted by my mom and by dear friends. And the rest were purchased by dear friends, including my wonderful Aunt Mary, who passed away this year, and who would be so saddenend to know what my children and I are experiencing.
How does one put a value on the things that pile up as we travel through life? Some of them, like the garden hose, we never even think about. (Unless we are trying to keep every single penny to ourselves and out of the hands of our children, the same beautiful, young children we decided to move 6 hours away from in our quest to start a new life).
Others, like our children's baby blankets, are pure treasures. They are valued not for their monetary worth but because they remind us of the pure innocence of our children, of the bliss we felt as they fell asleep in our arms.
So, as my "husband" (I've got to think of a better label for him) filled out the list of "tangible items in possession of his wife" for purposes of marital estate distribution, what in the world was he thinking?
I do not know.
But I know this: his list of tanglible assets tells me much more about the value he placed on his marriage and his family than it does about the value of the junk sitting around my house.
In comparison, how does one put a value on those who grieve with you as the marriage you once thought so special crumbles to pieces?
How does one put a value on the mother who takes your daughter to school and your son to speech therapy while you attend a mediation with the man you once thought would be here foerver. The same mom who vacuums your house and reads bedtime stories to your daughter while you prepare notes for that mediation.
How does one put a value on the friend who stands by your side while your "husband" picks up the kids from the local bouncey-house venue? She knows that he hasn't seen his children in over two weeks, and only twice in over a month, because she has asked. She knows that he has inquired about them only once in the past two weeks, that he has accepted a job in another state, that he has left me to deal with every emergency, with every problem, on my own. She stands there, silent and stoic. And she walks with me, stride-for-stride, as my "husband" follows me out to the parking lot with the kids. All so he can play "Daddy" for a few hours before fighting me about money and then returning to his new life.
It is as if she is standing there, holding me up, saying to him, "Go ahead, just say something to make her mad. And see what I will do."
How does one put a value on the friend who calls you every day, sometimes even more than once a day, just to see how you are doing? The friend who brings you a bottle of wine, cake, and donut holes the night before your dreaded mediation.
She knows. She knows how much I grieve the loss of this marriage. She knows how hard I have tried, for the sake of my children, to bring their father back to planet Earth. Would I have lost my mind without her? Quite possibly. Will I love her forever? Would I accept her own children as my own? Without a doubt.
As I try to mentally prepare for the day that awaits me tomorrow, for the battle with a man I no longer know about money and child visitation, I will try to remind myself of the immeasurable value of the many treasures in my life.
Value of the garden hose, the smelly furniture, the leaf blower and the dining room table:
Who knows?
The friends who hold me up, the parents who tell me not to worry, the son and daughter who throw their arms around me each and every day:
PRICELESS.
November 21, 2009
A Killer in Our Midst, and "Her" Name is Lovey
I have become a much more self-sufficient gal since my husband left me.
Not that I ever was a needy, clingy type.
But there certainly were things I counted on my "husband" to take care of. Not a lot. His work schedule never would have permitted me to rely on him for too much.
But there were things I just never took an interest in. Money was one. I never spend much money. I've never cared for shopping. I've had my nails done once in my entire life, and that manicure was a gift from my mom. I am just not a spender. And my husband, until recently, had always worked hard and, as a result, we were able to save well beyond most people our age. So I never gave money much thought.
Big mistake.
After he left, I quickly educated myself on the money -- where it was and how much of it was there. I have no doubt I will be learning a lot more about finances in the near future.
I also never took much of an interest in technology. I love taking pictures but never really cared how you use the do-hickey in the camera to download the pictures on the computer. I just handed it to my husband.
How ridiculous. It is as simple as pie. Of course, I don't bake pies, so maybe that is not a good analogy. But I am learning that a lot of things I once asked that man to do are actually very, very simple.
I also am learning that screw drivers are not my enemy. So the light bulb inside the Sony television goes out? No problem. Get out your screw driver, remove the entire front panel from the television set, find the little box that contains the bulb, use another screw driver to remove that, open it up and replace the bulb. A walk in the park.
This summer, I plan to mow my own yard.
BUT there is at least ONE scenario that keeps recurring at my home that makes me realize my own limitations as, well, a weenie.
Dead things keep appearing at my door. And in my driveway. And scattered throughout my garage.
Lizards, mice, and snakes.
Oh my.
They are bloody and battered. Ick. And I absolutely get the heebies-jeebies when I have to, uhm, dispose of them.
Yesterday morning I had enough. I had to get both kids off to school and then drive out to my attorney's office for a meeting to discuss the mediation scheduled for next week.
(You see, the father of my children is fighting me about money because, after moving 6 hours away from his kids, he wants to be sure that he has plenty of money to do --well, I don't know what. I just know he has told me that he doesn't see any reason to split up our estate in any way other than 50/50. Even though he will go back to making a doctor's salary and will be a "parent" whenever it is convenient to him. And I will be taking care of our children every day and trying to coordinate therapy for our disabled son. Go figure. But I digress.)
Yesterday there also was a dead mouse in the garage. A BIG one. Bloody, icky, with a giant long tail.
It was too much.
So I went next door, with a towel still wrapped around my wet hair, and rang my neighbor's bell. The dad in that house -- a real dad if there ever was one -- had told my father that I could call on him for help anytime.
So I did.
And he came right over and got that mouse. What a guy. I told him that if someone put a gun to my head, I could surely get it myself.
And he said: But why should you have to? Let me say it again: what a guy.
As icky as all of those dead things are -- and as sad as I feel for them given the circumstances of their demise -- I have to laugh at their appearance. As any cat owner will tell you, they are meant as a gift. The little cat I rescued from the side of the rural road near my parent's house last July -- starving and covered in fleas -- is just trying to show appreciation.
You're welcome, Lovey.
Yes, the killer's name is Lovey. Lovey was named by my daughter, who has told everyone, and believes with all her heart, that Lovey is a girl cat. Even though "she" is really a boy. Lovey even has a dainty purple collar.
Hmmmm. Maybe those dead things aren't really presents after all.
Not that I ever was a needy, clingy type.
But there certainly were things I counted on my "husband" to take care of. Not a lot. His work schedule never would have permitted me to rely on him for too much.
But there were things I just never took an interest in. Money was one. I never spend much money. I've never cared for shopping. I've had my nails done once in my entire life, and that manicure was a gift from my mom. I am just not a spender. And my husband, until recently, had always worked hard and, as a result, we were able to save well beyond most people our age. So I never gave money much thought.
Big mistake.
After he left, I quickly educated myself on the money -- where it was and how much of it was there. I have no doubt I will be learning a lot more about finances in the near future.
I also never took much of an interest in technology. I love taking pictures but never really cared how you use the do-hickey in the camera to download the pictures on the computer. I just handed it to my husband.
How ridiculous. It is as simple as pie. Of course, I don't bake pies, so maybe that is not a good analogy. But I am learning that a lot of things I once asked that man to do are actually very, very simple.
I also am learning that screw drivers are not my enemy. So the light bulb inside the Sony television goes out? No problem. Get out your screw driver, remove the entire front panel from the television set, find the little box that contains the bulb, use another screw driver to remove that, open it up and replace the bulb. A walk in the park.
This summer, I plan to mow my own yard.
BUT there is at least ONE scenario that keeps recurring at my home that makes me realize my own limitations as, well, a weenie.
Dead things keep appearing at my door. And in my driveway. And scattered throughout my garage.
Lizards, mice, and snakes.
Oh my.
They are bloody and battered. Ick. And I absolutely get the heebies-jeebies when I have to, uhm, dispose of them.
Yesterday morning I had enough. I had to get both kids off to school and then drive out to my attorney's office for a meeting to discuss the mediation scheduled for next week.
(You see, the father of my children is fighting me about money because, after moving 6 hours away from his kids, he wants to be sure that he has plenty of money to do --well, I don't know what. I just know he has told me that he doesn't see any reason to split up our estate in any way other than 50/50. Even though he will go back to making a doctor's salary and will be a "parent" whenever it is convenient to him. And I will be taking care of our children every day and trying to coordinate therapy for our disabled son. Go figure. But I digress.)
Yesterday there also was a dead mouse in the garage. A BIG one. Bloody, icky, with a giant long tail.
It was too much.
So I went next door, with a towel still wrapped around my wet hair, and rang my neighbor's bell. The dad in that house -- a real dad if there ever was one -- had told my father that I could call on him for help anytime.
So I did.
And he came right over and got that mouse. What a guy. I told him that if someone put a gun to my head, I could surely get it myself.
And he said: But why should you have to? Let me say it again: what a guy.
As icky as all of those dead things are -- and as sad as I feel for them given the circumstances of their demise -- I have to laugh at their appearance. As any cat owner will tell you, they are meant as a gift. The little cat I rescued from the side of the rural road near my parent's house last July -- starving and covered in fleas -- is just trying to show appreciation.
You're welcome, Lovey.
Yes, the killer's name is Lovey. Lovey was named by my daughter, who has told everyone, and believes with all her heart, that Lovey is a girl cat. Even though "she" is really a boy. Lovey even has a dainty purple collar.
Hmmmm. Maybe those dead things aren't really presents after all.
November 17, 2009
November 15, 2009
Walking with Friends
Yesterday, my kids and I participated in our first Walk for Autism event. We walked as part of a team organized by a dear friend.
The walk was only one mile, but I learned that walking a mile with a four-year-old and six-year-old can take a while. My daughter complained about aches in multiple parts of her body: ankles, feet, knees and legs. She even told me she was starting to get a headache and that she needed to take a nap. THAT from a child who hasn't napped in at least two years.
But I was so glad I went.
The friends on our team all wanted to know how I am doing. They wanted to know about my children.
They told me how much they have been praying for me since learning that my children's father had left.
One of Daniel's former teachers and her boyfriend -- a man I had never before met -- walked right beside me and the kids. They helped me keep my son, who was very excited by the whole event, from straying too far and from leaping into the nearby pond (and, oh, how he wanted to jump right in!). They even carried my children. This man whom I had never even met put my children on his shoulders. He laughed at Daniel's, uhm, enthusiasm. He spoke in calm, quiet words to them both and walked hand-in-hand with my son on multiple occasions.
I saw so many groups of people walking in matching shirts -- all of them supporting a child who has been affected by autism. They wore shirts with slogans like: Kennedy's Kool Krewe or Henry's Helpers.
I saw brothers and sisters walking hand-in-hand with a sibling affected by autism.
It was a a beautiful sight.
But as I walked, I also envisioned what my children's father was probably doing at that exact same moment. You see, yesterday was his day to return to his "old new" job. The job he had when both of our kids were born. The one he left so that he could join his family in Texas, where we moved so that our son could attend a special school for children with autism. He hated his job here in Texas, and he had plenty of reasons. He was able to get out of his Texas contract after a year, and I was so glad at the time because I knew how miserable it made him.
I knew he hated his job here. I knew he was depressed and not dealing well with the stress and anxiety that comes from dealing with a special needs child. I knew he was in a bit of trouble.
But I really never expected him to go back to his former job, not when it would mean leaving his family. Not when it would mean leaving our wonderful children.
I never expected him to leave me.
I never expected him to go some 6 hours away from his children.
It is not as if there aren't any number of jobs he could have taken in our area.
I am dumbfounded.
So, as I walked yesterday with old friends and new, with strangers who smiled at my children because they know -- they know what it means to truly love a child with autism -- I thought of how thankful I was to know so many people who will help at a moment's notice.
And I grieved. With each step I thought about how hard it will be to raise these two children -- to give my son the help he needs and to give my daughter the attention she deserves -- when their father, the man who SHOULD he here as my partner -- has put a job in front of his family.
I am not walking entirely alone. My parents, God bless them, are devoted to me and my kids. I have some wonderful friends.
But I always had thought that I would be walking hand-in-hand with a man I have loved since I was just 18 years old.
A man who yesterday drove 350 miles in the opposite direction.
The walk was only one mile, but I learned that walking a mile with a four-year-old and six-year-old can take a while. My daughter complained about aches in multiple parts of her body: ankles, feet, knees and legs. She even told me she was starting to get a headache and that she needed to take a nap. THAT from a child who hasn't napped in at least two years.
But I was so glad I went.
The friends on our team all wanted to know how I am doing. They wanted to know about my children.
They told me how much they have been praying for me since learning that my children's father had left.
One of Daniel's former teachers and her boyfriend -- a man I had never before met -- walked right beside me and the kids. They helped me keep my son, who was very excited by the whole event, from straying too far and from leaping into the nearby pond (and, oh, how he wanted to jump right in!). They even carried my children. This man whom I had never even met put my children on his shoulders. He laughed at Daniel's, uhm, enthusiasm. He spoke in calm, quiet words to them both and walked hand-in-hand with my son on multiple occasions.
I saw so many groups of people walking in matching shirts -- all of them supporting a child who has been affected by autism. They wore shirts with slogans like: Kennedy's Kool Krewe or Henry's Helpers.
I saw brothers and sisters walking hand-in-hand with a sibling affected by autism.
It was a a beautiful sight.
But as I walked, I also envisioned what my children's father was probably doing at that exact same moment. You see, yesterday was his day to return to his "old new" job. The job he had when both of our kids were born. The one he left so that he could join his family in Texas, where we moved so that our son could attend a special school for children with autism. He hated his job here in Texas, and he had plenty of reasons. He was able to get out of his Texas contract after a year, and I was so glad at the time because I knew how miserable it made him.
I knew he hated his job here. I knew he was depressed and not dealing well with the stress and anxiety that comes from dealing with a special needs child. I knew he was in a bit of trouble.
But I really never expected him to go back to his former job, not when it would mean leaving his family. Not when it would mean leaving our wonderful children.
I never expected him to leave me.
I never expected him to go some 6 hours away from his children.
It is not as if there aren't any number of jobs he could have taken in our area.
I am dumbfounded.
So, as I walked yesterday with old friends and new, with strangers who smiled at my children because they know -- they know what it means to truly love a child with autism -- I thought of how thankful I was to know so many people who will help at a moment's notice.
And I grieved. With each step I thought about how hard it will be to raise these two children -- to give my son the help he needs and to give my daughter the attention she deserves -- when their father, the man who SHOULD he here as my partner -- has put a job in front of his family.
I am not walking entirely alone. My parents, God bless them, are devoted to me and my kids. I have some wonderful friends.
But I always had thought that I would be walking hand-in-hand with a man I have loved since I was just 18 years old.
A man who yesterday drove 350 miles in the opposite direction.
November 13, 2009
Words to Make Me Smile
While driving my darling four-year-old daughter to school this morning, I heard her say,
"Mommy, if you were a cookie, I would eat you."
Not sure where that came from, but it sure brought a smile to my sleep-deprived face.
Oh, thank God for my daughter.
"Mommy, if you were a cookie, I would eat you."
Not sure where that came from, but it sure brought a smile to my sleep-deprived face.
Oh, thank God for my daughter.
November 9, 2009
The Unending Question
Here is the question of the day, and the question for the rest of my life:
How does a man walk out on his wife of 12 years and two beautiful children?
Not just ANY man, but a man who shed tears at his wedding and at the birth of his children? A man with tremendous intellect, who has thrived in a challenging career field? A man who once danced around in his underwear to make me laugh? A man who took bubble baths with his little children?
How does THAT man become THIS man: the man who calls up his wife as she is picking up her children from school and tells her he is getting a hotel and doesn't know if he is ever coming back. The man who then comes home, grabs some bags and walks out while those little children are in the bathtub and their mother is sobbing hysterically.
Did he even think of how I would get them to bed that night?
Did he even care?
How does that man spend his nights in a hotel while his son turns six and his daughter turns four?
How does that man, who has earned so much money as the result of his intellect and hard work, complain about the money he is spending on "worthless therapy" for a son who has "accomplished nothing"? How does ANY man speak such words about a beautiful boy who struggles greatly, but loves even harder -- a boy who adores his father, or at least once did, when he considered THAT man a permanent fixture in his life.
How does that man accept his wife's help in getting an early release from his contract and then walk out just weeks later? Yep, he gladly accepted the letter I wrote for him to give to his employer -- the employer he detested. He used it verbatim. And it worked -- he got out of his contract an entire year early without penalty.
How did he thank me for the help? How did he thank me for all the weekends I spent taking care of our children by myself while he worked? For the many WEEKS I spent taking care of them without him while we lived separately -- all so our son could attend a special school for kids with autism?
How did he thank me for giving up my career when it became apparent our son was going to need a fulltime parent?
Well, he left. Walked right out the door with a couple of bags and hangers full of clothes. Oh, and I shouldn't forget how he called me "pathetic" when I dropped to my knees and asked him to think of his children.
And, to top it off, after being unemployed for almost two months, he just signed a contract with his former employer, without even telling me. I learned from a third party. And so now he is making plans to move six hours away from his children.
Those same children he shed tears for at their birth ......
These are the questions that wake me up in the middle of the night and make sleep impossible.
And as impossible as sleep seems to be for me at the moment, I know one thing with certainty: the answers truly will be impossible. They will never come.
How does a man walk out on his wife of 12 years and two beautiful children?
Not just ANY man, but a man who shed tears at his wedding and at the birth of his children? A man with tremendous intellect, who has thrived in a challenging career field? A man who once danced around in his underwear to make me laugh? A man who took bubble baths with his little children?
How does THAT man become THIS man: the man who calls up his wife as she is picking up her children from school and tells her he is getting a hotel and doesn't know if he is ever coming back. The man who then comes home, grabs some bags and walks out while those little children are in the bathtub and their mother is sobbing hysterically.
Did he even think of how I would get them to bed that night?
Did he even care?
How does that man spend his nights in a hotel while his son turns six and his daughter turns four?
How does that man, who has earned so much money as the result of his intellect and hard work, complain about the money he is spending on "worthless therapy" for a son who has "accomplished nothing"? How does ANY man speak such words about a beautiful boy who struggles greatly, but loves even harder -- a boy who adores his father, or at least once did, when he considered THAT man a permanent fixture in his life.
How does that man accept his wife's help in getting an early release from his contract and then walk out just weeks later? Yep, he gladly accepted the letter I wrote for him to give to his employer -- the employer he detested. He used it verbatim. And it worked -- he got out of his contract an entire year early without penalty.
How did he thank me for the help? How did he thank me for all the weekends I spent taking care of our children by myself while he worked? For the many WEEKS I spent taking care of them without him while we lived separately -- all so our son could attend a special school for kids with autism?
How did he thank me for giving up my career when it became apparent our son was going to need a fulltime parent?
Well, he left. Walked right out the door with a couple of bags and hangers full of clothes. Oh, and I shouldn't forget how he called me "pathetic" when I dropped to my knees and asked him to think of his children.
And, to top it off, after being unemployed for almost two months, he just signed a contract with his former employer, without even telling me. I learned from a third party. And so now he is making plans to move six hours away from his children.
Those same children he shed tears for at their birth ......
These are the questions that wake me up in the middle of the night and make sleep impossible.
And as impossible as sleep seems to be for me at the moment, I know one thing with certainty: the answers truly will be impossible. They will never come.
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