My sister had the school, the castle and a farm set. The farmer and the tractor still exist, but poor Biscuit has had the bun.
I'm now almost entirely moved from the "old house" to the "new house". Where will the drop be? The switcheroo, the transfer, the relinquishing or reassuming of parenting duties - I'm not yet sure what we're calling it.
When my son was an infant there were two recurring fantasies I occasionally indulged in: the first was that I would have an accident - just a little accident - just a night or two in hospital, to rest. Someone taking care of me.
The second - and more frequent - was that my husband would leave me. Not that I wanted him to - not at all, not even a bit - but I knew that way I'd at least get a break. But I wasn't complaining - I knew he was doing his best and overall he was an excellent husband: beyond-smart, kooky and loyal. He took good care of us in his own above average way, and I was proud to call him my husband. The fantasy always concluded with us back together again, anyway, so I figured it was harmless.
I truly believed, and still do, that any two people can learn to get along, if they want to. How it wasn't possible for us, though I believe we both wanted to, is still a mystery I am trying to sort out. But it's less important, the "why", as the "How Now, Brown Cow?"
There's a lot to work out.
50-50 parenting sucks. Being away from my kids sucks. I miss their voices in the house. I miss stolen moments of connection, always knowing their whereabouts, and their inspiration.
Scheduling drop-offs and pick-ups sucks. Formal emails suck. Lawyers fees suck especially suckish suck suck suck when it all could have been so much different.
Scheduling after-school stuff and doctors' appointments around a stupid, clumsy emaily form scheduler thingy thing sucks, and not being at every appointment sucks, too.
The several hours' thaw we go through every time the kids and I are reunited: the cold shoulder, disconnection and pain in various combinations each time, and for varying lengths of time - hours or days, depending. That sucks the most.
Other than that, everything else is OK. Biscuit is plodding along, taking me where I should be. Good people are riding with me - some closer than others, or coming in and out of view, but everybody wishing me well, and that helps a whole lot.
Meanwhile, it's my last night in this house, alone before the show, so I'd better get to work or I'll be up for the dawn. See you there, I hope: the Big Good-bye. It'll be fun.
July 28, 29, 30
Divorce: a Waste Audit - a fond farewell to 20 years of marriage and a Kitsilano old-timer, through nine months of waste
3642 W.10th Ave
(six more days 'til I give up the keys)
Admission by donation to the Foundation for Prader-Willi Research
20 Years, Recycled - used birthday candles, paraffin wax seal, Ikea mirror c.1999, dead spider, eggs
Divorce: a Waste Audit 2 - Garage
Divorce: a Waste Audit 3 - the Show
To the New Owner: Knobs, Garden, Garage