I’m looking out on the pond. The tall grasses framing the pond barely sway. The butterflies dance from the tips of the grasses and occasionally dip to skim the surface of the water. The pond is so calm it is difficult to discern where the grass meets its reflection. The quiet is heavy in a comforting, secure way. I feel safe and serene and untouchable.
The kids are content. There are frogs to catch and fish to fry. The dog begs to play. The forest beckons to be explored.
All of this won’t last. We will have to go home.
I foolishly believed that by divorcing Mark, I’d be able to escape his bizarre treatment. I thought the kids would be spared his picking and annexing.
The truth is that while we don’t deal with Mark on a daily basis, we can’t completely escape from any kind of relationship with him. We can’t avoid the fact that Mark is Jenny and Will’s dad. We can’t stop the visits altogether. We endure the visits by comforting ourselves with the knowledge that each visit comes to an end. He will not be tucking the kids in bed at night. Continue reading →
That window gets smaller every year – that time between the excitement of spring planting and the heat of summer bringing
I would classify myself as someone who doesn’t follow rules well. However, I am not a rule breaker. There’s a difference. A rule breaker intentionally sets out to take an action that flies in the face of a particular rule. I have a tendency to dance around rules, skirt them, avoid them, or even go so far as to pretend to follow, while all the while completely ignoring a rule.
I sat in the lobby of the old hospital building when my kids were in their last counseling session. The session was over two hours long. I sat and waited. I should have gotten groceries. I should have run to the bank. I could have done a lot of things. Will was concerned that Mark might take them ‘somewhere’ after the session. To offer Will some comfort, I promised that I’d be sitting there when the kids got out of the session.
I am the stream. I am the stream. I am the stream.
I thought about posting the most damning quotes from the emails received from Mark in the last few days. I thought I might even write about how Mark is telling Will that while every boy needs a mom, they don’t need a mom who poisons them with the hate they feel for that boy’s dad. I thought I’d even post entire copies of those emails. (Trust me. They far exceed the 1000 word limit that a lot of bloggers prefer.) I thought of posting his criticisms and defending myself. His writings further prove his disorder, so it certainly would be more fodder for this blog.
