I thought I forgot about you...

Life has a weird way of bringing people into your life that you “think” you have forgotten about. The truth is, of course, you never forgot about them, you were just lucky enough not to have to think about them for a while.

Before Robby and I got married, we made the decision that the children and I would leave our long-time home and move in with Robby in Savannah. They would leave the only school they had ever known and make new friends in a new school system.

But our old school system is probably one of the best in the state of Georgia. As a matter of fact, the schools are probably some of the best in the country. It was a tough choice, but as things began to fall into place, I knew it was the right decision.

The children also lucked out because they ended up with an extra 3 weeks of summer break due to the move. But with all the excitement of a move, a wedding, and life, I had failed to withdraw them from their old school yet.

Last week I was driving Jude home from karate class. My cell phone rang and I let it go to voice mail. When I listened to the message, I began to laugh out loud. “What’s so funny Mom?” Jude asked from the backseat of the car.

The message was from one of Veronica’s former teachers—she was calling to inform me that she would be Jude’s teacher this year. I had forgotten about her—or at least I thought I had. But as soon as I heard that name and that raspy voice, I knew exactly who she was. I replied to Jude, “You better thank Robby when you get home.”

Jude was confused until I said, “That was Mrs. H (I will keep her name private). She was going to be your teacher this year if we had not moved.”

Jude was horrified. He remembered that name very well. Mrs. H had tormented Veronica to the point that I almost pulled Veronica out of 3^rd grade. And the ironic part was that Mrs. H was a resource teacher who was supposed to be “helping” Veronica raise her grades and catch up before state testing began.

Third grade was a lousy year for Veronica. I was getting divorced and my soon to be ex-husband had just suffered a partial amputation of his leg and was in the hospital in Texas. And to top things off, the cast of “Mean Girls” had apparently set up shop in Veronica’s homeroom. She was a very sad little girl and she hated going to school. She had constant dark circles under her eyes, she rarely smiled, and she never ate.

She was so depressed that her mind began to not work correctly. She couldn’t comprehend short stories she read and she couldn’t even add simple numbers together. I began sending Veronica to family counseling and her homeroom teacher began to send her to Mrs. H’s classroom for extra help.

I went to eat lunch with Veronica at school one day. I gave her money to buy an ice-cream and she had just pulled off the wrapper when she saw another classmate come into the lunchroom to fetch her for Mrs. H. A look of terror swept over Veronica’s face and she stood up and threw her uneaten ice-cream in the trash and said, “I gotta go.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You still have over 5 minutes of lunch time left.”

She hurried to the door and said, “I have to go or Mrs. H will scream at me.”

I walked Veronica down to Mrs. H’s room and then walked across the hall to Veronica’s homeroom. “Why is Veronica not getting her full lunch?” I asked her teacher.

She looked uncomfortable. “Well, Mrs. H needs all the children in her room at the same time and some children have already had lunch.”

I told her I didn’t care. “Veronica gets her full lunch from now on or I’m going to the principal next time. Got it?”

The teacher looked scared. But I knew she wasn’t scared of me. I began to realize everyone was scared of Mrs. H.

Veronica’s teacher did fix the situation with lunch by sending her to the lunchroom 5 minutes early. I didn’t complain because I got what I asked for and I thought that would be the end of the situation.

Several weeks later, I was trying to help Veronica with her math homework. “Veronica, you got every single one of these problems wrong.” I wasn’t angry, I was worried.

She started crying. “I know. I’m stupid. I can’t do math. Mrs. H says I’m never gonna pass and I’m gonna be stuck in 3^rd grade forever.”

I almost broke my front tooth from clenching my jaw so tightly. “She said what?”

Then it all came out. Veronica began to tell me everything from how Mrs. H screams at them to how she yells, “None of you will ever pass anything! You are horrible students!”

I put Veronica’s homework in her backpack and told her, “You don’t have to worry about that woman ever again. I’ll take care of this.”

Veronica cried off and on for the rest of the night. I was so angry with this woman. Here I was trying to do everything I could to restore my daughter’s self-esteem and sense of self-worth and this stranger was tearing down everything I had built up.

I sent a note with Veronica the next morning and told her teacher that under no circumstances was Veronica to go to Mrs. H’s classroom. My phone rang about an hour after school started.

“Hey, is this Veronica’s mom?” said a gravelly voice.

“Is this Mrs. H?” I asked.

“Why, yes it is,” she said with a laugh. “I think we have a misunderstanding.” She was laying on the sweet pretty thick.

“No we don’t,” I said. “Veronica told me everything. I will be at the school at lunch to take care of this, so I suggest you get your story straight before I get there.”

Later that day, I met Mrs. H. She looked the way I expected—she had those crazy bitch eyes that she tried to hide behind her fake smile. She informed me that her method of teaching was very successful and that children do better when they think they are going to fail.

“That’s the biggest bunch of crap I ever heard,” I laughed. I told her that she better treat my little girl like a princess and do something to turn her self-esteem around or I would make sure the school board knows she’s the kind of teacher who picks on disabled children. I pulled every card I had and I didn’t stop until I saw that woman cry. Then I went across the hall and I got Veronica and brought her into the room. I made her apologize to Veronica and explain to her that the state tests have no bearing on her ability to pass 3^rd grade. I made her tell her she was wrong to treat her that way.

Veronica looked up at Mrs. H’s teary face and said, “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

Perhaps it was mean, but I wanted her to feel the way she made my child feel. I wanted her to feel stupid. I wanted her to feel like an idiot. I wanted her to feel like everyone was laughing at her. I wanted her to feel something besides entitlement and self-justification.

It worked. She began to treat Veronica the way you are supposed to treat a child. She praised her hard work. If she asked if anyone needed more time to finish a test, and Veronica raised her hand then she would say, “Take as long as you need, honey.”

Veronica’s self-esteem began to blossom again. Her grades went up and she not only passed her state test, but she blew them out of the water. And most importantly, I got my little girl back. I got to see that smile again. I was able to see those beautiful brown eyes again and they weren’t clouded with tears or sadness anymore.

But the name Mrs. H still evokes fear in Veronica. When I told her that Mrs. H would have been Jude’s teacher, she almost cried. She hugged Robby and said, “Thanks for moving us to Savannah.” I guess it was just meant to be.

Lazy women

I should be working on my thesis, but I don’t feel like it today. I should also be getting my homework done, but I have no motivation for that either. I’m over half-way through with this quarter of classes. I am usually an emotional mess at this point, but not this time. I don’t even remember the last time I cried about getting homework done.

I would like to say that it is because I really don’t care about school anymore. But that is not true. I still care and I still try to get good grades. I still do my homework on time and keep up with my reading. But this quarter has been a real eye-opener for me.

One of the classes I am taking this quarter is an online course where we have to work on a group project for almost every assignment. We were assigned our group at the beginning and we have to stay with that group for the entire course. I am stuck with 4 other ladies, and it has been nothing short of a nightmare.

I realized that I don’t like working in groups—especially an all-female group. I also realized that my tolerance for excuses and bullshit gets lower as I get older.

A few of the ladies are fine partners—we get along and we get our stuff done and that’s about it. But there are 2 other girls in the group that are about to drive me insane. I know more about one girl’s gynecological problems than what research she did for the last project. And the other girl will drop off the face of the earth for about a week and then resurface with a million excuses about why she couldn’t do her work. She gets extremely defensive for a day and then turns into the biggest butt-kiss for another few days before she goes back to her cult or wherever it is that she disappears to.

There was a time when I thought it would be great for me to have my MFA so I could teach college courses, but now I think I would rather work anywhere else. I don’t know how college professors do it. At what point to do you look at a twenty-something year old and say, “I don’t care that your roommate broke-up with her boyfriend and you had to stay up all night talking to her—you still have to do your work!”

I guess I have always been one of those people who admit to my mistakes. There are times when I forget to do assignments or I fail to submit homework properly. It’s always easier to just say, “I messed up.” And most of the time, the professor will let me correct my mistake or give me partial credit for being honest.

I also have to wonder what it is about these slackers that make them think anyone cares about their long work hours or menstrual cramps? We all have real issues that make college work even harder. If life is so bad then might I suggest you contact the professor and have him give you another assignment—it’s just a thought.

I usually make pretty good grades. I will be lucky to pass this class at this point. Our grades suck so badly and I have no control over it. It’s a group project and you get graded on the lowest common denominator—and we all know who that is.

So, I’m trying to figure out what lesson I can learn from this experience. At first glance, I realized  that there is no lesson to be learned. I already knew that there were sucky people in the world. I already knew that there were lazy people in the world. I already knew that I hate group projects. I also already knew that there are some people who only care about themselves.

I guess what I didn’t know is that I don’t feel it’s my job to try to control everything around me anymore. My professor can either change our grade to reflect our individual work or he can continue to say “my hands are tied.” These lazy women can either do their work or continue to drag us all down with them. It doesn’t matter what these people do. I’m done with trying to fix everyone around me. I’m done with trying to manipulate the situation so that I can get what I want. I’m done with doing other people’s work so that I can look good. And in a few weeks, I will be done with this class and I will never have to work with these people again.

I'm not wanted

It’s been a while since I wrote a blog. I am swamped with life and it seems to be catching up with me a little more each day. But I guess that is the way it goes for a newly remarried mother of two who is also a full-time graduate student and freelance writer—did I mention it’s summertime and my school-teacher-husband and both kids are still out of school?

I also slipped away to Texas for a week to take Veronica to Camp Just Like Me. The camp is sponsored by Texas Scottish Rite Hospital for Children in Dallas and it is just for children and teens with Arthrogryposis. Yes, it's also the same camp where she fell and broke both legs last year. But she loves that camp and wanted to go back. I agreed that she needed to go back, too. That camp seems to bring out the very best in her and it’s always a life-changing event.

But this year was different than previous years. I had this weird feeling from the moment we got there that things were “off.” After the first day, I thought the difference was the change in ownership of the camp.

The family that used to own the camp is no longer there. It left a huge hole that was obvious from the moment we walked in the front door of the lodge—no big hugs from Scott and his family and no dogs running around outside. And not only were they not there, but there was a new group of camp counselors and a new group of staff from Texas Scottish Rite Hospital.

By day two of the camp, I began to realize that the change in leadership and counselors didn’t seem to make that much difference. We did pretty much the same activities. Everything was still fun. All the kids and parents had smiles on their faces. I thought maybe I was just tired, and for the first time ever, I was homesick. I finally had someone at home who missed me, and I could tell he missed me. I just wanted to be at home with my husband.

By day three I finally realized why camp didn’t feel right. I realized that there was no reason for me to be there this year. This was the first year when I didn’t need to dress Veronica. She didn’t need me to push her wheelchair. She didn’t need me to bathe her or fix her hair. Quite frankly, she made it very clear that she didn’t want me there when she asked me to not sit with her at dinner.

At first I was hurt. I mean, I spent all this money for travel and I took an entire week away from home and I had to use every free minute we had at camp to finish homework and keep up with my classes. I thought this trip would bring us closer, but I never felt more useless as a mother as I did sitting alone in the cabin while she was playing at the pool with her camp friends.

I’ve noticed that life has a way of slapping me in the face with reality just when I need it. On day four of camp, I went for a run before breakfast. I came back to the cabin to take a shower. The cabins have a large bathroom with 2 toilet stalls and 2 showers that face each other so that you are facing the toilet stall when you step out of the shower.

As I finished my shower, I pulled open the shower curtain to reach for my towel and dry off. I noticed a typical scene in the bathroom—4 feet showed at the bottom of the stall. At camp, it is rare to ever see the children in the bathroom stall without an adult helping them. Most of the children cannot use their arms very well, and they need help pulling their pants up and down or wiping themselves—some of them cannot get on and off the toilet without assistance. When you're a toddler, it's not that big of deal. But when you are a maturing young lady or man, it's uncomfortable at best.

Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I realized that I should be down on my hands and knees thanking God for helping my little girl to get to a place in her life when she doesn’t need me to do those things for her any more. Last year, I had to pick her up and place her on the toilet and help her with her pants. A lot of times I had to help her wipe herself, too. There is no privacy for these children. Nothing is sacred when you are disabled—you don’t get the privilege to say, “I want to go to the bathroom by myself today” or “I don’t need help putting on my panties.” Puberty makes things even more complicated--especially for girls.

I spent the rest of the day keeping a lot of distance between Veronica and me, and I felt great about it. And if I wasn’t smiling, it was because I was too emotional. I cried on and off all day long, and I didn’t try to hide it from the other parents this time. No one asked me why I was crying—most of the parents cry at some point during the camp because it is such an emotional feeling to see your child “acting like a normal kid.” And for some of us, this camp is the only place we ever get to see that.

On the flight back home to Savannah, Veronica asked me if we were going back to camp next year. “Probably not, sweetie,” I said. “What? Why?” she asked. I leaned down to her face and whispered, “Because you don’t need me to go to camp with you anymore.”

She didn’t seem too upset by this. I know she doesn’t want me to go to camp with her anymore either and she can’t go to Camp Just Like Me by herself until she is 13 years old. “How about we find a camp for you next year where you can go by yourself and then you can go back to Camp Just Like Me the next year?” I asked. The thought of sending her to a “normal” camp made my stomach churn, but I know it is the next step in her journey to become independent.

She shook her head and thought about what I said. “I guess so, but where could I go?”

And quite honestly, I didn’t have an answer to that. I don’t know what is going to happen each year—I never know what new obstacle will be thrown at Veronica. I know that she will never be “normal” and I’m okay with that. But for the first time in my life, I know that she is going to be okay. She is going to be able to live in the “real world” and survive without me. Life is always going to be hard for her, but I know she can handle it.

She will always be that sweet little baby who smiled and played despite the long leg casts and painful therapy. She will always be that sweet little girl who stood in front of her first grade class and said, “Hi, I’m Veronica and I have arthrogryposis.” But most importantly, she will always be that young lady who got up one morning at camp and dressed herself while I was in the shower and said, “Mom, can you please stay in the cabin today?”

And trust me; staying in the cabin alone is just fine with me now. I couldn’t be happier.

Chicken sandwich with a side of fried hate

For the past 8 months, I have avoided eating at Chick-Fil-A. My sister-in-law posted a link on her Facebook page asking people not to support the fast food chain because they donate money to groups who strive to squash the legalization of same sex marriage (over $2 million to be exact).

I did my reporterly duties and checked out her story and indeed she was correct. So, I quit going to Chick-Fil-A and I tried to make Robby feel guilty about eating there.  My children love their chicken nuggets and the fact that they are not made out of that pink slime is a plus. I also enjoy their Caesar chicken wrap even though it is not something anyone who doesn’t want to be covered in bits of parmesan cheese should eat in the car. But I can cut Chick-Fil-A out of my life without any sadness. After all, I adore my sister-in-law, and I would feel like I was stabbing her in the back if I gave the fast food chain any more of my money.

I don’t have a lot of money these days anyway, so I try to be careful where I spend the little bit I do have. I don’t want to give my money to people who support these political actions against same sex marriage. Chick-Fil-A claims they are not political, but when you begin donating money to groups who support political action against same sex marriage then you become political—pretty sure that is what the Bible says or perhaps I am also misinterpreting the word of God, too.

Now with the recent storm of press about Chick-Fil-A, I get the chance to see what my friends are saying about the controversy. I think most of them are familiar with the fact that Chick-Fil-A is a Christian-run business and they are not surprised about the news. I doubt it will affect their eating habits and Chick-Fil-A will probably survive this recent media blitz. I mean, we are southerners and we love to eat fried chicken made by church-going Baptists.

I read the recent comments from one of the presidents of Chick-Fil-A, and I have to admit that one of his comments really struck a chord with me. In an interview with Baptist Press, he said, “We are a family-owned business, a family-led business and we are married to our first wives.”

At that moment, I realized that he is not worried about the sanctity of traditional marriage-- he just hates homosexuality. The stance of Chick-Fil-A has nothing to do with marriage because if it was about marriage, then Chick-Fil-A would be doing something about marriage values in this country. I mean they have power to put their message on any of their products, but they choose not to?

Why not put statements like “adultery is wrong” on their waffle fries or “quit cheating on your wife” on their shakes? I mean, aren’t they super dedicated to protecting the sanctity of marriage in our country? ($2 million buys a lot of "save marriage" ads). Doesn’t the Bible call for product placement in conjunction with spreading God’s word on the sinfulness of divorce? Or is that another misinterpretation of the holy word? I’m confused about Chick-Fil-A’s role in preserving traditional marriage. I believe preserving means you actually do something about it? But what do I know? I’m just a simple girl with simple values.

And from his statement to the press, I can see the leader of Chick-Fil-A is also the same kind of person who looks down on people who are divorced. I mean after all, he is married to his “first wife.” Well, crap. He must know something about the Bible that those of us who are divorced missed. He must be closer to God than me because I am one of those sinners who is married to my “second” spouse. I guess my “second” marriage also spits on traditional marriage values. Because we all know the Bible is all about keeping that “first” marriage sacred—I mean as long as you don’t look to Abraham oranyone in his clan for traditional marriage advice.  

These people at Chick-Fil-A aren’t worried about traditional marriage values, because if they were they wouldn’t use the Bible as the foundation for those marriage values. Because for those of us who have actually read the Bible, we can see that the men in the Old Testament didn’t seem to have a problem with taking a younger woman into their “traditional family” in an effort to tack on a few extra sons. We can also see the part in the Bible about God’s love for ALL of his children. And for those of us who can read, we know that the phrase “Same Sex Marriage is a Sin!” is not in any Bible—not even the King James version.

These people hate homosexuality. They hate homosexuals. They don’t want homosexuals having the same rights as them. They want to keep them separate from the rest of society, because the rest of society obviously knows what makes a marriage sacred and God-like.

I’m sure if these guys at Chick-Fil-A could go back in time, they would be the same guys making the claims that “if God wanted the races to mix then he wouldn’t have put them on different continents.”  

But I guess it should give me hope to know that the same people who used the Bible to keep blacks and whites from being able to legally marry in this country are the same people who are trying to keep homosexuals from having legal marriage rights, too. They failed back then and eventually they will fail on this issue.

It’s refreshing to see that not only is interracial marriage legal in this country, but we now have a president who is a product of interracial marriage. This is the same man who is married to his “first wife.” But according to Chick-Fil-A, this is the same man who wants to ruin the sanctity of marriage.

I guess we will always see people who hide behind the Bible and distort the “word of God” in order to keep people they don’t like away from them. And I guess we can all choose which side of the line we will stand behind and which fast food chain we will visit.

In the end it is just sad, but at least we are talking about the issue at hand. At least I get a chance to see what side of the line my friends stand behind.

But I also get to realize that I really don’t have as much control over the situation as I would like. I realize that my voice is drowned out by the political machine that controls this country. And to sum it up, I get to see just how little control I have in my battle against people like Chick-Fil-A.

I picked up my son from play practice last night and I asked what my $5 bought him for dinner at the theater.  His answer was simple— “Chick-Fil-A. And mommy, I think they make the best chicken sandwich.” So much for my line in the sand, but at least it opens up the opportunity to speak to my children about the link between fast food giants and bigotry. Because teaching your children to make a stand against evil and love everyone is important—that actually is in the Bible, a lot.

Crazy switch

I feel like life is just slipping through my fingers. Days seem to melt into weeks and weeks pass by like I’m standing still. I just can’t seem to get a grip on my life right now.

One day life is full of chaos and the next day I find myself sleeping in a not getting anything done. Yesterday I tried to think about what I can do to fix the manic-feel of my life, but nothing really seemed to click.

I’ve written before about my insatiable need to be a perfectionist. I try to laugh it off and say I’m changing, but I can see that I am not changing. I have no real want to change. I like to feel like I am in control and that I can somehow do everything perfectly.

I am taking a class for school right now where I have to do these group projects. Needless to say, I hate group projects. It’s rare for me to be paired with anyone who does things the way that I do things—and I like the way I do things better.

These projects are making me act crazy. I find myself walking around the house talking to myself saying things like “I cannot believe this girl thinks the project is finished” or “Oh my God, I cannot believe she hasn’t finished yet and we only have 5 hours until it’s due!”

I’ve noticed that Robby has been playing a lot of video games lately and just trying to stay under the radar with me. He has mentioned several times that he hates it when I am in the middle of classes and I start acting crazy. I used to think he meant “stressed” but now I can see the “crazy.”

I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling like I am pushing everyone away from me. I hate feeling like I am trapped in my own little world of trying to make everything perfect while the rest of the world is just passing by me like I’m standing still.

I wish I knew how to take a deep breath and just half-ass my work every once in a while, but I’m not capable of just letting go like that.

I guess something happened to me when I was a child that made me feel like it was up to me to make things work correctly. I know I had an enormous amount of pressure on me to make things work—it was up to me to make sure we got up in the morning, had breakfast, and got to school on time. It was up to me to make sure no one bothered my parents. It was up to me to make everyone happy and to keep chaos at a minimum.

I would like to say that I don’t want to be that person any longer, but I just can’t seem to be able to let that person go--even though she seems to be self-destructing right now. I hope I can find a way to jump on board with the rest of the world and stop watching it pass in front of me. I just wish I had a switch to turn the “crazy” off.

Haters gonna hate...

I don’t know why life has to be so unpredictable. I had my day all planned out—wake up and run 4 miles, get home and shower, wake up children for camp, make their lunches while they eat breakfast, drop them off, go to library and finish homework, and then come home and take a short nap before picking up children and  making dinner. Sounds like a reasonable plan. I had even done all the grocery shopping this weekend so the meals were ready. So much for plans.

About mid-way into my morning, I received an email from an old friend. I hadn’t heard from him in a while since we aren’t friends any more. He did some things to his family that I don’t agree with and I got tired of his constant complaining and blaming everyone else for his problems. I told him several years ago, “I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t like how you live your life, I’m tired of your games, and there is no amount of history that is going to make me change my mind.”

In his email he tried to be nice in his own weird way, but it was obvious that he contacted me for selfish reasons. He tried to make me understand that my blog was just my hateful way to bash my ex-husband—I believe the words he used were “smear campaign.”

But as much as I tried to ignore it, it bothered me. There was a time when I really respected this guy's opinion and his words made me feel shaky. I decided to leave the library and go home to my husband. I needed a hug.

I guess there will always be a part of me that wants everyone to like me. I know there is a part of me that is bothered by the fact that someone will try to turn other people against me. I work hard to always do the right thing and it is important to me to think that others respect me.

But life has taught me many things these past few years.

1.     Don’t make plans

2.     Don’t be so hard on myself

3.     Don’t waste time trying to prove you are a good person

I don’t need to be liked by everyone. I don’t need to explain myself to people who don’t matter. I don’t need to prove anything. My life is an open book, and I don’t need to justify it to give folks around me that warm-fuzzy feeling.

This blog isn’t a platform for an angry bitter woman who feels the need to air her dirty laundry to the world in an effort to make her ex-husband look like a jerk.

It’s a platform for the voice of a woman who was very lost for a very long time. And it’s not just my voice. It’s the voice of every person who has ever been a victim of adultery. It’s also the voice of every person who has ever made mistakes in judgment, parenting, or relationships. It’s the voice for those of you who haven’t found the courage to tell your story. It’s a voice that I thought was long gone—a voice that gave up on happiness and success, but somehow found her way back to herself and the life she was meant to live.

So, if you don’t like what I write about, then please stop reading my blog. And if you can’t stop reading, then just keep your comments to yourself, because despite the fact that I say I am strong, I still have issues with hate mail and threats. I have never written anything untrue or malicious. I write to heal.  I’m just trying to live my life and be a good person. Perhaps you should try it.

No backing down

Some days I wished I had taken a different route in college and became something else. Like on the days when I am having problems with Veronica’s leg braces and I wish I had gone to prosthetics school so I could help her myself. Or the days when the children are sick and I wish I was a nurse so I didn’t have to pull them out of bed and take them to a doctor’s office.

Then there are days like today when I wish I had gone to law school. I was always very interested in mass communications law and theories and I had strongly considered going to law school after undergrad. But I didn’t and now I need some serious legal advice.

I knew this day would come. My ex-husband moved to town. He has been pleasant, but not much else has changed. He continues to push the fact that he does not have overnight visitation with the children. He believes it is my fault and he is threatening me with the usual, “I will drag you into court and make you pay for this.” Same song, different day…

But it’s not my fault. His lack of visitation is due to the fact that he never took care of his business. If he had followed through on his court ordered evaluation with the family psychologist, then he would have had normal visitation with the children over 2 years ago and this wouldn’t be an issue. Instead he decided to do things his own way and do what he wanted to do. After all, his favorite catch phrase is “rules are for chumps.”

When my ex-husband and I separated back in 2009, I had some very damaging proof against him that he didn’t want released in court. It gave me the upper hand, and I needed the upper hand. He had done things to put the children and me in serious danger, and I couldn’t allow him to be alone with them until he proved that he had undergone serious psychological treatment.

For those of you who have been divorced and through a custody battle, you know that most judges could care less about “accusations” made against the mother and father. They tend to just split custody and force the parents to share the children. The children have no one to advocate for them and life goes on…

My upper hand gave me the chance to say, “Hey, I have serious reasons to keep the children protected.” And by some miracle, people listened to me. Well, they listened a little bit. But it was enough for me to protect the children and buy some time until they were old enough to protect themselves.

Now, if someone had told me that I had to do X, Y, and Z in order to have my children, I would have done it immediately. But not my ex-husband. In his first chance, he did X for a little bit. But since he feels rules are for chumps, he thought he would take me on in our final court hearing and win. But I agreed with the court to give him a second chance.

So, he was given a second chance to do X, Y, and Z. He did X and Y. But he never did Z. I mean why should he? Rules don’t apply to him. After all, he just assumed he would take care of Z later and everyone would be fine with that. I mean, why not? He has always been able to do whatever he wants, and he lives under the notion that if you let enough time pass, people will forget about Z and all will be forgiven.  I would that he is usually right about that, too.

So, now I am remarried and happy. Life has gone on for me. Enough time has passed that I have lost steam when it comes to court battles and I just want this to be over with. But I’ll be damned if Z is going to be swept under the rug because I’m too tired to fight.

The notion of Z rears its ugly head about every 6 months when my ex-husband casually mentions that he is taking Jude on a camping trip or that he is taking the children to spend the night at the beach and I have to say, “Sorry, you can’t do that until you take care of your business.”

Then my ex-husband uses it as a threat to me with the words, “Fine, I will take care of it and then you can’t tell me what to do ever again!” But what he doesn’t understand is that I don’t care if he takes care of Z. Taking care of his business would be best for everyone. I wished he would have almost 2 years ago. But he didn’t and now it is my responsibility to decided when and where he can see the children. It’s a horrible burden on me.

But, I followed the rules. I completed X, Y, and Z several times even though I didn’t need to.  I was questioned and humiliated. I have been told that “I just need to let things go” and “quit being angry with the fact that my husband cheated on me.” I have been made to look like the perpetrator instead of the victim. And I swear to God that if it hadn’t been for other women like me, I would feel crazy.

So it begins again—calls to attorneys, scrambling to find out my rights, and nightmares and panic attacks. But, I’ll be damned if I let everyone forget about Z. It’s still there and it needs to be addressed—Z came about for a very important reason. This is a battle worth fighting for. So, get ready—I plan to not only follow the rules, but I’m going to enforce them as long as I can.  I will never be too tired to make sure Z is resolved.