The Stitch Witch

Dear Job,

Thank you for the lovely relocation package. Even though this week requires working 80 bajillion hours, it's a hell of a lot easier because the hotel's a mere 4.7 miles from the store. 

I'd also like to thank you for this child and dog free time. Four whole days of not waking up with stinky preteen boy feet in my face or a foully flatulent fat pit bull under the blankets or the strident alarm of MOM MOM MOM is rather wonderful. I've even had time to shave my legs. Of course, it's been long enough that I was stunned to discover my leg hair is no longer blond but brown and why that is when the hair on my head has turned white confounds me but thankfully for the world I wear long pants all the time and haven't unintentionally startled anyone with my hairy gorilla legs. 

At least I think not. If I have, tough taa-taas. 

I might even have time to draft a decent proposal for my final research project in anthropology.

And watch the moon rise. 

I can stay up late blogging (instead of working on a certain final project proposal) in a Barnes and Noble cafe and bring an extra latte back to the suite and drink it in bed, a bed that's currently covered in books. 

And while I do miss my family and the farting pit bull, a little solitude is does wonders for the soul.

Love,

Erica

October was interesting month.

After several years of thumbing his nose at me, the law, his family, his children, and pretty much anyone else who follows the basic tenets of society, the X was arrested on a warrant that I'd requested.

I'm beginning to understand why the government tends to fall back on tax related charges when going after mobsters and other hard to catch bad guys. It's pretty concrete. Failure to pay child support is pretty cut and dry, even if one has the chutzpah to try and explain to the judge that the ex-wife had received her half of the equity in the house and therefore one shouldn't have to pay child support for one's 4 children 8 years after the equity payout.

Really. I did pick a winner, ladies. Of all the marvelous possibilities I've considered for the second half of my life, matchmaker is definitely not among them.

While the X spent most of November in jail, we were free of multiple daily phone calls, random packages and 'gifts' being left on the doorstep or on my car, the delightful situation of the X repeatedly 'running out of gas' in front of the house as he 'happened' to be driving by, myriad custody order violations that the police repeatedly informed me they couldn't help with but I could request a hearing in front of a judge, the endless irrational emails contesting EVERYTHING. Or as a family member of his said: "At least when he's in jail, you'll have a break from the harrassment".

Indeed. Because low grade harrassment can drag on for quite sometime before the authorities might consider taking it seriously. Failure to support one's children, though, that gets their attention. 

 In NH, the bail requested for a child support contempt capias goes directly to pay off some of the child support arrearages. At the hearing, the nonpaying parent's given an opportunity to make some phone calls for the express purpose of hounding friends and family for enough money to stay out of jail. "Hey, can you loan me $3,500 so I don't go to jail today? Why? I'm waaaaay behind on child support and your posting bail helps me catch up on my child support obligations and has the added benefit of providing food and clothing for my children. C'mon, it's the holidays, support someone else's family."  

 Ok, the caller's never that honest. I know this after listening in on many, many such calls the morning of a show cause hearing 2 weeks ago. "Jimmy, I got most of the money I need to stay outta jail and if you lend me the last $300, I'll pay ya back tonight." Remarkable how so many non-paying parents can suddenly find the money when presented with jail.

Show cause hearings are an endless parade of lame excuses the judge refuses to suffer: "You're on welfare and are only obligated to pay $50 a month for 4 children? Do I understand that correctly? $50 a month for 4 children and you've chosen not to pay? Let's do the math: $50 divided by 4 weeks is $12.50 a week divided by 4 children is....$3.12 a child. That doesn't even buy a gallon of milk for that child and yet you've decided not to pay. There are two ways to leave this courtroom, sir. The doors in the front lead to freedom. The doors on the left go directly to Valley St (jail). You go make some phone calls and try to come up with the money you need to leave through the front doors. Otherwise you're going to jail."

Other that the dollar amount in question, the first hearing for the X played out much like that one. They all do. While waiting to be called at the second hearing, I listened to the judge berate quite a few non paying dads while they stared at the X in shackles. This time, though, the judge freed the X. Before we all get all sorts of indignant, hear me out. The judge is no nonsense former Marine who praised the fact that I'm raising 4 kids without child support or any sort of public assistance and acknowleged that I was rightfully bitter and frustrated and then pointed out that sending the X right back to jail wouldn't afford him an opportunity to pay his arrearages. And, I agree, he's right about that. So,  X was released with two weeks to meet a number of stringent conditions. If he fails to meet any of them, he goes back to jail.

 It's unfortunate we've reached this point but after spending nearly a month in jail, X's finally begun to appreciate reason. So, we'll see.

 

Ice Cream Sunday

Ingredients for an ice cream Sunday:

7 children under one roof. With only one bathroom.

1 slightly frantic fat pit bull.

2 frazzled Grandparents packing for a 5 hour drive to Long Island with 3 of the aforementioned children.

One completely overwrought 11 year heading to Water Country. 

Add a last minute early morning driver's lesson for my 16 year old.

 Shake well. If more stress is desired, add 9:30am text from exhusband: "Did you see (Aunt) Mazel's obit?"

If suitable levels of stress have still not been achieved, wait for exhusband to send increasingly bizarre texts at 10 minute intervals:

 "I may cut some of my hair & place it in a plastic bag with her obit"

"I'm enjoying grapefruit flavored Italian ice. No corn syrup."

 "My cousin thinks she has a baker's cyst making one leg bigger than the other"

Whilst receiving (and not responding to) texts from the lunatic fringe, find Aunt Mazel's obit online, then call family meeting and break news to children that their 90 year old Aunt passed on. Three days ago. And that the wake and service start in 90 minutes. And that you have no idea why it is that their father, despite his having called 7 times in 2 days and having visitation on Saturday, would have neglected to mention that his Aunt died on Thursday.

Let ingredients rest briefly, then put on least unfavorite sweater twinset and heels for public appearance with ex's extended family. Make awkward conversation about best way to get kids and cousins together whilst simultanously avoiding topic of exhusband and silently acknowledging that the reason the girls haven't visited their cousins because they live next door to the ex.

If, at this point, the cook is seized by an inability to make any further minor decisions, turn off cell phone then proceed directly to local grocer and purchase 5 of those conveniently sized single serving containers of Haagen Das, in 5 different flavors, of course. After all, variety is the spice of life.

Meditate on flavors until happy place is located, even if it's uninhabitable at the moment. Remember to breathe. Scrape remains of day into the rubbish and plan on starting fresh in the morning.

Single Mother Rant

"If you haven't got anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all" Words of wisdom uttered by every mother and grandmother who ever existed.

Well, I haven't had much nice to say for the past 2 years or so, probably more like three now that I'm really thinking about it and during that time, this blog's been all sorts of Erica Lite: holding my tongue, posting pretty pictures, and mouthing platitudes about the world while I waited for things to improve.

This, in addition to being completely contrary to my nature, is complete and utter bullshit. And really stressful. It's one thing to try and remain optimistic in the face of a giant mountain of poo, and entirely another to try and sugarcoat it. Here's a newsflash for you: no matter how much you sugarcoat that pile of poo, it won't matter. Even if you make it look like a wedding cake, it's still going to smell and taste like shit.

Who knew Saturday'd turn into slightly gross metaphor day? Not me, at least til I started typing. Now we're equally surprised.

So what I do I want to say on this fine day? The basics will do for a start:

Hi, I'm Erica, a 41 year old divorced woman with 4 brilliant and awesome kids. My passions are knitting, quilting, biking, gardening, reading, and learning everything I possibly can during my time on this planet. Except for football. My brain refuses football. American football, that is. I love soccer.

What else? I'm a single parent with horde of children and I'm really damn tired of the assumptions that go with that. What kind of assumptions? Let's start with the multiple baby daddy assumption often made by strangers on the street, health providers, and anyone else uncouth enough to ask an unfamiliar woman "Hey, are all those kids yours? Do they have the same father?" Why, no, they don't. It's just that every time a handsome man walks by, I think "Oh, a baby daddy!!" and and flush the birth control right down the toilet. Is that the answer you were seeking, O Nosey Stranger? 

 Actually, here's the scoop: Back in the days of low self-esteem (aka, my twenties), I married a nice, respectable, conservative white Anglo-Saxon Protestant male. We weren't a great match for each other (kinda like Charles and Diana, sans enormous wealth and tragic car accident). We had a horde of children, eventually acknowledged that we were a piss poor match (finances, politics, just everything), and divorced. 

You know what a divorced woman with 4 kids is considered? A drain on society. Unless she's wealthy, otherwise it's automatically assumed she's receiving some form of public assistance. My version of public assistance was moving back in with my parents mid-divorce. You see, for reasons that now elude me, when I was married, I labored under the delusion that working a low paying job that offered a pretty good insurance package while the ex had an insurance-less job that paid handsomely seemed good idea. It wasn't. And it wasn't just a bad idea- it was a cosmically stupid idea. Get divorced while making less than $20,000/year during a housing boom and you'll see what I mean. At that time, rental housing assistance had a 2 year waiting list. We didn't have 2 years to devote to waiting and, besides, my parents were willing to take us in for a reasonable monthly rent. In my mind, we didn't 'need' assistance because we had viable alternatives and plenty of other people did not. (FYI: the current waiting list for rental assistance in our area is up to 5-8 years.) Besides, living with Grandma and Grandpa meant that I could focus on career and financial catch up without of having to worry about searching for and paying for a sitter who could manage 4 kids, one of whom has Aspergers. It's a little hectic at times, but it works.

 Because of the issues involving the exhusband, over the past 18 months or so, I've been interviewed by various official persons, all of whom were somewhat shocked and stunned to discover that not only did I work, but it was a 'real' full time job. With benefits even. Whoa. A surprising and occasional hazard of having a full time job and four kids is that periodically some airy-fairy moron (usually childless, of course) puts forth the theory that I'm "overwhelmed" or that I "don't spend enough time with the children" and attempts to cause a ruckus. Dear Airy-Fairy Morons of the world: Bite me. Walk a day in my shoes and then explain how you'd do it better day after day, week after week. Better yet, show me. For a month.

And the exhusband. I've been fairly coy about what's been going on and full disclosure still isn't a great idea but let's at least get this out there: He's been unemployed for nearly 4 years, hence, the occasional attempt to offer cabbage in lieu of child support. Yeah, the economy is pretty craptastic right now but I lost my job 8 months after he did and busted ass to get another one, pronto. Something about 4 kids needing housing, clothes, food, and health insurance kept me moving, you know? This doesn't make me a saint by any stretch of the imagination but it does suggest he's extremely unmotivated. And his habit of insinuating that working 40 hours a week makes me a bad mother is aggravating, to say the least. Does that mean my willingness to pay for the kid's clothes, shoes, food, shelter, school supplies, and uninsured medical & dental expenses also makes me a bad mother? Am I unreasonable in expecting him to contribute to their basic living expenses? If you're wondering, yes, this is being addressed in the courts. There's a bit of irony in the amount of money one spends while pursuing support arrearages, especially now that budget cuts affecting the courts pretty much guarantee a 3-4 month wait for a support hearing.  That, good people, is bullshit.

Of course, there's more but 1,000 words is enough spleen venting for one day. And I offer you this: a promise that every future post won't be a rant and also that Erica Lite has taken a permanent vacation. Pretty pictures will continue    though maybe a few ugly ones'll make it in here too. And thanks for reading this. Peace out.