Single Mom | Single Mom Blog | Ms. Single Mama » The Father (My Ex)

Something Missing

mssinglemama — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 19:38:41 +0000

I have lost myself again.

I am 10 pages deep into a journal from the 11th grade. I snap out of my self-induced memory trip, thank the cosmos for letting me survive high school, and stuff the journal tightly into the box. It fits perfectly next to the picture of my sister and I in a photo booth sticking our tongues out and crossing our eyes. I wonder where those girls have gone but I know they’ll never be back.

This always happens to me when I have to pack the good stuff–the books, the journals, the pictures. I fall into my memories.

Our move-in date has been bumped up, so we only have three more weekends. John Bear’s apartment will be easy, he doesn’t have much, but my place is another story. This office is just the beginning and then there’s the basement.

Over the past three years things have accumulated, collecting themselves in places where shoving is accepted–shelves, under the couch and in the back of my deep dark closet floors.

I’m on the office closet floor now between two boxes; one for saving and one for tossing.

After having Benjamin things I once had a hard time parting with are now easy victims for the toss box. Notes from old friends or the night gown I used to wear as a 6-year-old. I don’t yearn for my own childhood anymore now that Benjamin’s is unfolding before my eyes. And then there’s the promise of new memories on the way, memories filled with John and the family we have our hearts set on creating.

This entire time I’ve been keeping my excitement buried, just below the surface. I’m afraid this is a mirage and that my exuberance, if left unharnessed, could shatter the dream.

Old fears are hard to break.

With my ex-husband I learned how to hide nearly every emotion. Constantly worried about how he would react to anything I would say or do I shut my mouth and put on a happy wife face. Turns out that Happy Wife Face was very hard to maintain during a move from a one-bedroom place to a three-bedroom apartment and even harder when our newborn had arrived.

You all know how that turned out.

When I hear John walk into the room I instinctively drop my head, scared to make eye contact. The boxes, the man and the old memories are giving me a bit of moving deja vu.

Above my head in the closet is an entire rack of winter clothes. It’s just one of three bursting closets in my apartment and I’m worried that John, who has not yet seen said closet, will freak out when he does. But he never freaks out. I’m just irrationally lost in my deja vu, in my baggage.

I look up at him sheepishly.

“These are all of my Winter clothes,” I say and then quickly, “I’ll be getting rid of most of them.”

“Why? They look cool. You should keep them. We can use that wardrobe thing you bought for the basement.”

“Are you sure?” Suddenly I’m snapped back into the reality of today, of the now. With a John Bear instead of whatever I had before.

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s your stuff, bring it along.”

Then he heads to Benjamin’s room to scoop him up in a good-bye hug.

And there I was, alone on a closet floor in complete amazement that I was in a relationship but still completely free.

Go figure.

Transformation

mssinglemama — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 19:47:22 +0000

We are in the swell, waiting for the wave to push us onto the beach.

In a few weeks Benjamin will be starting at his big boy private Montessori school while Mommy goes off to work again. And something else is changing.

Benjamin’s father won’t be here this week

or the next.

His Canadian passport has expired along with his drivers license and permanent residence card. That means my little guy will be all mine for the time being.

Which is just fine with me. And as for the mess his father is in, I don’t feel an ounce of guilt. For the first time in three years I can’t help him. These expirations, the unemployment, the phone calls from the child support agency – I can’t solve any of these self-inflicted quandaries.

And although I feel relieved that the other shoe may finally be dropping, that he may finally be out of our lives instead of just kind of here, I still don’t know how I will answer the questions when they come. I am also coming to peace with the fact that Benjamin’s relationship with his father is nothing I can control.

Whatever happens between Benjamin and his father will be between them.

But in my version of the story as soon as Benjamin finds him he kicks his ass for me, Sunny style.

Don’t tell him I said that.

And yes, this will be one of the posts I delete as soon as Benjamin can read so lay off and let me vent.

Questions

The Trip Story: Part 3

mssinglemama — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 15:22:54 +0000

John Bear jumped out of bed at 7:00 am to feed Fiesta Dave’s meter.

We’d parked in a haze of exhaustion. After spending the entire day in New York City we hit a monstrous traffic jam on the way into Philadelphia. Between reading our iPhone maps and asking cab drivers which turn to take next we couldn’t help but notice the city surrounding us. Smartly dressed couples walked slowly down the sidewalks but it was the magnificent buildings, many of which bore witness to the birth of our nation, that commanded our attention. Our heads zig zagged from the left and to the right, taking it all in and feeling immediately humbled.

“Now this is my kind of city,” I had said as we pulled into our fortunate meter directly in front of the hotel. Minutes later we were fast asleep, barely able to roll over and kiss each other good night. In the morning I felt like someone had hit me square in the head with a sledge hammer. I knew this kind of headache. A smoker’s headache. It must have been the New York City smog or something. Or maybe the stale air in the hotel room. I wasn’t sure but I did know one thing – I needed caffeine, immediately.

“Can you grab me some coffee while you’re out there?” I mumbled to John Bear as he ran out the door.

“Yeah, no problem.”

That’s the thing about John – he’ll do just about anything for me at any time of day or night without complaint. Because of this fact, I reserve the asking only for special occasions. This was definitely one of them.

“We should get going,” he said when he came back in, the door slapping loudly behind him and the hot coffee in his hands.

“Why the rush?”

“You should see it out there. It’s awesome.”

And in less than 20 minutes later I was able to completely agree with him.

We found Philadelphia much slower paced, more our style and could have stayed all day but we had to get back on the road. My ex had called earlier to tell me Benjamin was really “missing Mommy.”

Just minutes after leaving the city I called my little brother, Eliot, to check in on his wedding. Just a few days away now, he was telling me about something pretty important when I hit a gargantuan pothole on the Pennsylvania Turnpike’s Toll Plaza. It wasn’t even a pothole, more like a chasm or a crater. I screamed and my brother heard it all go down.

“What the F*&% was that?”

“I don’t know,” snapped John, “Just get back over into the other lane.”

“Oh my God, that couldn’t have been good.” I said into the phone.

“Hello?”

“Oh, sorry El. Listen, I gotta go. We’ll talk later.”

One hour later after John had been driving for a bit I took over again. But before we even got out of the parking lot I pulled over.

“There’s something wrong with the car,” I said. “It feels totally weird.”

I jumped out to check the tires and found the right front tire completely flat. After a few calls to Ford Fiesta Movement Mission Control they decided to put us up in a Bed & Breakfast in the nearest town while we waited for a new tire to be shipped over. My model of the Fiesta takes custom summer tires, not stocked readily at every Ford Dealership in the country — so, we were stuck, indefinitely, until the tire arrived.

The Fiesta had landed in Bedford, Pennsylvania – the home to George Washington’s headquarters during the Whiskey Rebellion but the place is best known for its healing springs. We made our way up into the Bed and Breakfast, Oralee’s Golden Eagle Inn. John knocked on the door, once, twice and then three times. A few slow country minutes later, Oralee herself greeted us at the door.

And led us up through the upstairs screened in porch

to our room

As soon as we dropped our bags John Bear cued up a scene from Groundhog Day on his computer and started laughing.

“Stop it, at least we have the Internet,” I said, “Besides you don’t have to be at work until Friday.”

“Yeah, but this place gives me the creeps.”

“It’s not creepy, it’s just old and it’s so romantic,” then I think I pummeled him with a kiss because he didn’t complain about our extra night of vacation again. And when Oralee whipped us up a breakfast fit for a King, I think John Bear came around to the charm of the Golden Eagle Inn.

Turns out the Mission Control people are just as awesome as their car because the tire arrived at Bedford’s Ford Dealership soon after our breakfast. The Bedford Ford guys there were so excited to see the Fiesta they had to test it out. Brian jumped in first.

But can you blame him? Really? Have you seen this car?

I forget sometimes how lucky I am to be driving one.

After whizzing by Cumberland, Maryland we zipped down to West Virginia and then up into Athens, Ohio where we found my little Benjamin. When his father handed him over to me he was barely even using words, just mumbling and crying out for me. My heart sank into my feet as the guilt fell over me. Once a year I leave him with his father for longer than his standard 36 hour visit and every time I do, I regret it terribly. His hair was a mess, his hands and face were covered in dirt. Back on the road again and on our way to a restaurant, I looked at John Bear as this boy in the back seat growled and hissed at me, literally, and then said through tears, “Where is he? Where is my Benjamin?” I wish I was making this up.

His father loves him and Benjamin loves his father, but Jesus, when will he learn how to care for his son properly? When the food came Benjamin devoured every bite, actually filling both of his little fists and stuffing them both into his mouth simultaneously. His father is unemployed again, I haven’t had a penny of child support in two months now and I wonder out loud if he has money for groceries.

I continue in my thoughts, some in my head and some out loud. Maybe I’m just the mess and I’m being overly paranoid. Maybe Benjamin had been playing outside in the dirt and had also skipped his lunch. And maybe he was just acting like this because he was copying the actions of his six-year-old semi step-brother. Suddenly I remember John is bearing witness to this entire mess, my mess. The one I bear responsibility for every day of my life – wearing it proudly but also wondering, often, if I even know what I am doing.

Typically I would rather hide than allow someone else to see my scars so wide out in the open like this but unlike any other man I’ve been with, John has never once asked me, “Why were you with that guy? Why did you marry him?” He doesn’t live in the past or hold mine against me in any way, and for that I will always love him.

We arrived in Columbus as the sun set over the skyline. John Bear snapped this blurry picture

and then we were home, but not for long.

After only one full day back we were off again… this time to Athens and my brother’s wedding. Little did we know the snafu of all snafus was waiting for us, and that John and I would finally reach our breaking points.

Get a sneak peek with pictures in the wedding photo album. I haven’t labeled the photos on purpose.

Catch up:

The wow factor.

mssinglemama — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 02:47:36 +0000

There are few material things that ever really wow me.

Here are two.

Benjamin’s new “water boots”.

For the first time in three years Benjamin’s father bought him a pair of shoes.

He had no way of knowing this but I’ve been trying to find a cool pair of puddle stomping boots for months. But they never had Benjamin’s size or they were just too cartoony. These are perfect.

We’re about to enter week three of our two nights a week arrangement and with each week my ex is being more responsive, more engaged as a father and even more attentive to my concerns and my needs. I’m not over analyzing it, wondering why now or what next. I’m just enjoying this and fanning the flames of hope.

The future doesn’t have to be so frightening. I make it frightening as a defense mechanism. It’s a bad habit to break but I’m working on it.

My Ford Fiesta.

I am absolutely divinely head over heels in love with my new ride.

I just got home last night but Benjamin and I were out and about all day cruising.

Now I’m wiped out.

I have a lot of video to edit, some posts to write and a secret self-induced single mama mission to tell you about. I just had to go rogue and get a jump start on this whole mission thing. The story will have to wait until I sleep and catch up on everything else.

Until then check out my Fiesta Movement Training Flickr pictures. Start with this picture of me on Lake Michigan in Chicago. Sigh. Then head over to Morgan’s Flickr of the trip because she is actually a photographer. Her shots are, as usual, out of this world.

The Easter Man

mssinglemama — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 12:08:13 +0000

My son can’t wait to be a man.

You don’t have to know him very well to instantly see that inside of this little three-year-old is a strong, tough guy waiting to come out and do man things all day.

Take my Uncle Dennis’ truck for example.

There is no place on Earth Benjamin would rather be than sitting in the back taking a donut break.

That’s why I’m going to hold pictures like this for ransom.

Oh! And those underwear he has on – he calls them “panties”.

I did NOT do that on purpose.

I swear.

I honestly just called them panties for two weeks before it dawned on me, “Hey, that doesn’t sound right.”

Too late. Panties they will be until someone else can convince him otherwise. See the rest of our Easter photos here – Martha Stewart would have a heart attack.

Happy Easter!

We’re heading down to grandma’s today with Mia and Sydney, who are both doing really well (I’ll bug her for another post).

—–

My ex’s request and hate mail [updates]

I’ve decided to let Benjamin’s father keep him for two nights this week. Your advice on that was, as usual, spot on. My favorite tip is to take it week by week, see how it goes and always let Benjamin say if he wants to stay or vice versa. It’s all about Benjamin and if he wants his dad then he gets his dad. And even though my ex-husband has even expressed desires to go back to Canada, he’s still here. And I shouldn’t deprive my son of his father while he still has one around.

I also do believe, especially after reading a comment from Canadian Bald Guy (a single father himself) that men can change as fathers because the children change.

If you’re looking for something really awesome watch his video in response to my hate letter. He basically tips his hat off to single mothers in a big, big way. Coming from a single dad that means the world to me and so did all of your comments. The world, people. Seriously. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

You all made her words disappear in an instant.

No related posts.

Father Figure

mssinglemama — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 01:22:49 +0000

Maybe I gave up.

Maybe I just didn’t want to hear another “I can’t” or “I’ll try” – each one cutting a bit deeper than the last.

But somewhere along the way I just stopped.

I stopped asking my ex-husband to spend more time – time outside of his 36 hours a week – with our son.

So I’m not sure why, when Benjamin refused to let go of his father this afternoon, I said, “he needs you now, more than ever – maybe you should spend more time with him.”

And then, the reply came that I’ve been wanting to hear for three years, “Yeah, maybe I should keep him two nights a week. I’m working the night shift now on Thursday so I could keep him Wednesday night and bring him to day care on Thursday morning.”

“But if you do that,” I said, “if you commit to spending more time with him you have to be around. You can’t be moving, to Chicago or anywhere.”

“You say that,” he said, “But I think you’ll be the one who moves.”

He had a point.

We’re both transient spirits and even though I have no intention of moving right now, there’s no predicting what the future holds for either of us.

Who am I after all of these years of daydreaming for him to take Benjamin more often to deny them that time together? He may not be the most supportive ex-husband financially or emotionally but he does love his son – immensely – and he’s always loved him as best as he knows how.

“I’ll think about it, okay. I’ll let you know.”

So I’m thinking about it.

Thinking about what it would be like to have an ex who steps up more often and wondering if he was really serious. I’m also, of course, hoping some of you will make sense of this for me.

Can men, as fathers, change? Could it just be a lot easier for my ex because Benjamin is a boy now, not a toddler or a baby?

For more posts on my ex and my take on our relationship as co-parents read on:

My imaginary husband

mssinglemama — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 03:17:10 +0000

It’s been so long since I’ve had a husband, or even a steady boyfriend for that matter, that I now can only imagine what it would be like. There’s nothing tangible left, not even an old pair of boxer shorts. Just pictures like this one.

At first, when Benjamin was just four-months-old, the memories of having someone were fresh. It pained me to imagine being alone for one more day, let alone a lifetime. Now, nearly three years later, I’ve completely adapted to going it solo, 100% of the time.

With that said, I can’t say that my imaginary husband doesn’t pop into my head every once in a while. He teases me with visions of what it would be like to have some help in the form of a sexy man who I get all to myself forever and ever.

Sometimes I even write him letters.

This week his imaginary chores included:

Super gluing the shield of Benjamin’s toy knight back on.
Removing me from the bar after my third shot of tequila on my 30th birthday to save me from my drunk self.
Taking the garbage out (at least four times).
Figuring out how to get the water out of the car seat after I left the door open all night during a rainstorm.
Setting up the space heaters and then telling me a gas leak is no big deal and that everything would be okay.
Running to the store to pick up juice for Benjamin when he wanted it the other night.
Returning the videos to the library before we got $20.00 in late fees.
Teaching Benjamin how to pee standing up.
Watching Benjamin while I took a much deserved nap.
And giving me a back rub (at least four times).

I managed most of these by myself, except for the back rub, the late night grocery run, the drunken bar removal, the nap and the library returns. It’s always in the oddest moments that the thoughts of my imaginary husband pop up. But that’s all they are – just thoughts, innocent and passive without even wistful regret. It’s been so long though. I mean, I may as well be imagining what it would be like to meet an alien or live in Africa.

And, yes, that scares me a little.

Should being in a relationship really feel like something so completely and totally foreign? Am I morphing into a hybrid single chick who is going to remain completely self-sufficient for the rest of her little life? That doesn’t sound so bad actually.That’s why I take my little imaginary husband daydreams as a very good sign.

Without them it would be easy to convince myself that men are superfluous and unnecessary distractions. And I think finding myself on that extreme would mean I could be missing out on something, even though I don’t know what that something is. Clearly there are women – a lot of them – who benefit from having a man around. I know, I’ve seen them – those good husbands and those happy wives.

Keep in mind I’ve never actually had a husband or a man who would have done all of those things for me without complaint. Dumb luck? Maybe. Bad judgment? Probably. A penchant for choosing men who need help instead of one who can carry his own weight? Definitely.

So keep that in mind. When you read about this woman who loves being single so very much, it may be because I’ve never really had a man who made my life better. Some of you have and that must be horrible not to have it anymore, whatever the reason.

I never missed mine. I had felt trapped, wanting to break free during most of our marriage. I was on the phone with my sister, my newborn sound asleep in his stroller when I finally decided I needed to end it.

“If this is what marriage is like,” I told her, “or what our marriage is like than I don’t want it – at all. Actually I’d rather be single. It would be easier than this!”

I was absolutely right. Someday our son is going to understand this. In fact, I think he’ll be one of those kids who just shakes his head and wonders how in the hell is parents even lasted long enough to create him. As hard as it was to become a single mom, as impossible as it seemed, it was – and still is – well worth every minute. And this is why I am so glad my imaginary husband is here. He’s much more fun than fear or bottled up resentment and he’s an amazing kisser.

Hey, at least I am making imaginary room for a man.

Major progress, people, major.

What chores do you have for your imaginary husband? How would he be different from your ex-husband? Dish it.

Questions

mssinglemama — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 12:19:25 +0000

Benjamin is catching on to the fact that there is no man in this house.

And it’s hard.

I didn’t think it would be so difficult to hear them:

“Mommy, is Daddy working?”

“Yes, baby, he’s working but he misses you.”

and the new one…

“Mommy, do you have a daddy?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“Where is he? Is he working?”

“No, honey he is gone. But he loves you too.”

I’m awful at this shit.

They’re just so hard to answer – these questions that carry such incredible weight to us adults – so I try to keep it simple. And Benjamin doesn’t just talk about his Daddy every once in a while, it’s at least once an hour. But it’s also every time he’s crying or throwing a fit over something.

Between sobs he always manages an, ” I – waaaaannnnntttt mmmmyyyyy daddddyy.”

It’s hard as hell to hear that in those moments.

—–

The two men I’ve actually fallen for since becoming a single mom, Kris and Mr. Man, were polar opposites right down to their looks and their age. But they both had one thing in common — Benjamin adored them and they adored him right back.

I’m realizing now that if Benjamin doesn’t love a guy then I can’t love him.

My son’s approval is paramount to mine. Funny having such a teeny, tiny little person completely in charge of my love life. But it’s fine. Really. Because I don’t think I could fall for someone who wasn’t falling for Benjamin too. With that said, finding that allusive love trifecta is the tough part.

Here are some of my red flags I look out for while dating. These clue me in on whether or not a guy is into Benjamin:

He rarely asks about Benjamin or he asks often but doesn’t wait for the answer.
I tell him about Benjamin and he tells me a story about his dog.
He doesn’t seem excited to meet Benjamin or hang out with him again if they’ve already met.

You may be thinking – how could a guy ever care that much about my son before he’s even met him or directly thereafter? But it does happen. There’s a click between big people and little people too.

Have you ever broken up with a man because he didn’t click with your kids? How long do you think it takes to see if a bond is there – I know it must take longer if the kids are older? And how do you handle the daddy questions?

See. Lots of questions all around.

More posts I’ve written about Dads or a Lack Thereof:

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy? [evidence that the daddy questions are nothing new]
Houston we have a problem.
Dead Beat Dads or Dads Who Just Don’t Care – What’s the Difference?

No Show

mssinglemama — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 14:21:40 +0000

I got a text message at 5:27 a.m. this morning from Benjamin’s father.

“So not coming.”

That’s all it said. No reason why. Nothing. Normally I would have rolled back over and kept sleeping but given that tonight is date night I shot up like a bullet.

“Why? He is expecting you,” I texted back.

Nothing.

Twenty minutes later I call him.

“I’m sick, I’ve been puking all night,” he says.

A wave of memories hits me – the sick days I’ve had with Benjamin, the long voyages to the store or to grandma’s nauseated as hell.

“That’s bull shit,” I said.

Then he hung up the phone.

When Benjamin woke up I had to break the news. He’s been expecting him lately, more than ever because he’s getting older and is now much more aware of Daddy’s presence or absence, whichever it is that week. He took it like a champ and gobbled down his cereal but I know tonight he’ll be crying for him.

I get it that he’s sick but why not give me a heads up the night before? Or even let me sleep in a bit before waking me with the news? Why is he so inconsiderate? And why can’t he just suck it up and show up on a consistent basis. If you’ll notice Benjamin’s father has now consistently skipped every other week since January 1st. (I think).

Last night my stranger date called and I quickly picked up on the fact that he’d be picking me up. So I scrambled to clean my house, just in case he got a peak inside. Which I hope he does because from the outside my place looks like a shithole. Rusty awnings, siding from the 60′s and a messy yard. I am extremely lacking in the yard maintenance department – it’s just a tad embarassing. But on the inside it’s a sweet, sweet and super cute/comfortable little apartment.

I called my babysitter this morning, probably woke her up – but she can watch Benjamin – a miracle. Now I have to decide if I should cancel those pick up plans. I may have to meet him at the restaurant so Benjamin doesn’t see him – God forbid if my son actually sees his mom get into a car with a strange man, could mess him up for life.

No, seriously, I don’t want him to see that.

The other option is to send Benjamin and the sitter off to the coffee shop during date pick up time. And I’ll also be returning the new dress I was going to wear so I can afford to pay the babysitter.

I wanted to share this all with you because, well, I had a feeling you could relate. And while I laid awake this morning (only ended up with 5 hours of sleep) all I could think about was using the little savings I do have to hire a lawyer.

I want full custody.

—–

And now I must work. Yeah, that job thing. There’s that too. Oh, and the whole date thing. By the time I land in that restaurant I’m going to be the happiest date that guy’s ever seen – just because I’ll be out of my house with a bottle of wine in front of me and a handsome man to make me smile.

Single moms rock.

And today would be a great day to fill out your ex’s real name here.

Bye, Bye Daddy?

mssinglemama — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 06:28:33 +0000

“I talked to someone who works with your ex’s girlfriend,” my friend said.

“Really? And?”

“She is acting all excited saying he bought a new car and they are all moving to Canada – together.”

My face lit up and then crumbled all at once. Certainly, it must have. I can’t hide anything. It’s annoying. Hearing that felt something like this: conflicted excitement that he’ll finally be completely gone instead of partially gone and then total horror at the idea of him taking them with him – his girlfriend and her six-year-old son.

“When?” I asked.

“She said it would be in a few weeks or something.”

I called Benjamin’s father later this afternoon. Small talk first – brief small talk – and then:

“So? Have you been thinking about Canada? Have you made up your mind?”

“I can’t talk right now. We’re really busy.”

“Well, call me back when you get off. I want to talk about this.”

Still no call.

Just waiting now in the quiet of our apartment. I’m at the precipice, looking over and wondering what’s on the other side.

I also can’t believe another single mom is actually choosing my worst nightmare and taking her son along for the ride. For a man who won’t even let her son call him Daddy.

How can some of us be so tragically blind?

I shudder to think of what that boy’s future holds. Why can’t I save him? Why do women make decisions like this? For men? Really? And the worst thought of all – I brought him here, I led him to her through some kind of twisted fate. And now instead of my son – who I’ve saved – it will be another boy.

—–

Today a building that spans over most of an entire block caught fire in my little neighborhood. We missed the entire thing because we’d just left for an afternoon at grandma’s. Mia was home and she called me right away. The sky was black and ashes were falling on her house.

Tonight we invited my cool neighbors to walk there with us to check it out.

Here’s the alley we walk through every day in the spring, summer and fall… and there’s little Benjamin loving the snow.

It usually leads us to some of our favorite shops and boutiques (and my favorite hair salon) but tonight here’s what we saw.

That ice on the trees is frozen water from the fire hoses. Unbelievable. It was all there, just this morning.

P.S.

I met his father at a restaurant behind the right fire truck nearly five years ago. Is it a total coincidence the very spot is covered in ash and soot right now? Definitely. But still… there’s some serious symbolism for you. Weird.

The rest of this story can be found in these posts: