When I was going through my divorce, it was 2000. My children were 3 1/2 and 1 1/2. Babies. And babies need to be with their Mommy. Especially MY babies.
It was a given. Unspoken between my soon to be ex and I, that the sole physical custody would be mine. Because that was how it was going to be. You’d have to kill me. Then kill me again. Then…you’d have to TRY to pry them from my rigor mortis-ridden arms.
I had to deal with my jack ass ex-husbands empty threats of some “trump card” that he had, which would surely get him custody. Which, seriously…did he honestly think I was going to fall for that? I knew he was trying to threaten me because he did NOT want to pay child support.
Besides. Children do NOT get taken from the Mommy. Not unless they are proven to be unfit. Or are dead. Or…they choose to give up custody, like my husbands ex-wife.
Well…I got custody.
Obviously. I’m not unfit, well…I REALLY do need to start working out but…we’re not talking about THAT kind of unfit. I’m not dead…although, I’m approaching 40 so, I’ve got one foot in the grave. But this divorce happened almost 10 years ago so I was MUCH younger…and fitter. And, like I mentioned before, you would need the jaws of life to pry my children from my dead arms. So yeah…I have custody.
And he still doesn’t want to have to pay child support. So…he simply doesn’t.
Let me re-phrase that.
He pays child support when a letter arrives from Friend of the Court announcing a Show Cause hearing in front of the referee…who happens to hate my ex-husband. *Smirk*
So, he usually comes up with the money the day before our hearing. And then we are usually adjourned for another month. Then…he comes up with the money the day before the hearing….which causes another adjournment. See the pattern? Yeah, it’s an easy one, right?
Well, this little game has been going on for years.
He hasn’t paid since December.
He hasn’t helped with HIS kids, in any way, shape or form.
He expects my husband. The step-father. To take care of all his childrens needs. Health insurance. Dental. After-school activities. Toilet paper. Socks. EVERYTHING.
And HE is living the life of a prince. Well…a prince turned pauper turned scum rot.
He is living in a luxury apartment building. With all new furniture. His food is being paid for. He has a cleaning lady. His living needs are being met. He…is a kept man. Kept…by his mother. Who moved back into town. And, by the way…is living in her own apartment, just down the hall from Jrs. Gross, eh? Yep. You bet.
But the Mommy. Is taking care of her baby. Who is NOT taking care of his own babies. And she. Is CERTAINLY not offering to help him take care of HER grandchildren.
And he…refuses to get a job. Well, a real job. One that pays. Not this…PRETEND job that he has. Where he is trying to start some sort of ethanol plant. Because, in this economy…who the heck is going to hand over 250 million dollars to some punk with bald patches, who is being supported by his mother? And if anyone out there is about to…dude, you’re as crazy as my ex is!
It’s back to court. The end of the month. To start this dance over again.
Threatening letter. Money shows up in my bank account.
This…is NOT the type of dancing I like to do.
It’s NOT the type of dancing I learned.
It’s NOT the type of dancing that I want my children to ever learn.
This type of dancing. IS UGLY.
It’s not fluid and graceful…like the Ballet.
It’s not funky and fun…like Hip Hop.
It’s choppy. And dark.
I don’t enjoy this type of dance.
And I’m done doing it.
I really hope that the dance instructor, when we meet again at the dance studio, has new choreography. For another form of dance.
A type of dance that I can teach my children. And let them know that I learned it from someone who wanted them to learn it…
So that our future generations will know this dance and it’s choreography.
And the old dance. The dark and choppy one.
Will be forgotten. Erased.
And never be seen in another dance studio again.
Until then, this dancer waits.