Heather Barton

I’ve been bad.   I’ve been pouting and sulking at Sex God because I’m feeling “neglected”.

And for some insane reason I feel that he should fix that.  Crazy! Because that’s just not how it works   My fun Sex God isn’t responsible for making me happy.  I’m the one who is responsible for that. And my mood is bringing down his happy high.

So I began to really look at “why” I’m feeling neglected.   Because I’d rather fix a problem than dwell on it.  Being sulky and pouting at Sex God isn’t fair to him.  Its not HIS fault he got a promotion and might be working more.  Its not HIS fault my weekends and his haven’t meshed together in weeks.  Its not HIS fault that I’ve had too much “Mommy Heather” and waaaay not enough “Sexy Heather” time.

THAT was what I concluded after my introspection.

Its natural for a woman to try and solve these types of feelings by soliciting more attention from whatever and whoever usually fulfills them.   And most women get sulky and pout to let that source know they need attention.  I’m no exception in that regard.  But I am an exception when I realize that I’m expecting another person to make me happy it irks me BIG time!

I think its always been a part of me.  And its probably one of the reasons my marriage didn’t work.  I tend to fix my own problems, acquire my own desires, fulfill my own needs.  Its also one of the reasons I make such a GOOD lover, girlfriend, friend with benefits.   If I need something from a man I’ll tell him.   Conversely, if I’m not getting what I need from a man (or situation or life or my kids, etc.) I’ll do what I think I need to do to fix it or acquire it.

I adore spending time with my Sex God.  But we ARE over an hour drive apart.  I’ve told him if he wants me to be exclusive he’d have to take up the slack of all other affection giving men.  And he hasn’t asked for that.  But I began to give it to him anyway and expecting more emotionally.

Tsk, tsk, on me.

But don’t worry too much.  I can fix it. 🙂

One of the things that is a bummer about being single is the feeling of handling all the adversity life throws at you alone.  Its not being alone that makes a person feel lonely (cuz honestly I adore my alone time)… its the sense of standing in the storm by yourself.

This is what makes your brain long… long for a partner to share this life with.  Because you want a break.  You want to feel not so alone when the shit hits the fan.  For a woman, often you secretly want to just be held and told not to worry, he’ll handle it.

A lot of shit has hit my fan recently and I’ve gone to that point.  I’ve had that desire to have ONE man on my side, there for me.  When I need support,  help, a strong shoulder to somehow fix the shit or make it better.  And here is where my pessimist laughs and say, “A husband?  Didn’t you just get rid of one?”

But my husband was never a good partner for me.  He preferred to let me be in charge and when I wanted his input he just waived it away and told me to decide he was fine with whatever I chose.  Starting out, that was alright but after 13 years the unbalanced aspect of it was too much and too late to change.  He was never someone who just took it over when the shit hit the fan.  He looked to me to fix it.

But in analyzing my feelings… I looked at this desire to give up “being in charge” to a male.  Really scrutinized it.  And I realize that having a man who comes in and takes charge of things so I don’t have to would ALSO have become equally unbearable over time as one who never did.  I would  have been smothered, my opinions meaning less and less over time. Both ways I would have lost myself.

Yuck.

And the solution?

Well, first I need to assess, address and act.   lol.  So I assessed my feelings.

Its been a shit-long, weary month.  The new custody is more draining to me that I thought it would be.  I really only have 2 days to myself now that the kids dislike being with their father.   And before I would have a whole 7 days.   7 days of pure me time.   It was such a wonderful vacation.  And I saved so much on food/water/electricity!  Sigh. All that is now gone.

Plus my cycle came early.  Which was a blessing so I’ll be mostly done by the weekend… but it meant that PMS caught me by surprise.  THAT is never fun.  Poor kids got “At the end of her rope” Mommy.

Top it all off… my new “great deal” Craigslist couch is splitting at the seems.  It was in use all of 3 weeks and its ruined.  The material seems to be so cheap its pulling out of the stitching.  Probably not even fixable.   Double Sigh…  I just get sick now every time I look at it.

So.. I’ve “Assessed” that I’m emotionally tired.   I see no recourse to try and “Address” my many problems with solutions.   I am left only to “Act” like I’m okay and go on with life.

Did I mention the kids get out of school for the summer next week.

Sigh.

I love Craigslist.  I sold a few pieces of furniture on there and found some new better pieces.   The good stuff goes quickly, so when I found a particular item in my price range, I needed to pick it up before it sold.  Of course I don’t have a vehicle big enough and my Sex God (who did) was unavailable.

Yes, I could have called on a different man, but the few I knew who had trucks or something similar (who I knew were also free) I wasn’t wanting to re-open that contact door.   So I called my brother who lent me his Suburban since he couldn’t come help himself.  See it was mother’s day and they were going on a family hike for my sister-in-law.  (Gak.. really?  I shouldn’t judge… but nature and I, we like to observe each other not interact. lol.)

So I borrowed his big, blue, old Suburban.   And.. Oh, My.. that vehicle is a beast to drive.

Now, if you’ve been reading the blog since ’09 OR you’ve gone back to the beginning and have worked your way through the over 350 blogs prior to this one (I KNOW!.. WoW!  Do I know how to ramble!)  then you know that I drive a cute red Corolla.   I zip around in the little thing and it stops on a dime!  Plus it’s sooo easy on the gas tank.  I love my car 🙂

There I am, at my brothers.. trying NOT to grumble that he could have AT LEAST made my life a little easier by backing the huge thing out of the driveway.. but, whatever.  I climb up into the giant vehicle and survey this new world.

Now two years ago I drove a Mommy Van, so this vantage isn’t completely new.  And in my college years I drove a VW Van from Iowa to L.A. (what do you mean I can’t gun it past 70 down the hill?.. how will I get above 40 going up the next hill if I don’t!) , so I’ve done my share of challenging drives.   But this thing is old and huge and my brother is almost 6 feet so there was a lot of adjusting of seat & mirrors & “What the HELL station are you listening to!!” going on.

Finally, I’m ready to go.  Turn the key and the beast growls to life.  Wow, its loud.  I put it in reverse, gently push down on the gas and the engine roars!  And goes…. nowhere!  I press harder and it slowly begins to back out the driveway.

Now, when I asked my brother if there were any tips I needed to drive the Suburban, he replied.  “Drive it like a station wagon.  Just remember its long.”

Oh, there are soooo many other tips he could have mentioned.

Like the fact that driving this thing is not like driving a station wagon.. its like driving an ELEPHANT!  It takes a hell of a lot to get it moving (I felt a cattle prod may have helped somehow) and when it finally IS moving it’s ever so slowly increases speed.   It was a good thing my brother’s house is so close to the corner and I wasn’t going very fast because I quickly learned another thing.  It damn near braked EXACTLY like it sped up!  Slooooowwwlllllyyyy..

You know those moments.   Where you’re hoping the steering wheel is bolted securely as you’re using it as leverage to try and press harder on the brake pedal.   Yup… just like that..

So I’m giggling at the absurdity of the whole thing.  (Because I don’t get mad or stressed I just get comedic at stuff like this.)   Urging my giant elephant onto the freeway.. wishing I had a little turban to wear.. ever mindful that I need to keep a HUGE gap between me and the car in front in case, GOD Forbid!!  I have to brake suddenly!  And I see a small car wanting to get into my lane.  I just laugh.  Sorry, Dude, there is NO way I’ll be able to slow down or speed up to accommodate you.

And there is a certain freedom in that knowledge.  In my little car, I’m constantly aware of the traffic around me and making adjustments to speed and position based on what I infer.  He’s going to jump in front of me, she needs to get over, he’s tailgating me… am I going too slow for the lane?  I’m always trying to be polite when I drive and speed up to get out of other’s way.. (any reason to speed!)   All these thoughts i n my head… Which joggles my memory that I should watch how fast I’m going.  Speed can be deceptive in a new vehicle and I seem to be cruising quite fast in this thing.  So I glance down.

55!  I’m only going 55!  Glory be.. how embarrassing!!  I can at least do a respectable 65 o n the freeway.  After all that’s the speed limit.. lumbering elephant or not!

Then.

Out of the blue.. I feel a random puff of air from the left vent caress my hand.  What the???   I check the air system.  It is… um… off.  Not on low… off.   And then just as suddenly its gone, no little puff of air.  So now I think I’ve imagined it until it happens again!

Great.  The elephant is actually just a gigantic haunted beast trying to communicate with me through Morse code puffs of air!  Can driving this thing get any weirder!!

Thankfully, no.   I made it to the Seller’s house,  Loaded up my new furniture into the Suburban, drove to my house without incident (ignoring all attempts of the Beast Ghost to contact me), unloaded the boxed furniture and then drove back to my brother’s house.

I have never been so happy that I drive a zippy little tin can!  I would have kissed my car after driving that beast, except she needs a bath REAL bad!

So when the Ex finally moved out he told me he had moved into an apartment.   When he began taking his weeks of our, then, one week on and one week off custody situation; the kids told me a whole different story.  He’d moved straight into his girlfriends house.  Sleeping in her bed and parking all his things AND my 3 kids in her converted garage.  When the kids call it a garage he adamantly tells them its a Guest House. (so they tell me)  Well, its a garage.  Is it a finished garage, yes.  But since it doesn’t have a toilet it cannot be called a Guest House.

At first the kids thought this was an interesting adventure.  Bonnie had pets.  Better yet she had cats.  My kids loved cats.  When I was entertaining the idea of getting a replacement pet for our dog when he passed away 2 years ago, the Ex announced he was allergic to cats.  Right.  When he met me, I had 3 cats.  He showed no allergy then!  Another example of the length of lying the man would go to get his way.  Instead of having a rational dialogue.  Just saying.

Anyway.  The glamor of their living arrangements soon wore off and they began to hate it at “Dad’s”.  Evan once told me that, “because Dad has all his boxes of comic books and stuff in the garage and we spend most of our time there, that I feel like just another piece of his stuff.”  And he got emotional as he told me.  My heart ached for the boy, but there was little I could do that wouldn’t just make things worse down the line.  I watched my girlfriend in the first 3 years after her divorce plex and fret and scream and rant over the type of parenting her Ex did.  I didn’t want to become that person.

Luke began to call me from his cell phone in a screaming melt-down over things his father said and how it made him feel.   Apparently my Ex doesn’t understand the part in the divorce papers where he’s not supposed to slam/insult, within the hearing of the kids, their Mother.   So I spend a lot of time defending his behavior.  For instance, he’ll make a sarcastic mean comment thinking he’s being humorous and since his delivery is dead-pan due to his Asperger’s anti-social behavior.. the kids think he’s being serious.  Luke especially takes such comments as personal attacks on his character.  And  feels that his father hates him.

This does not help the boy’s High Anxiety/Clinical Depression which he takes medication for.  I shouldn’t have to up his dosage just because his father contributes to his symptoms.  So I try to talk Luke into practicing his tolerance and trying to be a little more understanding.  Sometimes it helps and sometimes it doesn’t.  And Bonnie’s neighbors get an earful as Luke screams from her backyard how much he hates his father and how horrible he is.  Perk?  Maybe.

Then we had an incident last Sunday.  The Ex told me he’d found a one day job and needed to drop the kids off Sunday evening or very early Monday morning.   I told him Sunday eve would be fine anytime after 7pm.  Because I’d planned on spending the weekend with Sex God which is an hour drive away.  On that Sunday at 3 pm or so I get a call from Luke.  Another distressed screaming call and when I finally get him somewhat calmed down he tells me that this time its not Dad its Bonnie, the girlfriend.  Here’s what I finally pieced together when I got all 3 of the kids stories at 7pm that night.

In one of Evan’s trip from the garage into the house and back he accidentally didn’t close the door all the way.  It opened and one of Bonnie’s cats got out.  Apparently, my Ex was gone to a convention (to work or play I don’t know) and had left the kids with her.  So Bonnie goes into the garage and begins to yell at all three of the kids, complete with insults.  The nine year old tells me he can’t remember what she said because he was so busy crying.  Luke, no doubt, immediately insisted it wasn’t him and he’s not like that (that was a lot of what he was focusing on in his call to me.  He cannot tolerate unfounded insults to his character.)

And my Evan no doubt withdrew into a blank faced wall.  Evan is my sensitive boy.  He’s just like his father that way.  His father endured physical abuse & mental abuse from his 5 older brothers and neglect from his exhausted mother (8 kids, alcoholic husband, low personal self esteem & a daughter with kidney disease who later died before she was 30) all his life.  Evan, who endured being bullied at school for 3 years and refused to take martial arts classes (I don’t want to fight!), and only this year began rebuilding his fragile self esteem.  Evan, who loves pets and once described Bonnie as “Always happy, I’ve never seen her when she’s not happy.”

Evan she accused of doing it on purpose, calling him anti-social (“Just because I’m shy!” he cried to me).  She left my stunned kids in her garage while she went to search for her cat.  (which they found.)  Then came back two more times to yell at them some more.   Once might have been excused, but twice more.  Nope.  A cat, no matter how loved, is not worth the emotional abuse of children.

And apparently she’s employed as a Teacher.  I shudder to think of what she does in the classroom.  Because apparently when my Ex is NOT there she’s NOT a nice person.

And speaking of my Ex.. what did he do when he finally got home?  Apparently he yelled at the kids some more.   By the time they got to me they were all traumatized.  Seeing me brought it all to the front as they finally felt safe enough to let those bottled up feelings out.  I spent an hour comforting tearful boys and hearing their side.  And giving them my opinion.  They begged to never go back there again.

Lucky for them they don’t have to this weekend.  And hopefully the off-hand remark the Ex made TO THE KIDS the he’s sure “Bonnie wishes I’d never had kids.”  and  “Now I’ll have to spend $150 a weekend to get a motel room when I have you.”  means that she’s not going to allow my children in her house again.  Cross your fingers!

I sent the Ex an email.  It was very mature, without any of the screaming threats in my head dying to get out.  It basically said that this is unacceptable treatment of MY children and if I hear of it every happening again I’ll have “words” with Bonnie whether she likes it or not.   And that I think the idea of him getting a motel room on his custody weekends a brilliant solution.   And that bottom line he should get OFF his ass, get a REAL job & get his OWN apartment.  Lastly, I told him this situation has made me decide to look into full custody of the kids.

While I hesitate to get a lawyer and file for this (I’m not made of money!), my children don’t deserve verbal abuse or a father who puts up with it.  It’s either that or give “Bonnie” a taste of her own medicine.    Unlike her, I don’t yell at kids who aren’t mine but I don’t have a single problem yelling at an adult who does.  And I know where she lives.