The other day, mi esposo figured out that he’d been blocked again and asked in a text if my account had been deleted. I told him of our mutual friend’s advice that I was keeping myself from moving on if I was keeping him in my networks. In a series of angry messages (and probably venomous replies from me) he tried to insist that it was illegal for me to keep him from them and I tried to explain that he didn’t need to keep tabs on me to be a good parent and he knew how and where to contact them. At one point he said “Then start talking to me altogether.” which I’m assuming meant stop talking, but one can never tell.
Later that same day, on the way home from the girls’ school, Luna wanted to speak with her daddy so when it was safe to do so (i.e. not while driving 40 in heavy traffic with my babies in the backseat) I sent him a text message telling him that she wanted to chat. He said he was busy at work. I was so angry; how can he get mad at me for keeping him from spying on my social networking profiles but tell me he’s too busy for his girls? What about those roommates and his whore, people he said work for the store for free merchandise (and boinking)?
But my mother says I have no reason to be upset. It is, after all, his responsibility to show he cares about his children. I should just keep doing what I’m doing, taking care of them and me and making sure things run smoothly in la casa de us. If he does love and care about them, he’ll make an effort. If he doesn’t, we’ll learn to cope.
But tomorrow (Oct 11, 2011) is Freya’s first birthday.
I’m happy, proud…bitter…I wanted her first birthday to be held in our big backyard on Thayer Drive, with him grilling up something yum on the gas grill I bought, something that probably had been stored in the deep freeze I bought because I probably got the food on coupons well in advance. The BBQ sauce and other condiments would have probably been stored in the big fridge my mother bought. I wanted to invite all of my old and new Arkansas/Oklahoma friends, especially those with small children. I wanted to set up the Baby Connection high chair my mother bought and let Freya go to town on her cake.
I wanted to serve drinks chilled in the mini fridge I bought. I wanted my husband and my children to enjoy Freya’s first birthday as a celebration not only of her first complete rotation about Sol, but also of another year of us as a family.
Instead, me and the girls will join my mother for sandwiches and chips on my patio. We’ll eat the big half-sheet cake that the bakery made too early (meant to hold off til later in the month so more people could be here). Freya will mutilate her baby cake sitting on the food tray attachment of her Bumbo. I’ll record it or do a live feed for any interested parties. She’ll open a few token gifts and something from her paternal grandmother.
I messaged him tonight about the cake, asked if he wanted to see her playing in it on a live cam. He replied by telling me that he had gifts for her, but that he couldn’t mail them today because it was Columbus Day. My mother’s reaction was that Columbus Day has been this same time every year for quite some time and that he knew what day his daughter was born and that he could have purchased and sent gifts sooner instead of waiting til the day before knowing they’d never get here in time anyway.
I wanted to join in the rant, but–honestly–I forgot it was Columbus Day too. The places I work and the places I shop and the place I do my local banking all were open today. The rabbit-ear channels I get (the two that are in English) didn’t bother to mention the holiday. None of my social networking sites reminded me. And Columbus was an arrogant ass.
But I don’t know what he was thinking. He always used to buy me or the girls gifts on a whim. It didn’t have to be a special calendar day. He was always great about surprising me with gifts and hiding them in the oddest places. I’d be all up in arms about being ordered to fetch him a cold soda (yet still doing it anyways because some part of me adored waiting on him all the time, pun intended), but there in the fridge next to the sodas would be some DVD or game I’d been wanting and I’d end up fetching him the soda anyway and giving him a big hug and kiss and a tear-filled thank you.
Some part of me misses all the good parts of him, the random spontaneous fun parts, the raucous lovemaking, the way his body always used to be several degrees warmer than mine, the times he used to kiss away my tears, watching him play hide and seek with Luna, watching him make funny faces for Freya…I hate that things have gotten to the point where we’re hurling fireballs at each other with every text message. I hate that he only calls when it’s to complain about some mess up with Sprint since they didn’t understand how to split our plans up.
I hate that I have to convince him to pencil-in phone time with his eldest child. I hate that he has some new trollop on our sheets and that she’s creepily reading my blog (how’d she find it? Did he direct her to it, or was she a fan of me before she hooked up with my husband?).
I know that he hears Sabrina from Madea’s Big Happy Family every time I speak to him (except in that movie she and Byron were never married and Mr. Used-to-be-wonderful is still my lawfully wedded husband). I know that I need to move on, to allow myself room to breathe and to dream. I need to stop assuming that the cute Fry’s cashier who’s just barely old enough to sell alcohol to the woman in line behind me is only flirting with me because that’s part of his job description (Service with a smile!) and just enjoy the idea that I can attract the other fish in the sea. I need to focus on completing my MA successfully and trying to find gainful employment.
I should open up those kid savings accounts my bank was telling me about on the off chance that he sends cash for his girls and so that Luna can have a place to put those coins she’s always finding. I should reorganize my sock drawer and join a pottery class. I should wash the car again…The weekend of September 30th my brother and uncle and sister were in town. We went out to the lake as part of our activities while they were here.
It started to rain. Luna and I danced in the rain (it was only a slight drizzle, really, more a sprinkling). Thinking of that day and her giggles and all that I’ve accomplished in the past few months in spite of his spite–pulling three As out of my ass this summer was no small feat, you know–I sometimes actually can crack a smile.
The day-to-day stuff is easy; I’m used to it. I can prepare meals and tie shoes. I’m a wiz at whiz cleanup. I can go into an “empty” cupboard and find a meal. I am an encyclopaedia of random lyrical snippets that make babies smile. I don’t mind being a snot rag, a puke bag, a jungle gym. I love that I get to tuck the babies in at night, cuddle them when they’re in the mood, and know they’re safe and secure here with me.
Someday, people say, he’ll wake up and regret pushing me away.
I don’t know about that, but I’m sure he’ll someday regret not playing a more active role in the girls’ lives. I hope that he’ll figure out a way to balance everything else he’s tied himself to so that his girls can be the first thing on his list of priorities. I hope that he doesn’t let the adoration Luna has for him slip away. I hope that he and Freya can have some sort of bond. I hope that all the bad parts of him that hurt us so much over the years can be eliminated.
I know at this point no one–least of all him–would respect me if some magic wand or miracle remedy made reconciliation possible for he and I, but that shouldn’t stop him from being a great daddy to the girls.
I’m quite sure that, if he were listening to me talk these words aloud, he’d insist that I was repeating myself or rambling…I often find myself thinking about things he would have done or said in any given situation. I don’t know if that’s cathartic or wall-meets-head-repeatedly.
I do know that it’s nearly midnight and my eyes are protesting and my bed misses my company. Have fun, chin up, and don’t think I’m ignoring you if I don’t answer the phone (cause all of my readers totally call me and everything)–my phone won’t hold a charge. And neither will I…