Top 10 ways to ensure your child's University tuition is spent on therapy instead

 

 

 

 

I know you have all been enjoying tales of the Evil Ex. You may have found yourself morbidly spellbound as if you were watching a trainwreck as I have described some of her most crowning moments in parenting. Labour Day weekend actually marks the anniversary of one of Evil Ex’s most glorious moments in vengeance that resulted in a demonstration of horrific parenting; I thought I would commemorate the events, which are featured below. Here is my top ten list of how to ensure your child’s university tuition will be spent on therapy instead.

Last weekend the children should have been returned to us on Friday night. On Friday, we discovered that EE had no intention of getting themback.  Therefor our plans to go to Whistler for the long weekend were kyboshed yet again. I was inspired to write this after it was discovered that EE had told the children that we didn’t see them on the weekend because he was too “lazy” to drive the 2 hours back to city and get them on Sunday am.  (and by “Lazy”she means,” refusing to give in to her and her self-serving manipulationt actics)

 DDILF’s pick up day atschool was yesterday and low, who do you think had decided to show up? It seemed that Evil Ex was running another slander campaign in light of our unwillingness to drive back to the city. I do admire her “do it to them before they do it to you” strategy. She must have studied “The Art of War”.  It was blatantly apparent that her mission was to make DDILF look like a jerk. Not only was she commenting to other moms, but also to the children and their friends: “I wasn’t sure he would show up to school pick up, that’s why I am here you know.” I am impressed by her nerve and tenacity, but clearly she missed her calling as a B rated porn actress because that’s about how convincing she is. So here we go; my top 10 ten list for “How to ensure your children’s university tuition gets spent on therapy, because you screwed them up so beautifully”.

1)     Tell your children their father is sick in the head. Right after you separate, tell your children repeatedly for months on end“Daddy has something wrong with his head and needs to see a doctor” [and by“wrong with his head” you mean, he didn’t believe you when you denied repeatedlysleeping with another man in his bed, even though the video he installed confessed it all]

2)     Stop letting your kids see their father completely (because he is sick needs to see a doctor, or god forbid they mightfind out that you are the sicko) If you see that your husband has come toschool to see his kids, quickly call 911 and scare the kids into the car by saying: “Daddy’s gone CRAZY”. Then cry assault and have him arrested. Make sure you do this right in front of the kids and the entire school… [don’t attemptthis if you see he has a cell phone camera and can quickly discredit all claim,leaving you looking like a complete asshole]

3)     When your lawyer finally tells you that you have to let your husband see the kids, and you do; get all liquored-up and show up at the house at midnight; waking up yoursleeping kids by screaming  “I’m going tokick you in the neck!” and pound incessantly on the door. Then be grateful thatunlike you, calling the police and having their mother arrested is not one of those touching childhood events he wants his kids to experience.

4)     Have your brother-in-law try to punch out your husband when he comes to the house to see his kids. Again, ensure the kids arew atching this, but that there is no camera phone recording. (We don’t want to embarrass our feeble brother-in-law as he completely fails connect a single throw)

5)     When it serves you, use him as a backup babysitter. When you are in need of some cougar time, but you have worn out your favour with relatives, randomly show up on the doorstep of your husband’shouse.  Be nonchalant as hell, and act asthough you are giving him the awesome privilege of seeing his kids. Just don’tbe surprised when your child has a complete meltdown. Maybe she is wondering why her mother would leave her with an apparent crazy person so she can go party.

6)     Make a scene; every chance you get. When husband chooses to accept the unpaid babysitting because he is just grateful to see hiskids, randomly try to start a fight with him. 

If he does not want to get into a fight in front of the kids, just start yelling at him about his new girlfriend. When your husband asks you nicely to leave,and tries to close the door… throw yourself on it, beat on it, kick it,shoulder check it and try to force your way back in; when that fails and the door is firmly closed and locked with your face behind it… scream at the top ofyour lungs: “don’t touch me! Don’t push me!” and make a huge and overly dramatic scene and then go to the police.

7)     Make your 7 year old lie and get his father arrested. When you’re really mad because your husband won’t acknowledge  your existence and you’re attempts to pick a fight make you look like an ass. Just take your 7 year old down to the police station and make him tell the police aversion of number 6 that ultimately gets his dad arrested.

 

[I actually love this one, because my son was home for one of theseawesome events and posted this comment on his Facebook status.

I didn’t love when the police showed up the next day to haul my DILF offto jail for 4 hours. Thankfully "crazy" is easily detectable by trained police officers. They and the neighbours all agreed that EE was in fact nuts, and he was released with no charges.]

 

8)     Attempt to run him over while your children are in your car. I have nothing to add to that.

 

9)     Add Drama wherever you can. When you are sendingyour kids off to go to their Dad, pour on some drama. Say things like “Its OK,everything is going to fine. You have to go. You have to go, but you can callme and make sure you do. You better call me; if anything happens I will come and get you OK?” Make sure you keep it up until you can see that your daughter is starting show signs of trauma (shaking,crying hyperventilating) then wave and look sad and desperate. This only works for a while, because eventually they realise, that in fact, everything is OK.

 

10)  And finally, make sure your kids think that their Dad is just a loser, a cheater, a beater, a crazy and plain old doesn’t love them. There is nothing better for a child’s self-esteem than the knowledge that something is inherently wrong with one or more of their parents. Children are extensions of their parents, if something is wrong with a parent, there must be something wrong with them.  And that’s good, because you get to swoop in on your broomstick and be the big winner… because you are the only one who matters afterall. 

 

 

Epiphany

 

 

 

This morning I awoke feeling weary in my bones. I began to question my life’s work. I considered everything I had ever done, the blood, the sweat, the tears. What do I have to show for it? In all these years, have I amounted to nothing?

I sold my business in June. A business I started from the ground up; a business I struggled in daily just to survive; no different from the 10 prior years as a single mom. I felt chewed up and spit out. I consider myself lucky to have dumped it and been left semi in the black.

 

3 months later I am more rested and less angst. But now I am left with a feeling of being cast adrift into the unknown, without a purpose. I am identity-less and questioning my worth and my future.

 

And then I was struck by a thought; more an expanded awareness of consciousness itself. I thought of my son. In my mind, I was looking into his big blue eyes; it felt like I was looking into his soul. I suddenly became overwhelmed with a sense of privilege. I was chosen. Invited rather, to bring this unique consciousness to life. What a beautiful creation I made. I felt connected at that moment to the core essence of my being. I am a creator.

 

I am not measured by my successes, failures, accumulations or acquisitions. I am not measured at all.  I just am. I am here to experience, to live, to love, to think, explore and expand.  

My contribution is the culmination of every thought, idea, emotion, interaction and decision I make; not what I do or accomplish.

 

My purpose is me; ever evolving.  And so, I am open to the flow of life. I am allowing the current to carry me to the places where the wisdom of my life experiences are needed and best put to use. I don’t need to pigeon hole myself into a job description or title. By virtue of my very existence my value and potential is ever unfolding, never ending and entirely limitless.

Aliens and abductions

Labor day long weekend and DDILF and I have just sent our Swiss "replacement child" off on a bike ride in the woods and settled ourselves on the river bank of our campsite to do some work. I love my new office. I attached a photo of my view. I call him replacement child because my own 16 year old has no interest in hanging out with me whatsoever... So Maximilian will have to suffice as the replacement ... and really I could do worse, he is very sweet and laughs at my jokes. Although I wonder what he secretly thinks of his wacky home-stay mother.
My poor DDILF is as we speak; being screwed yet again out of a long weeks with his kids. The EE loves to make arbitrary changes to agreed upon custody arrangements. EE has returned from her holiday with the kids a day late, which of course lands directly in the middle of a long weekend.
What really gets me is her smugness at screwing over her own kids. Just like the previous long weekend where we had planned a trip to the US but could not go because the day we planned to leave she decides to with hold the passports... Which makes total sense because DDILF an I are Aliens and it would be so easy to abscond with the children, move to another planet; never to be seen or heard from again. Maybe we can find replacement children for EE...It seems to be working for me..

What happens when your inner childs climbs into the blender...?

I was responding to a forum post from a lovely man with a blended family.

He was desperate because his second wife after nine years together had started to become a real control freak.

Maybe it just hit her that the years of togetherness had never really smoothed out the blending like she’d hoped. Maybe she was hoping for whipped, or frappe?

I think sometimes us step-moms hold on to a secret hope that the Evil-Ex will one day simply disappear and all matters of parenting will be mine!  (Insert evil laugh here)

When there are children and an ex-wife in the picture there is a constant reminder of my “place” on the periphery.

I will never have final say on what school they will attend or sports they play, or even all the clothes they wear or values they acquire.  

I got into a huge fight with DDILF one day because I wanted to clean the shit-show that was the childrens bedroom. DDILF got so territorial about it (probably because he didn’t want me to have ammunition for a future fights) that I became utterly indignant. My inner child reared her bitchy little head; dug in her heals and threw down a massive tantrum. “I am the woman” she said (just to clarify- She said it, I didnt) “This is my home and domain and if I want to help the children make their room livable that should be my prerogative! Why can’t you at least give me that??”

Now the irony in all of this is that I hate cleaning thus my grown up self-actualised self was left to question the motive of my inner child’s massive tantrum.

And so I realised that the “that”  in that statement really meant that I desperately wanted DDILF to relinquish some control to me. I wanted to clean the rooms and yes, use it against him at some future date when I might be feeling unappreciated or powerless…. wait…sorry… I just choked on some crow… gross.

Step-parenting can be so ambiguous that our efforts to stake out our turf and define ourselves and our place in our family’s lives can become an exercise in utter frustration. I am learning that I can try to pin myself up against the glass and resist the blender, or I can let go and roll around in the sweet sticky mess...Whatever the case may be, I do know that there is no room in here for a bitchy inner child and her tantrums.

The simulation of imminent death is good for family bonding

I just spent the weekend with a girlfriend that I have not seen in like 12 years…

Crystal was my bridesmaid at my wedding 16 years ago.  We have since lived in separate provinces and have scarcely been in touch. She had her first child at the ripe old age of 20 and I the age of 23.

Any single mom who devotes as much as Crystal has to giving her gifted-needs first born child everything available on the planet to succeed in life is a rock star in my eyes.  Now, she has had 3 more babies. All of whom are now under the age of 8. As if raising 4 children wasn’t a ridiculous endeavor, she has managed to simultaneously amass a small fortune, and by small I mean the likes of a feudal system Lord-ess.  She’s a little bit bad-ass.

Crystal rolled into Whistler village in her new Escalade and her little army in tow for the Wonderlust yoga and music festival last week.  DDILF, my 16 year old Toad and our German Exchange student Max, (because I need exchange students just to keep this old dingy afloat) rolled into our camp site with a trailer down by the river. DDILF is utterly thrilled that we have our own weekend retreat for $11 a night. Let me tell you it’s worth every penny, every penny and not a penny more.  No white trash here boy, no Sir-ee.  What are you looking at?

Crystal text messaged me from her resort hotel “Let’s take the kids white-water rafting or something totally obnoxious.  My treat! My 6 and 8 year olds are totally hard core and I want them to have fun”

Say no more… this is my town!  I am Adrienne La Montagne, fearless mountain guide and adventure seeker. I got this.

Within a couple of hours me and my entourage were barreling up a logging road to Whistler Bungee for lessons in scared shit-less.  Just to clarify, the kids weren’t scared shit-less, I was.

One after another every member of both families hurled themselves off  the 160ft bridge. We were secured only by a springy rope to a belt and then tied to a bridge. Not by some camouflaged clad marine that might have instilled a sense of safety and inspired heroic bravery but  by Josh, a 20 something dread-lock-haired dude who sounded eerily like Spicoli and  his English side-kick Wigglesworth, and by English I mean drunk. Well, probably not drunk at that moment but I was concerned. Sorry for stereotyping. I love Brits. They make great drinking buddies.

The 6 and 8 year old went off that bridge like they were freaking spawns of Spiderman.

Aleksandar’s arms and legs swam frantically as he fell like he was in an imminent death spiral. I laughed my ass off. 6 year old Savo smiled gleefully as he was gently dangled and dropped clear off the 160 ft. platform.  Then it was my turn… I nearly cried. I stood on that platform toes pointed out into the abyss of a massive river canyon and my life flashed before my eyes. I turned around slowly, I couldn’t look out, or down, I looked Dreadlock Josh straight in his mirrored sunglasses

Me: Um… no thanks, I am going to get off now.

 Josh : smiling apathetically

Me:  Gulp… turning pale

Josh:  “You are totally gonna do this is, it’s gonna be totally awesome, and you’re going to do this on the first count of one.  Ready…”

(“Ready” was a statement and not a question, so to imply that I better be fucking ready cause I have clients who want to jump)

Josh:  “and 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…”

White terror… Photos of my jump revealed my body position stiff as a fucking board with legs and toes pointed straight down like a an Olympic diver going into a pike. This was not the posture of the notorious mountain thrill seeker I am so infamous for being, but I do highly recommended the experience. There’s nothing like a simulated death experience to bring family and friends together.

Coming up next more thrilling adventures, (all in the same day) lessons on how to raise extremely fucking cool kids like these, and then later... the beneficial effect excessive swearing has on children…

Keeping in "check"

 

I think for the most part, most us are selective about whom we allow into our inner circles. The transparency of my personal life is reserved only for the most trusted of friends and family. The ones whom you know have only your highest best good in mind. If someone oversteps your boundaries, shows disloyalty or becomes a nuisance you simply send them on their way. When step children come into your life, it can be a mixed blessing. The "mixed" part happens because children are automatically in the fold. They are by default, intimately aware of the comings and goings of your personal life. When the step-child comes with a malicious parent who uses them to pry into your life, the infiltrators are no so easily rid of. This can result in a straining of the relationship you have with your step-children.

Recently we discovered that every week my step children are returned to their mother, and promptly interrogated as to what went goes on during their time with us.  Cheerfully talking to your kids about what they did, where they went and did they have fun would be perfectly normal. That line of questioning sends a healthy message that you hope they are having a good time and you want to hear all about it, right?

Recently my step-daughter let it slip that the first question the children are being asked upon returning home is “so, did anything bad happen?”  That line of question sends a not so healthy message to an already torn child who now thinks, “Am I in some kind of danger?” I mean, we had already surmised that the kids were being questioned about our personal relationship and life together. We chose not to press the children about it ourselves because we knew they were already being “pressed” enough by the Ex.

 At least pre-custody hearing, her motives were obvious. She wanted to control the children with fear, and slander DD with a variety of mental disorders that only a qualified insurance adjuster like herself could diagnose. All in the hopes of gaining full custody and a handsome support payment. But mostly, I suspect it was because she was just plain pissed about getting turfed out on her ass for cheating, and he was going to pay. Hell hath no fury and all. But why, after she lost her case and custody was settled couldn't she just let it go? I won’t even get into the kind of anxiety attacks that would afflict my step daughter on occasions where her mother dropped her off personally. Let’s just say it took months of deprogramming for the crying, shaking and hyperventilating to stop. Oddly, she seemed perfectly happy on days she was picked up by one of us at school or from friends. Was it all a performance? Who knows? But happily Jube has now fully returned to a normal, nosey, spastic, constantly bugging her brother and totally bored all the time 10 year old state of being.

2 years have passed since the separation and the kids are figuring it out.  Little by little, bits of information are creeping out of them that previously they would have been afraid to tell. As more and more the children confide in us, the more I have begun to feel that there is an intruder in my life. Not like an unwanted house guest who has overstayed their welcome, but infiltrator who can attain very private details of my life and will happily use it as fuel to gossip and undermined me.

I remember once, early in my relationship that I’d had a “client” in my salon. This client had obviously booked her appointment with me on behalf of EE for a little interrogation session. She made one comment that stuck with me. “This is a small town you know. It’s a good thing because it keeps you in check”

And I thought “And just who the fuck do I need to check with?”  This is just one of the reasons I don’t live in a commune.

At times my life feels a bit like I'm a character on a reality show. There are cameras you know about, and some that are hidden. With kids you never know what little spat over chores or very personal discussion about money or future plans they have overheard. And what about bedroom noises?! On a reality show, there is an audience to satiate and a cast who is compensated in some way. In my life, it’s not an audience; it’s more like a beast. The beast needs to be satiated and the children know it. (They are astute you know) They know mommy loves juicy personal and especially negative morsels to fuel her thirst for drama. I know there are times their version of events get a little glorified for the sake of ratings.

And so I am left to wonder… How do you keep from feeling resentful of the children when the Ex deploys them as her henchmen? And when a parent creates an atmosphere of alienation towards the other household, how do you minimise collateral damage?

I would like to have an open and loving relationship with my step-children. I know that out of fear and loyalty, they would throw me or DD under the bus in a heartbeat to satisfy their mother’s stalker-ish obsession. So when my shields are up, and I am on high alert its the children who will feel my guardedness and not the love they deserve.

Division of Assets & Underwear

 So my super cutie-pie Dream-DILF love- O-my life is a bit of a pack rat.

Not quite A & E Buried Alive status, but there are moments when I question the potential of that. Are we just one mild head injury from hoarders?

I am not an overly obsessive neat freak, nor am I the most organised person in the world.  That, in fact adds to my concern.  If, even I am overwhelmed with the clutter, could this be potentially serious?

I went on a campaign a couple of weeks ago to clear out the garage. DD has a habit of piling heavy and dangerous items on top of light and unstable items. (The other day I went to grab an empty cooler from high atop a pile of rubber maid bins and the cast iron Xmas tree stand he had so delicately set on top nearly took me out) The very decision to take on the garage is a death defying endeavour. I endeavoured to proceed with caution.

Lo and behold under the rubble somewhere between Xmas lights and linens, I came across some boxes. Boxes that I was sure were supposed to have been returned to the one who shall only be referred to as “Evil Ex”. I shuttered. I should have walked out right then and there. Regrettably my lower self-saboteur got the better of me and I peeked. Fuck.

Right on top of the very first box I open were (you guessed it) two large volumes of my beloved DILF and the Evil Ex’s wedding photos. Why?? Why do we let our glutton for punishment-self-defeating curiosity get the better of us? Prior to the move and post division of asset I distinctly and succinctly stated that I did not want any remnant of the former wife in our new home. Moving into the home that DD shared with her was creepy enough.  On one occasion, I had come across a pair of black polka dot G-string panties whilst cleaning under the bed. Barf.

I almost packed up right then and there and went back to my high rise apartment.  

And so after several melt downs and an attempted mutiny I was confident that I had assured myself safe and clear passage into our new home together sans Evil Ex.  How these boxes got past me during the move is stupefying. Now, there were some boxes with quite entertaining contents I must say. For example there was an entire box of EE’s high school annuals from the 1980’s. There was an entire photo album cover to cover of EE in 1980s style vanity shots. She had gigantic bangs and the photos had been taken with a soft light filter. The pout-y faces she was making I can only liken to that of a Madonna-wanna-be porn star. It was hilarious.  I am sure that had the contents of all the boxes been similar, or grandmas silverware I would not have been so upset. But it was the wedding photos that got to me. There are things that you just can’t un-see. Once your eyes have seen something so disturbing, it is burned into your brain forever . 

The next few hours were a blur. I do know that they involved some strongly worded text messages that resulted in the immediate arrival of my beloved home from work in the middle of the afternoon. I also recall that there was debris strewn down the driveway and onto the street. By debris I mean boxes and photo albums. (DD disposed of them immediately, thankfully) I don’t know how on earth the debris got all the way onto the street, but oh well. C'est la vie. This incident just illustrates my earlier point (see blog: “your place or mine”) regarding the co-habitation of the crime scene.