The House

Once upon a time, Dallas and his former wife owned a home. They divorced, she got the house and all was as it should be until late fall of last year when she announced that she could no longer make the mortgage payment.

Which posed a significant problem for Dallas because banks don't give a flying fig about gut wrenching divorce decrees and property settlement paperwork. As far as they are concerned, he who signs the mortgage papers is the one on the hook. Period.

So, we took over the payments.

By late April, the kids moved in with us and ex had relinquished all claims on the house. In June, Dallas had that shitty, uncomfortable conversation during which he told the ex that she would have to vacate the premises so that we could lease out the house. We just couldn't afford the charity any longer. She was given until August 1st.

After a blissful and relaxing honeymoon, we ventured over to the property to have a look at what needed to be done before it could be rented.

It was magnificently filthy.

Horrible, sickening, worse-than-you-can-imagine dirt.

We had sort of expected that it would be bad because we had been inside the house in early February and l'odour de Fido was pervasive at that time. But nothing could have prepared us for the the state of the house once the furniture was removed, the air conditioning shut off and the home allowed to bake in 90+ degree temperatures.

Besides the overwhelming stench of dog urine, the place was filled with cobwebs, insect carcasses, thick dust and ages old grime. I was horrified as each new room revealed yet another level of neglect. Dallas just blinked and kept shaking his head as if to wipe the images from his brain. It was that bad. He still hasn't recovered, really. For him, the condition of the house inspired anger, disbelief and enormous guilt. His children had lived in that filth for three years.

We contracted with a company to place a big dumpster in the yard and over the last two weeks, we have cleaned out the house, paid to have it painted and laid new carpet. Yesterday, a landscaping crew came to manicure the yard, flower beds and trees. This weekend, Dallas and I will spend several hours cleaning. We will also be interviewing potential renters so that soon, we can begin the process of recouping some of what we have sunk into the place.

Although we are nearly at the end of this whole ordeal and in the long run, it will all have been worth it, I can't help but feel a bit sad.

How does a woman, a MOTHER, allow herself to spiral out of control like that? How does she become so irreparably broken that the welfare of her children fades like an old photograph? Amidst my disbelief and disgust is a nugget of grief because the state of the house was a clear reflection of this woman's inner turmoil. At some point in the last decade, she made the choice to check out of her life. Only recently, has she really begun to comprehend the consequences of that decision. My heart aches for her. The house was fixed without much trouble. But people don't repair as easily. I hope she lands on her feet.

Weekend in a Nutshell

On Friday my children were scheduled to head off with their dad at 6pm.

Sharp.

I was beside myself with joy.

If I were a better mother, I would fret about the fact that they wouldn't see a bar of soap or a tube of toothpaste all weekend. But alas, my selfish desire to spend some quality time in my own tub with some bubbles, a good bottle of merlot and Dallas, a good book superseded any maternal instincts I might have possessed.

Notice that I said "was" in reference to the whole bliss thing. Well, at about 2:30 Friday morning, Dallas rolled over for a little spoonie and it felt like I had lain down on sticky black asphalt in the dead of summer. He was on fire. Then, he started talking but he wasn't making much sense. I didn't need a thermometer to diagnose the fever but I stuck it in his ear anyway to give me a guide as to how much I needed to panic. It was 101.4, which is pretty high in a guy whose resting temperature is somewhere between 97 and 97.4.

So, he was in the doctor's office before 9am where they took his blood pressure, a hundred bucks and sent him on his feverish way. Turns out his elevated temperature was caused by a nasty tooth infection, the pain of which became excruciating right after 5pm when most dentists close their doors. Friday was a rough one for Dallas. Saturday, we went back to the clinic, got an antibiotic script and by Sunday morning, he was feeling loads better.

Sunday afternoon, the sun came out and the temperature rose to over 60 degrees. There's only one thing to do with weather like that: RIDE.

It was incredible. I have missed my big bike. The roads were full of other riders and for a moment, I could have fooled myself into believing that spring was near. But the weather report predicts that our mild temperatures are coming to an end. No matter, though. At least we had Sunday.

Tonight, we are attending a school event for Dallas's son. It will be the first time that his ex wife and I have met face to face. I wouldn't say that I am worried but I'm something. Anxious? Nervous? Hyperventilating?

And what is considered appropriate affection between the two of us in front of her? Is hand holding insensitive? I have a feeling that we'll be doing the grade 7 dance thing and standing at least two feet apart at all times. No touching. Instead, we can smile at each other and give the thumbs up. I'm making light but the truth is that this meeting is important. I want it to go well because it would be so much easier on all of us if it did. There has been a tangible bit of tension with his ex since Dallas and I became serious about the course of our relationship and I look forward to the day when that is behind us. Divorce is never pleasant but it can be especially painful when love still exists because sometimes the rules get bent and the lines get blurred. Expectations are continuously redefined until inevitably, someone draws a line in the sand. Only then, can the wounds heal. I hope that tonight works more like a Band Aid and less like a handful of salt.

Taking the Plunge

When you are twenty something and Mr. Right for Right Now presents himself, the first blooms of lust and infatuation can be enjoyed without the burden of emotional intelligence because the purpose of your third decade on this planet is largely to get your groove on.

In your thirties, the focus becomes career and the raising of a young family. Mr. Right for Right Now has turned into Mr.You Had Better Be Right Because We Have a Mortgage, Kids and a Minivan. Some couples survive this decade and watching them is like witnessing the ebb and flow of the tides. They have either learned the dance of compromise or someone in the relationship is heavily medicated.

Other couples do not survive (ahem) and thus, parts of their thirties are spent getting their heads around the concept of single parenthood which is akin to being pecked to death by a sparrow. Divorce is painful and afterward, it sometimes takes years to dip one's toe into the dating pool again because relationships can be like licking a metal pole in the dead of a Canadian winter. Your tongue will get stuck and the only way to be freed is to rip yourself to pieces or allow someone to pee on your head. Neither option is terribly appealing.

Then the forties arrive and as part of a married couple, I can only assume that the main goal is for both people to withstand each other's midlife crisis. For those of us who are single, our life has come full circle and we are once more thrust back to the circumstances of our twenties. Again, Mr. Right For Right Now may present himself but in the fifteen or twenty years that have passed, he has changed. He is mature, somewhat battle weary and he is looking for a partner, not a conquest.

The trouble is that the incident with the steel pole, while firmly in the past, is still fairly vivid. Lust and infatuation are most definitely present but they are now tempered with experience and just a speck of common sense. Then one day, you are surprised to find that your breath unexpectedly catches in your throat at the sight of him. Belatedly, you realize that your heart has taken the plunge and you find yourself hoping that he knows how to dance.

Letter to the Father of My Children

Dear Ex,

I know that we haven't spoken much lately and that it my fault. I cannot seem to control the desire to beat you until you bleed so I thought it would be best to write a little note. Do you have a minute?

I am thrilled that you have a new girlfriend because we both know that you are much happier and far more productive when you have a fresh new soul to abuse. I also know that you are probably exhausted from the effort that it has taken to control your temper around her. You don't want to tip that hand too early, do ya'? We both know that your brand of criticism and negativity has to be dripped on your subject over a period of months so that one day, she will wake up and have no idea who she is. Only then can you unleash your famously irrational personality and by that time, she will be a mere shell of her former self.

I am a bit concerned that she has said she wants nothing to do with your children. I mean, where do you go from there? I am not upset with her. At least she was honest with you right up front. But I'm not sure how you are going to reconcile her position and your obligation as a dad. Oh, duh! When you said that the kids "cramp your lifestyle", you were referring to the four days of the month when you have visitation! Gosh, what an idiot I am. I shouldn't have assumed that the OTHER 313 DAYS IN THE YEAR to do as you bloody well please would be enough.

You might want to rethink that whole idea of "babysitting" your own kids because (if we are going to be clinical about the whole thing), who do you think will be "babysitting" you in your old age? Since your idea of a retirement plan is to take your inheritance and a second mortgage and dump them into a casino, maybe it would be wise to pretend that you enjoy spending time with your children. I think it will pay off in spades later on as they debate the pros and cons of a DNR order.

In any case, can we at least agree on a few rules when the kids stay with you? I know that you want to be their friend but what they really need is a father and most of the time, these two things do not have to be mutually exclusive. However, letting them stay up until the wee hours of the morning is being neither their friend nor their father. Do you understand that when they operate on less than 6 hours of sleep, they WILL GROW HORNS?

I think that most people would agree that children should be bathed and underwear changed at least once during a weekend. Swimming in your filthy pool, while a fun game of bacteria roulette, does not constitute bathing. Oh yes, another hygiene note: I know that you are not friendly with your toothbrush but would you mind asking the kids to brush when you are actually able to see fur on their teeth? No big deal..I'm just slightly concerned that they may slice their tongues open on all of that plaque.

Perhaps there might be a better breakfast choice than Oreo cookies. Gosh, I don't know. Maybe you could feed them sticks of butter or something like that. Also, I understand the need to whip through Wendy's or McD's every now and again but junk food for every meal will put them into spandex and heart failure faster than you can say gastric bypass surgery.

I realize that you consider yourself generous and while this is a lovely trait, maybe it would be best if you didn't share your nicotine, tar and arsenic with the kids. I know that I am an old Scrooge but I think they are getting plenty of pollutants in the normal air that they breathe. So go ahead, save that cigarette until after they get out of the car. I promise they won't be upset with you.

I'm sure that you will drop the kids home early even though you were close to an hour late picking them up. It's okay, though. I appreciate you giving me that extra time to speak with our ten year old son about making sure that his sister is buckled into a car seat and about confirming that there is an adult outside with them while they swim. Isn't it great that he is so responsible so young?

Anyway, thanks for the chat. I hope that the big karma boomerang doesn't realize what a complete waste of carbon you are and circle back to punt your sorry ass into the next life because inexplicably, your children would miss you. They love you, unconditionally. It's a pity that you can't see what a gift you've been given.