We’ve only been separated for five weeks. So I can’t believe this has happened already: I show up at the usual Tuesday drop-off time, 4:30. Nobody home. I call Rex’s mobile, no answer. Mimo starts breaking my heart by asking, “Where’d Daddy go? Where’d Daddy go?” The best thing I could think of to say to my 2 and 1/2-year-old was, “He probably went to the grocery store, lost track of time, and will be back soon.”
The good news is, this gave me a chance to sneak some pictures of the squalor in the house. My house. (“Why are you letting him live in your house, your sole and separate property?” you ask. Good question. It’s a long story that I will explain later.)
Anyway, here’s a view of the kitchen:
And now a close-up:
Can you see the sticky, dried up soda that looks like it’s been there for weeks? I don’t think a sponge has graced that counter-top since I was living there.
I considered taking a picture of the toilet bowl because that was really disgusting too, but couldn’t quite bring myself to do it.
Last week when I wandered into the family room, there was what looked like trash strewn about and I thought, “Oh dear, the dog’s gotten into the garbage again. I better pick this up.” And then I remembered, “Wait. The dog’s at my place. This is Rex’s work, not the doggie’s.” Rex was in the room so I couldn’t take a picture. But I did tell him my train of thought and he said, “I’ve had so much work to do, I haven’t had a chance to clean up.”
Now, this doesn’t sound like a guy with OCPD, a problem with perfectionism and unrealistic standards, does it? Well, the thing about Rex and others like him is that things have to either be perfect… or he lets them go completely. There’s no middle ground. I’ve been reading that there is possibly some overlap between people with hoarding disorders and OCPD. Even though Rex’s problem isn’t exactly hoarding, it’s a similar situation where you can’t walk across the family room or use the kitchen counter because it’s so cluttered with stuff.
It’s either perfect, or it’s a disaster. For example, his laundry has to be perfectly folded, there is a very specific technique, and you are very much criticized if you don’t do it just so. But on the other hand, he can let a load of washed laundry sit in the machine for days and days, getting stinky and moldy because he doesn’t have time to follow the task through to the end. It’s very strange.
Anyway, at 4:50 after leaving two voicemail messages, I finally left the house with Mimo. At 5:05 Rex called to say he was back home, had lost track of what day of the week it was (because the holiday weekend had thrown him off, you see) and I agreed to bring Mimo back. I really didn’t want to bring him back. I wanted to punish Rex. If he can’t remember that his son is coming over, does he really deserve to see his son? But I realized that this wouldn’t be fair to my boy, who had been asking, “Where’d Daddy go?” and was really looking forward to seeing him.
I’m starting to really understand how hard it can be to restrain yourself from saying inappropriate things about your ex in front of your child. Like, “Wow. This place is disgusting. Does Daddy ever clean the toilet bowl?” being perhaps the most mild remark that was running through my mind.
So do these things make my case for physical custody any better? I don’t know. I sent an email to my lawyer and I’m eagerly awaiting her reply.
Dissolution of Marriage. It’s Official Now.
June 17, 2010
Today I hired my lawyer. I had been struggling to choose between three very different attorneys and, in thinking about which one to select, I’ve felt a lot like a game show contestant who has to choose between Curtain #1,2, or 3. It’s so uncertain what the next few months will bring; my fate and my son’s are in many ways completely out of my control. Will we walk away with the sparkly, new 3-piece stainless steel kitchen appliance set, or will I get zonked and land myself a cheap bottle of dishwashing liquid?
My analogy is a bad one for many reasons, but especially because, in terms of our divorce, I don’t really care who gets what when it comes to things inside the house (yes, I do care about the house itself). What I’m worried about are two things: custody of my boy, and whether or not I’ll be able to move back to California.
My soon-to-be-ex husband (hereafter referred to as Rex, which stands for either Reasonable Ex or Rotten Ex, depending) says that he wants 50% physical custody of our son. While I’m thrilled that he’s not the sort of dad to abandon his child, I have a problem with 50%, both Theoretically and Practically. Theoretically because I don’t believe it’s good to do the King Solomon thing and divide your child in half. I grew up that way and I can say from first-hand experience, you feel really fractured and torn and you become overly adaptable. Practically, considering I’ve been the “primary caretaker” (that term is so clinical)–and more precisely, I’ve been the only caretaker– it seems that I should continue to be that primary person, especially at his tender age of 2 and 1/2. Oh yeah, and did I mention that Rex has been diagnosed with OCPD?
So, picking a lawyer was scary. These are huge stakes. But it’s done now, and the process of marital dissolution has begun. I hope I picked the right curtain.
