Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations

by Jessica Vivian

  Another day we lounged in and around the pool for nearly twelve hours. We napped on floaties. We chatted for hours and some hours we didn't talk at all.

  Chris and I met on the playground when I was in 4th grade and he in 3rd. We had no real reason to hit it off, but we did. Our friendship was socially precarious for us from the beginning. The politics of the strange bubble that surrounded our predominately white and wealthy private school were complex. Many kids were raised by black maids who were “like family” but the first likely suspect if little Mary Katherine's pearl necklace went missing. He, with his wealthy family and his membership to the Country Club and his blond hair and blue eyes just wasn't supposed to be friends with me. But he was an outsider, too – a closeted gay kid in the upper class in the Bible belt. We wore our masks during the day and clung to each other at night.

  We've been friends through some “serious nasty” and our friendship has barely waned. And here we are now. Two grown ass adults still finding solace in each other. My days with him were refreshing. I felt completely relaxed for the first time in months or maybe even a year. And the kids and my mom enjoyed each other.

  I also reconnected with a friend from my childhood named Trey. Our moms were both single mom nurses who traveled for work on the weekends. They threw the two of us together in one of our houses, I guess thinking a 9 year old plus a 9 year old equals an 18 year old.

  I'm kidding. They didn't leave us alone for whole weekends at that age. But we were often left under the care of another single mom nurse's son who was in his late teens until he was old enough to be bothered by us. I thought I was going to marry him when I grew up. He got in with the wrong crowd and was killed before I could...

  But Trey and I bonded easily and quickly, watching Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure on a loop and spending hours on the phone. But we lost touch with each other over the years.

  Sidebar: You know how when you are living your life, you subconsciously assume everyone else exists in some suspended reality? In your mind, they look the way they looked the last time you saw them and their lives are as carefree as they were when you were all seventeen.

  I went home to Mobile and sought him out hoping that a few days of lighthearted drinking and shit-talking would salve my wounded, post-divorce soul and puny self-esteem.

  I was a little bit wrong. We are adults now. And we have big, adult problems. Our parents are aging. We have horrible exes and horrible custody issues and baby mama drama. Our kids are being attacked and bullied at school. We can't pay our bills. Nothing is lighthearted.

  Apparently, while I was away ruining my life and having kids, Trey was doing the same. He was now divorced with three sons and had a highly toxic dynamic with his ex. She called and texted several times during our short date. What started as a victorious night of freedom and bonding turned into the two of us, heads hanging, huddled in the corner of a bar catching each other up on our terrible marriages, fighting tears and holding each other tight.

  My own issues have left me so full of holes it's a wonder I can stand, let alone allow three little souls to lean upon me. And as it turns out, people I love are as shaky as I am.

  And ironically, therein lies the peace.

  When everyone is hurting, everyone is open, everyone has room for a little more. ..because we have all been much worse and can keep our perspectives. There is no need for falsehoods or phoniness. We can look each other in the eye and say, "Things suck and I don't know how I get through each day," and we know we are safe to do so. Our vulnerability bonds us.

  That's quite priceless.

  I'm not looking forward to going back to Tampa

  An Unnamed Rage Post

  So anyways, it was my passionate goal to home educate 2/3 of my children this year. At the beginning of the summer, it seemed completely feasible. It is something I have always wanted to do but, being a single parent I doubted that it was possible. However, after talking it over with the ex, it seemed like it was something we could do if we joined forces.

  My ex actually planted the seed since he had met a crunchy, granola woman who homeschooled. Her child is self-assured, sociable and well-adjusted. He seemed eager to support my endeavors.

  Being a single mom, on only my income (because it takes ages for Child Support Enforcement to actually "enforce") his occasional contributions, I needed steady childcare commitment from him so I could still get to work so I could do crazy things like, y'know, keep the lights on. He agreed to show up for me and the kids but this proved to be too complicated and I was forced to re-evaluate my plans for my children.

  We decided on only homeschooling the oldest for now, to see how it goes and decided to send my two little kids to the closest public school - a school they had been in before. But alas, since moving into my own apartment - a mile away from where I was previously living - I somehow plopped myself in a new school district and our new public school assignment was for a school a good 30 minutes away. I could spend an hour driving them to school every morning, or put them on a bus and hope my 6 year old could protect my 5 year old from 11 year olds.

  Fat chance.

  *don't bother giving me your story about how “rode the bus and turned out fine." Kids are different. Schools are different and childless people are oblivious to this fact for the most part - save it.

  Add to that the fact that I had just spent $250 on clothes only to find out that our new assigned school is a uniforms-only school. This is terrible.

  So, I went with my tail between my legs to the charter school we just left and begged for our spot back.

  OK, it wasn't really that dramatic but I had friendshipped up with one of these loudmouth, whistle-blowing, drama loving, soccer mom types last year and I fear her reputation for disruption made me guilty by association. I think the principal thought me to be a troublemaker. But really, I only picked the school because I already had a bunch of uniforms kickin' around the house.

  So anyway, all of this driving and school finding and school shopping happened in the first 48 hours after arriving home from Mobile. In and out of a minivan, me and three kids, constantly. And just as I'd settled the school drama with the two babies, and had bought a really awesome curriculum for the oldest, the ex comes to me and says he is unable to watch the kids ...at all. He then suggests I send the oldest back to school also.

  I say, "Okay, but all my money is gone, can you pay for more uniforms?"

  "No."

  Let me point out, this is the day before he is going on his 5th or 6th week-long yoga retreat.

  Yeah my blood pressure spiked, too.

  Let me also point out that he has given me a whopping $40 of child support this month for our three children.

  Let that sink in.

  So basically, in May I was set to home educate two of my kids - something I am scary she-wolf passionate about. I began freelancing articles about homeschooling. I become the "Tampa Homeschooling Expert" on local news websites. By August, all of my plans are shattered because one person just...won't step up.

  And when I pointed this out he snarled at me "Well YOU'RE the one who wants all this money, I have to go work!"

  Right, because I am buying mink coats with his whopping $40 worth of child support...

  Gobsmacked.

  I never, EVER thought he'd be this kind of ex-husband.

  I am so hurt, angry, irritated, defeated, bitter, ashamed...

  The next day I talked to Jaya about our plans. She said she was cool with going back to school.

  Then later that day she said "actually....I am really pissed. I really wanted to home school I am trying to be nice about it but, seriously, I am pissed."

  "Fair enough, Jaya. I am pissed, too," I said. "Let's just do it anyway. Let's just figure it out and make it work and just do it."

  I took her to work that afternoon. My boss is super flexible. She asked what my schedule was and with "I can't watch the kids" as my last interaction with my
ex-husband and I told her I had no idea. She said, "well just bring Jaya to work with you, she's sweet and very quiet."

  AHA!

  I mentally flip my horrible marriage the bird!

  You. Cannot. Control. My. Life. Any. More.

  I. Will. Do. What. The. Hell. I. Want. To. Do.

  Period.

  Jaya and I officially started today. We did math, reading, creative writing and history. While discussing cave drawings, Jaya became nervous and agitated.

  "I'm not grading you right now, Jaya. Just tell me what you think about these cave drawings..."

  "WOW!” she said, “I keep thinking I'm in school and feeling, like, judged. Why do they do that? Why do they praise one kid right in front of you, making you feel so...wrong?"

  "Teaching is a hard job. It's complicated. Teachers can't be all things perfectly for all students. But anyways, that's not what we're doing here yet. We are just discussing and learning and guessing and proving and all that kinda stuff for now."

  Then she exhaled and we drew stick figure versions of Confucius and Herodotus on our maps and rolled around laughing on the floor of my office. On the way to pick up the younger kids from school, she drew a cave drawing version of the history of her life - making room for the stick figure births of her two siblings, a stick figure marriage, a stick figure divorce, and a stick figure "Jaya" with giant heart eyeballs ogling a cute stick figure dress because she loves fashion.

  And I felt really proud.

  And I felt really proud of my often idiotic but sometimes useful defiance.

  I am a scary, she-wolf mom and I have never been as passionate about anything in my life more than my passion for raising my children.

  I do not take it lightly. Not for a second.

  I have my whole life to be "Jessica Vivian." I have a very brief and very finite amount of time to be their mommy and to mold them and create the adults they will become.

  And when someone hinders my plans for how I will raise my children I will listen and then politely flip 'em the middle. I do what I want.

  Love Languages – August 2011

  So we're back in Tampa and Jaya has been to two counseling sessions.

  I confidently assumed she would tell the counselor how disappointed she is in her father and the strain of his inconsistency is causing her stress and strife. But that's not what happened.

  She told the counselor that she wasn't sure I loved her.

  I was flabbergasted.

  I started rattling off all the things I do for my kids:

  I work this job. I make them this or that for dinner. We go to the park. We go to the Science Museum. I take them swimming. I let them sleep in the bed with me if they want to. My back is aching because of it. I come every Friday to their school assembly. How is this possible?

  But the more I thought about it, and imagined myself through her eyes.

  Yes I did those things, but I do so unenthusiastically.

  I managed my kids. I managed their time. I squeezed in the obligatory “fun” but was irritable because the fun was keeping me from the laundry or the bills or some extra sleep.

  Through her eyes I had to admit...

  I probably didn't look like a loving mom.

  Being a conscious parent stings. The truth of her disconnection from me felt like a brick in my stomach.

  On the ride home she was chatty and bubbly, for her it was a relief to “get it out” but it was fresh and jarring to me so I wasn't a good conversation partner.

  But I decided to change it. I decided to make a conscious effort to plug in.

  To be honest, I'm not sure I've ever been present even though I was a stay at home mom for all those years.

  I managed events. I managed the schedule. I played with them and cooed at them because they are my babies and I couldn't help it but I wasn't particularly snuggly.

  There are times when I rejected snuggles and was too touched-out to deal with it. And here's what I got now: a nervous, insecure daughter who isn't sure I love her.

  Well, if I've learned anything from this whole single parenting schtick is that if I get myself into a situation I can get myself out. From now on I vow to treat my children like the souls they are. They are here on a journey just like I am. I don't have the right to disrespect their time on Earth in that way by treating them and their needs like an inconvenience. If I choose to take them to the park, I will not let my mind be at the Laundromat. If I choose to bring them with me to the Laundromat, I will enjoy talking with them at the Laundromat. I will not let my mind worry about dinner. If they want a hug I will relax and accept it and pour as much love as I can muster into them each time. I will not squirm and try to get back to my whatever I was doing.

  My kids are resilient and respond quickly to change.

  I think she will be okay.

  Fail

  You can't teach what you don't know. For this reason, I will fail them.

  I don't know anything about healthy romantic relationships. Not a thing.

  It hurts knowing there is definitely, absolutely something you will not teach your child.

  As a parent, I feel like I am supposed to do it all. I am supposed to make them completely ready for adulthood.

  Stranger danger, unsafe touch, don't play with fire, wear a rubber, don't drink and drive, don't do drugs, clean up after yourself, please and thank you, apologize, make a list, keep your word, question authority, fight for others, eat your greens... I can teach that.

  But I can't teach what I don't know and I've never been in love.

  Kelley and the Job

  Words cannot describe how much I dislike having to talk to other moms in the school environment. That was until Kelley.

  I don't quite remember how she and I came to be friends. We had one mutual friend, a sort of edgy, mouthy Tiger mom. We sat near each other at the mandatory-if-your-child-is-attending-the-fancy-math-and-science-charter-school assemblies every Friday morning and the deep sighs of boredom mirrored each other and so poof! We were friends.

  Or rather, we were sister wives.

  See, Kelley is another single mom. Being slightly older and more established, however, she had a few luxuries that my children and I didn't have…like a pool and a washer and a dryer and a house.

  So we teamed up.

  When her friend was looking for employees, Kelley recommended me. In no time I started working in a small office, making more than minimum wage and working flexible enough hours that I could still pick the kids up from school and not have to pay for childcare.

  I helped Kelley by picking up her boys from school and watching them while she worked at her job as a travel agent. She would buy me dinner. I'd make sure the homework got done.

  Very few single moms, I've noticed, are able to make these sorts of arrangements but for Kelley and I it was organic. She absorbed my children and I as if we were family.

  Looking back, she saved us.

  She saved us.

  Alone – September 2011

  It's great to have a friend, finally, to connect to who has absolutely nothing to do with my ex-husband. But, upon reflection, if I had to give my thirty years a theme the word "alone" would be at the top of the list.

  My single mom was at work, bustin' her ass and working double shifts through eighty percent of my childhood. I was a textbook latchkey kid.

  Beginning in first grade I was picked up and dropped off by a variety of random adults related to my mother either by blood or occupation.

  When she was the nurse at the county jail various police officers pulled through my school's pickup line to get me. Most I had not seen before the moment they showed up.

  They had to say the password for me to get into the car.

  "beetlejuice"

  And I was brought to the jail to hang with mom until the end of her shift, visiting with inmates and showing them my finger-paintings.

  When I was slig
htly older I was dropped off by random friends' moms.

  By age eight I was proficient in the kitchen. I could make spaghetti, brownies, Hamburger Helper. I did my own laundry. I ironed my uniform. I stayed on the phone with Chris until we both fell asleep and drooled into the receivers. Sometimes we could stay up long enough to catch some softie porn on Cinemax. Of course we had TVs in our rooms. "Red Shoe Diaries" was an early sex education.

  Even older still and I wandered the neighborhood with a slightly rough crowd of other lonely girls. We hated each other but that never kept us from gluing ourselves together.

  Being alone at home was far less bearable.

  Some of us were more lonely than others and fell prey to charismatic men. It wasn't long before one introduced us to her boyfriend who was clearly old enough to be her dad. He was balding.

  We were twelve.

  High school was no different.

  I was never accepted by the unending sea of white kids at school. I was hated by the jealous and confused black kids who didn't understand “why I talk white.” I took in every stray - every broken, lonely person I can sink my claws into. I possessed them. I filled my empty house with other parentless kids and we drank. Then that got boring so we chatted online. Then we talked to the people we met online on the phone. Then we invited them over. Then we did irresponsible things.

  I had some sick, subconscious agenda that I imagine I must have picked up from all the television because it literally could not have come from anywhere else:

  "I need someone to take care of me. Older people take care of younger people. Men take care of women."

  There was no one around to stop me. I dated men.

  Other girls dated boys. And I dated men.

  And I felt very powerful but I was desperate for someone to see what I was doing and stop me.