August Promise

Here we are. July is wrapping up nicely and August holds much promise for some really good action. In the first week, we have a house to pack in order to get it listed in hopes of selling; my dear husband’s 35th birthday; and my mom flying back to Oklahoma–just in time to get her affairs in order so that she can move back here to live with us. In the second week, we have a court date which holds much hope of bringing my kids back to live with me and my husband, bringing our household to five, if you include my incoming mother; and an ultrasound that is bound to tell us that we are having either a baby girl or a baby boy. With luck, within those two weeks, we will find that we can lease-purchase our new house, allowing us to move in until we sell the old one, which will give us the opportunity to get the old one cleaned up, deodorized, and sold so that we can go ahead and buy the new one. If everything goes as quickly and smoothly as we hope, we will have the kids in school in as little as two weeks. Of course, I will eventually need to call the school and let them know so I can find out what I need to get them enrolled.

Stop. Slow down. Deep breath.

At the beginning of the summer, we knew we were going to file for custody. When the father of your children is a giant child himself, this is a little like picking a fight with the biggest bully in the schoolyard. He has done what he could to try to intimidate me. It didn’t work. He has cast threats and lied in hopes that I would somehow fold. I’m not sure what he is thinking. Could he really believe that I would spend the money on a great attorney just to turn tail and give up? Is he really stupid enough to believe that after waiting for six years for my son to turn twelve, that I would not fight to get him living here with me? My son has wanted to live with me ever since his dad came and picked him up before his sixth birthday. That unholy bastard who didn’t pay me a penny in child support and took advantage of my inability to feed my kids and my astounding naivety, the same one who cheated on me for the entire seven years we were together and lied about it every day until I literally caught him with his pants down, that sociopathic son-of-a-bitch has the nerve to think that I have no rights to my children.

I digress.

My point is that though my summer–my May, June, and July–have been quite eventful, it seems that the next fifteen days or so of my life–our lives–might prove to outshine the last 90. Or, I might not come out shining as brightly as I hope. I might find that in two weeks I’ve gone from a summer-time mother of one boy and one girl, to a full-time mom of one boy and two girls, or two boys and one girl. We might go from man and wife in a three-bedroom home to a three-generational-family-of-five-with-one-on-the-way living in a five-bedroom home. Or I could lose the fight, lose all rights to my kids, pay more child support, find out my baby has an extra head, lose my mom in a mysterious plane disappearance, develop and eating disorder and become addicted to the home shopping network. I have no idea what the next two weeks of my life will bring, but by golly, my outlook is bright. I have wonderful hopes for the future. I look forward to the day I can take my kids to school and help them with their homework. I look forward to cutting my work down to part-time because I’m not paying child support anymore, and so that I can spend more time at home. I am looking forward to teaching my family how to care for a baby. I am looking forward to getting my mom on the right road to attaining disability status so that we can get her some healthcare and maybe new teeth.

I look forward to having my family back. I look forward to having the life I always wanted. I have so much in my life right now that I didn’t have six years ago. I have so much to look forward to, and you know what? I couldn’t have any of this if not for the wonderful man sitting next to me playing games on his laptop. My husband has made possible for me everything I ever wanted. My husband has provided for me and supported me and carried me through the toughest time of my life. I don’t feel like I could ever give him what he has given me, but in about five months or so, I’ll do my best to give him a good down payment on my debt to him in the form of his first-born. I may even have to be more open to his baby name suggestions.

I don’t really have a moral, or a point to all of this. It just helps to let it all out. Maybe someone who reads this might have at one point experienced some or more than some of these experiences and might find comfort in knowing that I’m getting a few gray hairs and some sleepless nights just as they once did. But for now, since so much of this can’t go onto my Facebook page just yet, it’s nice to have this outlet.

Thanks for sticking around. Now I’m going to try for a few hours of sleep.