I spent my Mother’s Day packing up my bedroom for the July move and getting my kids to go through their stuff, too. We’re at least packing away our winter clothes, although today I’m riding out the east-coast storm in a sweat suit.
My plan for this week is to dig in hard and get the basement and storage areas organized enough to pack so that if help arrives, I can just direct them to an area, provide them with boxes and tape, and not feel nuts about it. If it ends up being me, then fine. I want the junk to be cleared first either way.
I wrote up the contract on the house on Saturday. (Feel free to applaud loudly.)
I met with the audio/visual guy to discuss a security system, and in casual conversation I told the girls that they were to tell no one about the system, not even their father. Niki turned to me with an incredulous look on her face and said, “Why would I do that? He’s psycho!”
I felt sick.
I also felt compelled to tell the builders not to give out any information about which house I am buying to anyone, and I asked them to make sure the job site stays secure. I explained my fears about my ex’s behavior and she assured me they would protect my privacy. I sure as hell don’t need any dead fish in the vents or anything like that.
Do you think I’m paranoid?
During the last move (at the end of the divorce), all of my wedding and anniversary jewelry mysteriously disappeared. Nothing else was taken. He passed a lie-detector test, but the police told me that they’ve seen guilty people pass it before, and they believe that happened in this case. He also told me he didn’t touch the wedding photo proofs that were missing (which I would have let him have – I have the album), and the kids found them in his basement a few months ago.
I’m scared because it’s never been okay with him for me to have “more” than he does. I drove the 10-year-old chitty-chitty bang-bang minivan, and he drove the new, lush Lexus (which I was not allowed to drive because it was for work). He always had the latest and greatest gadgets because he “needed” them for work, but it wasn’t okay for a stay-at-home mom to have a Palm Pilot.
He once took me to a horse race to help him entertain clients. I didn’t have anything to wear, so I had gone shopping and bought myself a pretty brown suede blazer with a white ruffled shirt and nice pants. I thought it was appropriately equestrian.
When we were getting ready to go and he saw me, he suddenly decided we had to stop at the mall on the way, where he bought a complete new outfit for himself, down to the belt and shoes. We were late to the race because of it.
On my 40th birthday, I turned into some person with a backbone I’d never met before (more on that another time), and I decided I wanted a new car. I traded the minivan for a beautiful SUV with heated leather seats and a Bose stereo system. He had a fit. The first day I had it home, he took it out early in the morning before I got up and drove it through a bunch of mud on his way to get coffee. It was filthy.
Oh, and let’s not forget the time my mechanic found water in my gas tank just before I was supposed to make a trip down to DC to hang out with my friends for a weekend. I had to put a fucking lock on the gas tank just to keep it in my own garage.
Still think I’m paranoid?
I’m really afraid he’s going to have a complete melt-down when he sees what I’ve been able to do for myself without him.
Yes, I’m a little bit scared.