non-resident parent

I am seriously trying to get out of the habit of blaming ex for everything; I need to (want to) get on with my own life, but you know, he just has this finely honed skill of buggering things up. I don't know if he does it on purpose or whether he's just so utterly thoughtless and selfish that he does it by accident. But honestly. Surely it's not beyond a moderately intelligent person to plan ahead just a teeny bit, for the sake of his son? Much more fun for ex, of course, to foul up all the arrangements and then when Jack is upset, blame it all on me. It seems like it's a game for him to see how much upset he can cause just to have another opportunity to announce that all of this is my fault.

The thing that makes me sometimes angry and sometimes almost despair, is the effect it has on Jack. He's such a little treasure, doing pretty well under his circumstances, trying his best to be nice to his Dad and postively DYING for a bit of affirmation and attention from him. But it's getting ridiculous the number of times I have got him ready, given him lots of positive encouragement about having a nice time with Daddy, and then Ex will phone and say he's not coming. Obviously for outstandingly good reasons. Like Blonde Bombshell (his pub band) is having another gig, or some long lost friend is having a 40th party. Amazingly he actually expects me to believe that all these things are planned at the last minute. That it was someone else's fault for not teling him the dates. And he would be letting them down if he didn't go. Yada, yada...

Does it not cross his mind that he's letting Jack down if he doesn't come to take him out? He always assumes that I will cancel my life to fill in for Jack (And of course I do), and, yes, it has crossed my mind that he does it to ensure that I can't have a social life. But while it's annoying for me it's absolutely heartbreaking for Jack. Eight year olds don't do perspective. I sometimes wonder what would happen if Ex could see Jack getting angry, punching the chair, saying "I HATE Dad. Why doesn't he come for me?" and then when he's finished being angry, crying his little heart out. "Daddy likes his band more than he likes me," he said last night. Maybe if Ex saw his son crying like that it would be a wake up call? But I think he might just be so cold and selfish that it wouldn't. I could equally imagine him saying (with monotonous predictability) that it's my fault.

OK. Rant over. On with the show. I got a Star Wars DVD from the Oxfam shop, so I am Mum the hero tonight. We are doing our Friday Night Treat - pizza in front of the DVD.

crying in public

It's really hard at the moment not to cry. It's awful, and I struggle and struggle to stay on top of it.

I don't cry all the time, mind you, and I certainly don't cry in public. Not like one of those hopeless wimpy film-star cases. Most of the day I get on with work, and I count myself fourtunate to have a sufficiently absorbing job that it makes me think about other stuff than my domestic crash and burn. After all, if you are deep in explaining tropes and rhythms, or the way characters work as metaphor, or some such thing to a couple of dozen dozy nineteen year olds, you have to work double hard - not only to check you are making sense in the first place, but also to check that they are awake and taking at least some of it in.

So most of the time I don't cry, I do fine, and I even laugh and have fun quite a lot of days too. And if someone is rude, mean or offhand, that's no problem. My marriage was a first class training in surviving rude, mean and offhand.

No, the tricky bit is when someone is nice to me. I saw Finance Man's wife today - she came in to meet him, they were going off for a spot of lunchtime Christmas Shopping (how sweet is that?) and obviously he has told her the sad news of the demise of my marriage, because she walked past and instead of her usual bright banter, she just patted my shoulder and looked me right in the eyes. "You OK, love?" she said, "Are you managing all right?" "Sure, I'm fine" I said brightly. "Well, we're not that far away, you know," she said, "So you just ring up if you need anything."

That was all she said. But it was like a pool of lovely, unasked for kindness, and I absolutely dissolved inside. I couldn't speak, my throat was all tight, and it was all I could do to stop the tears just running down my face right there in the office.

So like I said, I don't really cry in public. Just don't be nice to me, OK?

art and respite

So the art installation was fantastic, one of those interactive, thought-provkoking arrangements in a massive warehouse that you get totally involved in, and not a trace of the art-gallery backache you get when you stand about looking at worthy and beautiful things. And the theatre uproariously funny. I didn't even get close to falling asleep, despite my fears. (I have to admit that even though I spent the whole of last week looking forward to a day off from constant motherhood, about 4pm yesterday, my mind was wandering off, wondering how he was doing. Kids are so under your skin that even when you get a day off you can't let it go.)

All the same, a day of respite. How fantastic is that. It's been 6 months since the last time I went out with no "curfew" of babysitters or pick-up times. Maybe the era of the sleepover is going to open up a whole new world for me. A world of days and evenings out in adult company.

thank God it's Friday

Friday, thank GOD. Another week lurching from meeting to meeting by day, ironing board to dishwasher by evening, lunchbox to piano practice at 7.30 am... Saturday. (Actually, I'm half lying about the ironing board. I did iron a couple of things this week, but I shan't do it again for about 6 months. Twice a year is my absolute maximum on ironing)

And tomorrow - bliss-out (kind of) - a whole adult day to go out with friends while marvellous Austrian friend round the corner keeps darling Son all day AND for sleepover. This is such a rare treat, but even now the helter-skelter of things to get organised just to make it possible make me slightly anxious that when we actually get to the theatre tomorrow, I shall fall asleep the minute the lights go down. Not good behaviour on a date...

Finance Man

There is this chap at work, a really nice man, a Tory but I'll forgive him for that, who works in the finance department. His wife comes in occasionally and they go off to lunch together, and she is really lovely too. They are those kind of salt of the earth Church-going types (I mean trad nice-people-church, not the mad ones who actually believe in God). Anyway, last time finance man was sorting out my salary and taxes etc., he said something about married persons tax allowances and I mentioned the fact that divorce is pending. His jaw dropped and he said all those awkward "I'm terribly sorry" things, and then we moved swiftly on. I even managed not to cry that time.

Anyway, he seems to have started looking out for me. He mentioned the other day that his wife sent her love, and every now and then he stops at my bit of the staff room to crack a little joke. If he was a different kind of person I'd wonder if he was being weird. But you know, I think he's just kind of taking care of me. I'm finding this particularly pleasant given that it is traditional Churchy people that you expect to give you a hard time about lone parenting and divorces. But Finance Man is turning out to be a real human being.