a blended life

Wanna hear something sad?  Lucy hates change.  When I broke my legs I had a very clear thought that it a blessing—it was allowing me to stay home with my baby and do nothing but hold her (because I couldn’t do anything else) for days and weeks on end. She just had surgery and I just lost my job at the stupid charter school. We needed each other. She needed her first year to be on my chest and in my lap. Because her second year would be tumultuous and scary and terrifying, spending random weeks with her dad and his new circus, starting daycare and being thrown around like a toy. I can’t even make myself remember this without getting physically ill. When she was with me, I held her in clingy, obsessive way that made people look sideways. I kept her in my bed all night, I carried her up and down stairs and read hours of books on the floor. What if she developed an attachment disorder? What if she didn’t learn to trust and later developed a personality disorder or had serious beha...

I moved in. All by myself. With a borrowed van, a scrambled load of ikea kitchen items, a rolled up 70lb bed and craigslist frame, plus suitcases. And a car seat I might never use again.  They had the place professionally cleaned but it’s obvious they lived in a war zone by how damaged the walls are. I don’t care if my sentences end in a preposition, ok? So I’m home now. My home where the landlord ignores me and I don’t have to answer the doorbell if I don’t want to. <— preposition  My home where I can walk around in my underwears and laugh too long at bad jokes.  And I feel profound gratitude to be in a place that I truly consider my own private space, where I can have weird food in the fridge and hang out at Coney Island until midnight without someone else wondering where I went. Also where I panic at all hours of the night because I have no freaking clue how I’ll pay rent in a few weeks.  Have mentioned how much I like my ward here? They have shown up this week...

Remember last year when Jacob suddenly moved out on the 4th while I was at a church bbq? And I’ve barely blogged since because I don’t even know how to deal?  Well, I’m back. I had to promise to come back so I could maintain sole physical custody but no one thought he would take the deal. But so far he’s taken the deal and I’m back. In Brooklyn.  And I went to my church bbq yesterday. Partly because Rawle was making Guyana jerk chicken (people, it is SO good) and partly to be intentional about healing. Me and the girls called it ‘Abandon-versary’. They’re with my mom in Vancouver so she had to spend the day listening to the story over and over. Sorry, Mom.  Anyway, I went. And almost the exact same food was served with almost the exact same people. It felt like home. My people, my Guyana chicken (I ate probably six pieces) and my baggage. I reminded all my friends that I was observing Abandon-versary and we had a great talk. Mostly it was angry words of hate and plans to ...

I’m whole again. 

What I planned: Lay in bed Call my mom  Read Eat frosted mini wheats  Shower Hang out with girls Mourn, sob, grieve the absence of Lucy Throw fits of anger and rage Avoid church as much as possible  Go to bed as early as possible  What really happened: All of that EXCEPT avoid church and throw fits of anger and rage.  In fact, I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed Mother’s Day so much (even with the periods of deep worry, anger, and grief).   Leah wrote me a song. Hannah wrote a poem and made a ceramic plate in art. Church was unexpectedly lovely, even though I really wanted to show up with a chip on my shoulder and plot ways to skip Sunday school and relief society.  (Mother’s Day in a fancy pants ward means gourmet chocolates, a book, brunch in Primary with a cute plant and photo card, cookies and a bath bomb from YW. Plus I love my friends here and everyone is SO supportive and genuinely kind.) Someone encouraged me to apply at her private school...

He was supposed to bring her back today. He texted first thing this morning, saying he couldn’t afford a ticket and shouldn’t my family be chipping in more and no one respects his schedule. But I could skype her as much as I wanted.  This is good, everyone says. He’s hung himself. He’s in contempt of court now, something we’ve been trying to pin on him from the beginning. But he always gets away from it by a hair, a flimsy excuse or fast talking. He kept you from having Mother’s Day with your toddler.  I spend a tremendous amount of time figuring out people’s motives. I get paid to figure out why a kid acts out in school and offer mildly helpful suggestions. Jacob’s motives are typically transparent and selfish. And all about money.  But this is different. I felt a strong assurance that this was a deliberate attempt to sabotage Mother’s Day. And vindictive, oppositional protest against my court battles. He must know he’s lost primary custody.  So now I will wake up w...

Monday, April 30           Sonya emailed. She’s our new attorney, she says, and we should probably talk before the hearing on Thursday. {the entire family wets their pants with anxiety and confusion. New attorney? Maybe someone could have told us?} Tuesday, May 1           Sonya called. You have to move back, she says. You will never be granted a relocation by the court no matter how good your argument is. No matter how compliant he was when you left. You have to move back and put out the fire or you will lose custody forever. Don’t lose custody, Carrie. Focus on custody. Not on which state you live in.  Wednesday, May 2           Mom, me and Lucy meet in Brooklyn. I screwed up and flew us into different airports. I screwed up and got an shared Airbnb— meaning there were other people in the house and I slept in an air mattress with Lucy. No one slept. I screwed up and left my debit card at Chicago O’Hare. En...