Frequent Father Miles

66,000 Miles

2012-01-30T17:46:00.000-08:00

I'm back from a slightly elongated weekend with my kids in Maine. I got in late Friday night, picked them up from my son's karate class early Saturday morning as usual, and stayed through this morning to attend a conference at his school (more on that later). There was nothing special about the weekend--it's just routine at this point. Here's a rundown of this, a "typical" weekend spent alone with my kids.

FRIDAY
10:30pm Arrive in Portland
11:15pm Arrive at motel

SATURDAY
8:00am Karate (the boy)
9:00am Dunkin' Donuts break
10:00am Dance (the girl)
11:30am Lunch--hot dogs and fries
1:00pm Swim at indoor pool at hotel
3:30pm Showers and baths
4:00pm Kids jumping on the bed while I try to rest
4:30pm Computer games (boy) and Cartoon Network (girl)
5:30pm Dinner at Japanese/Chinese restaurant (my son loves sushi!)
7:00pm Watch Netflix movie on my computer
8:30pm Bedtime

SUNDAY
6:00am Boy wakes up and goes straight to computer
7:00am Girl wakes up and goes straight to TV
7:30am Breakfast in hotel
8:00am Boy plays with Rubik's Cube, girl makes me a bead necklace
9:00am Swim at indoor pool
11:00am Showers and baths
12:00pm Peanut butter sandwiches and cupcakes at Portland Market House
1:30pm Childrens' Museum of Maine (their idea...I was going to take them to the movies)
5:00pm Carry sleeping girl up to hotel room, boy reads Super Diaper Baby 2 book
6:00pm Take girl back to Mom's house (I wanted a boys' night)
6:00pm-6:20pm Girl complains about wanting Mommy, boy tells her that she's on her way there (good for him!)
6:20pm I make girl hug me while still in car before she runs off to Mom
6:30pm Different Japanese restaurant with boy (he demanded sushi again)
7:30pm Semi-successful attempt at serious conversation with boy
7:35pm More computer games
8:30pm Bedtime

MONDAY
6:00am Boy wakes up and goes straight to computer
6:15am I grudgingly wake up and take a quick shower
6:25am Pack up things from around the room
6:30am I break the zipper on boy's backpack trying to cram it shut
6:31am Boy has meltdown about broken zipper
6:32am I try to tell him that it's OK and promise him that I'll buy him a new backpack if I can't fix it
6:40am Breakfast in hotel
7:05am I manage to fix the zipper well enough for him to use the backpack
7:20am Leave to drop boy at school
7:45am Drop him at school and resist temptation to hug him in front of other kids
7:50am Coffee break
8:30am Conference with Vice Principal, Special Ed teachers and his teacher confirming that he doesnt need special ed, just extra accommodations in class for his Asperger's related behavior
9:30am Leave school
10:00am Return to airport in Portland

Some might say that I packed more of the good, quality time that a father should be spending with his children over the course of several weeks into 48 hours, and that I should be proud of myself for being such a devoted father. Perhaps, but my underlying emotion throughout the whole process is a slowly simmering anger at the fact that I have to live like this.

I wish I had the luxury to go about my business in my own home while blithely ignoring my children while they go about their business. That just isn't possible when we haven't seen each other for several weeks and then are shoehorned into a hotel room for a weekend. I can't just tell them that I want to read a book or that I've got chores to do. From their perspective, I must be off doing those things (or whatever it is that I do when I'm not with them) all the time, and I came all the way to Maine to see them, so they'll have my full attention during the brief time that I'm there. It's very different from when they've been with me at my approximiations of "home" in Maryland and Georgia, when there is a whole house to occupy and other people in the vicinity.

I have to admit that, in spite of my overwhelming and boundless love for my children, it just feels all wrong spending time with them the way that I just did. It's like we went somewhere on vacation, but the only thing we did on vacation was hang around the hotel and go out for dinner. There were no sights to see, no thrills to be had, and no dear friends to visit--just the three of us with a whole weekend to kill in a place that will forever reek of depression and betrayal to me. I long to whisk them away to some other place far away from Maine and give them that sort of experience, but it's just not possible given the many restrictions on my life.

And out of this whole experience, there are three images that stick with me the most, all of which just raise my simmering anger up to a rolling boil. First, my daughter, now almost 4.5, said her first words that indicate some feeling about the divorce other than blind acceptance when she told me, "Daddy, I wish you and mommy were still married to each other." The poor kid had just turned two when her mother threw me overboard--she doesn't even remember that I ever lived with her. She had never before expressed anything of this sort, but now that it's out of the bag, it's clear that no child, no matter how young, escapes from divorce fully intact.

Second, in my attempt to have a serious conversation with my nearly eight-year old son, he told me with complete earnestness (that's his only mode) "I want to tell someone in Maine that you need a job here so they can hire you and you can come back." It just took that one sentence for me to recognize that, while he no longer complains about me being away like he did two years ago, he would be much happier if he could see me all the time. I can't describe what an awful feeling I got from hearing those words, however sweet his intentions may have been.

Finally, there's the image of my ex-wife sitting next to me in the school conference room, looking worn and world-weary, faking her way through acting like a responsible parent in front of a room full of people who are keenly aware that she is a complete psychopath. I have to believe at this point that I will truly never, ever fully get over what I let her do to me. She may be poor, miserable, and devoid of friends or close family relationships, but she still continues to possess the only thing in the world that truly has any value to me: my children.

And now I've dumped all of this poison out of me. But I'll be going back for more next month, and countless more times for years to come, because the alternative is just unthinkable. I know that all good parents make sacrifices, but it burns me up that I have to sacrifice so much just to be able to enjoy a typical weekend with my own children.

65,000 Miles, holding pattern

2012-01-21T08:31:00.001-08:00

I have nothing profound to say right now, but I have to say something, so I'll let Paul Simon say it for me.

"And I know a father
Who had a son
He longed to tell him all the reasons
For the things he'd done.
He came a long way
Just to explain
He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping
Then he turned around and headed home again.
He slip slided.
Slip slidin' away.
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away."

In my course of making sure that I had gotten that lyric correct, I discovered that there was a "missing" verse from one of Mr. Simon's greatest songs, The Boxer. Somehow this fits today:

"Now the years are rolling by me
They are rockin' evenly
I am older than I once was
And younger than I'll be and that's not unusual.
No it isn't strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same."

The point is that I'm still me. After all I've been through, I'm still the 15 year old kid went walking in the desert outside of Tucson, Arizona singing Doors songs to myself and dreaming about designing home for myself in the foothills of the Santa Catalina mountains. I still want to spend my Saturdays playing basketball all day long until I drop. I still expect mystery and opportunity around every corner, and know for certain that life will be an adventure once I leave my hometown and never look back. I still want to use my intelligence, energy, and sense of humor to make a fun and rewarding life for myself. I still want to be the best dad ever, laughing and smiling with my children each day.

So how is it that I'm sitting here at age 38 in my parents' basement with the two loves of my life, my kids, hundreds of miles away, and my wife hundreds of miles away in the other direction, with a job that, in spite of its promise, is depressing because I know it's my only ticket out of a lifetime of struggles, and no hope of ever having even any semblance at all of the life I wanted? I know that few people truly realize their dreams, but I never thought that I'd this dead end at such a young age, when it has already become clear to me that my joys in this world will be small ones, restricted to isolated moments when I can allow myself to forget about my failures.

Will I ever get the chance to explain myself to my children? If I do, will I just kiss them on their foreheads while they're asleep and walk away? Perhaps that's enough for them. Perhaps they really do know how much I love them and how sick I am that my life has become what it is. Perhaps they understand that it was their mother who pushed me out the door and created conditions under which I had no choice but to leave their little town to get my life back in order.

Either way, it's little comfort to me. After changes I am more or less the same, and the person that I am at my core is sick and disgusted of this life I'm living and completely at a loss about how to improve it. I'm resuming couseling this week, but I am already certain that the fifth person I'm seeing is going to do any more than the first four did, which is to tell me "wow, that's a tough situation," and "you have to fake it 'til you make it."

Cue Mr. Simon:

"I know I'm fakin' it
I'm not really makin' it
This feeling of fakin' it-
I still haven't shaken it."

65,000 Miles (approximately)

2012-01-05T16:59:00.000-08:00

I'm guessing that it's been 6,000 miles since the last entry, but I've been on so many trips that I don't care to calculate it, so I'm estimating. I drove up to the DC area to move for my job. I went to Long Island for a wedding. I flew up to Maine for a weekend with my kids. I went down to Atlanta for a weekend with my wife. I flew up to Maine to retrieve my kids, brought them back to Maryland and spent a great week after Christmas with them, then returned them and came back home. In between my wife came to DC for the weekend so we could go house hunting. I probably missed a trip or two, but that's why I'm estimating.

Meanwhile...

I'm working 5 days a week at a job that is a brutal commuting distance from my parents' house (where I'm staying)--it takes 90 minutes each way unless I leave by 6:15am or return by 3:00pm--and I have to attend frequent nighttime and weekend meetings and events for the job.

My almost 8 year-old son has been diagnosed with Asperger's disorder and is having uncontrollable fits about not being able to stop wetting the bed.

My 4 year-old daughter won't ever talk on the phone to me, although I take some heart in that she won't talk to her mother on the phone when she's with me.

My ex-wife got married to the alcoholic bastard who drove drunk with my child in his car.

I have seen listings for two good jobs in Maine that would pay well and allow me to be near my kids, but I have not applied. On the one hand I was miserable up there and have no desire to go back. On the other hand I have told my kids a million times that the only reason I left was because I needed to find a job. I feel like a liar and a horrible person for not jumping on these jobs, but I just really don't want to go in reverse like that.

My father has been diagnosed with an aggressive terminal illness and probably won't live another year. It's nice to be with my parents, but it's heartbreaking watching him fade away before my eyes. It's also terrible that my mother, who just retired two years ago, is now stuck being the full-time caregiver for him, as he can't dress, shower, go on stairs or even eat without help anymore.

I am so tired and overwhelmed by life that I can't even motivate myself to do simple things like read a book, exercise, or make plans with friends. Most nights I just come home from work, eat too much food (my mom loves to overstuff me), collapse on the couch, and maybe talk to my wife on the phone, and then go to bed and do it all again.

* * *

I try to tell myself that much of this is temporary. My wife and stepdaugher are still on course to move here in May, and we've determined that we can afford a nice three-bedroom townhouse in a good school district that will drop my commute to 20 minutes. My kids will be there with us in our new home for 6 weeks next summer. My dad will probably be gone and my mother will get her life back, and will even be able to watch the kids for us. I'm getting my career back on track--my job is going well, and I am certain that it can lead me to better things. My kids are growing up and I won't feel as horrible about going slightly longer stretches without seeing them. Eventually they'll be able to fly on airplanes without me, which will make it far easier to get them to where I am.

But I still can't get my need to be with my kids out of my system. Every day they were here last week was a joy for me, albeit a joy tempered by being exhausted. It was particularly great when my wife and stepdaughter came up for three days, which was the first time since August that we had all been together. By day two the girls were wearing their matching princess dresses and calling each other "sis." I'm flying up to see my kids in Maine at the end of the month, and will go again for my son's birthday in March. I may even go in February for a long weekend.

The point is, as expensive and difficult as it may be to go there so much, I can't justify not going there. I've got the money now, as I am earning a good salary and saving a lot by living with my parents. I've got the time, as I am mostly bored when I'm here on weekends by myself. And the flights are much shorter and less expensive than they were from Atlanta. I've also gotten over the fear of "what are we going to do?" when I go up there. It's still exhausting being cooped up in a hotel room with them, but they've gotten used to the routine and we always find ways to fill up the time. The best part is that they don't, as they did when I first became The Frequent Father, ask to go back to Mommy's house after a few hours in a hotel. They seem to have gotten used to the idea that this is how things are, and they seem to be OK with it.

* * *

When I started writing this post 25 minutes ago I felt like crap. Now I feel much better. I know that I have to write more often. It's all about the release.

59,000 Miles, cont.

2011-10-26T14:36:00.000-07:00

Well, long distance is turning into medium long distance; I took the job in Northern Virginia and will be moving in less than two weeks. I was going to spent some time this afternoon packing, but I'm instead sitting here writing this entry--my priorities are obvious. So that's good news, right? I'm taking a great job with an impressive sounding title, a much higher salary than I've ever before earned, 25 miles from where I grew up and, yes, 600 miles closer to my children. But my wife isn't coming right away, as she has to sell her house and anyhow she wants her daughter to finish the school year in Georgia and spend the next six months saying goodbye to everyone she knows (she's moved here to go to college 19 years ago and has never left). It's going to be a tiring and expensive few months as I live and work in one city and have to travel back and forth to Maine and Georgia. I'm not looking forward to that.

Even once my new family does join me in Virginia, then what? I'll still be 500 miles away from my kids and I'll have a full-time, high-pressure job with little ability to take random long weekends or week-long trips like I got to do. I'll have the money to see them now, but what about the time? It's got to be one or the other it seems. And my wife? She'll be in a new, strange place far from everything she knows, and is already feeling guilty about taking her daughter away from their extended family (mother, 3 sisters, 7 nieces/nephews, untold numbers of friends).

There's another issue: her ex-husband and his family (mother, stepfather, 2 sisters, son who's a half-brother to my stepdaughter, 4 cousins). I've found myself being so angry over the past two years about my ex-wife replacing me. Even ignoring the particulars of the new man in her house (see about 12 other of my entries for more on him), the fact is that, to my kids, Daddy doesn't live with us and we only see him every couple of months. Now I'm going to be responsible for making a six-year old girl move 600 miles away from her father.

Now I have every reason to be OK with this--her father is just this side of a deadbeat. Even though he has visitation rights every other weekend, he generally only sees her about once every six weeks, and even on the weekends when he does see her, he spends about 4 hours with her and then drops her off at his mother's or sister's house. He's perpetually two months behind on child support, and owes my ex $15,000 in marital debt. He doesn't come to his daughter's soccer games and has only ever set foot in her school one time. He is now married to the woman with whom he had an affair during his marriage to my wife, and she happens to be an illegal alien. He's also willingly cut ties with his 13 year-old daughter from his first marriage because he couldn't afford to pay child support for her. The guy's not exactly father of the year.

In spite of all of this, I can't help but feeling terrible. Yes, he's a poor excuse for a parent, but he's still her dad. How can I sit here and feel so terribly wronged about semi-voluntarily moving away from my kids and then have a clear conscience about taking another man's daughter away from him?

I'm trying very hard to focus on the facts at hand: 1) I need a good career so I can financially support my son, daughter, and stepdaughter. 2) I have failed to find this career path in Maine or Atlanta. 3) I have found a great job that could hold the key to my future in a third place, one that's halfway between the other two. 4) My wife's ex-husband doesn't even really try to be a parent, in spite of living 15 minutes away right now. 5) My wife has chosen to be with me, and understands facts 1-4 very clearly. I know that taking this job is the right thing to do. No matter how hard it will be over the next few months, I have to believe that the long-term benefits will be worthwhile. It certainly will make for some interesting blogging.

59,000 Miles

2011-10-17T08:02:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I'll ever write a book based on all of these ramblings, but if I do, I have decided on one of two titles. Over the weekend the famed race car driver Dan Wheldon was tragically killed in a 15-car pileup during a race. At the news conference announcing his death, Mr. Wheldon was said to have perished from "unsurvivable injuries." If/when I do write my tome, I will either call it "Survivable Injuries" or "Unsurvivable Injuries". The exact title will, of course, depend on what happens between now and then.

To bring everything up to date, I voyaged to Maine for a long weekend with my kids over Columbus Day which was tough, as it was the first time since leaving town for good that it had been just me, just them, and a hotel room. Every visit since January had either involved me traveling to Maine with my wife and stepdaughter or me picking them up and taking them to another, better place.

This is not to say I didn't have a great time. The weather was an Inconvenient Truth-ly 80+ degrees (October! Maine! 80 degrees! Call Al Gore!) and we had many memorable moments. Maybe someday I will pen the whole narrative of this weekend, but, in journaling about the trip during the plane ride back "home," it seemed like a more cathartic exercise to spill out random thoughts from the weekend gone by:

The last day of Indian Summer
Where I come from and how that place is gone
Feeling rootless, like I'm living in quicksand
Watching my children struggle and being unable to help them
My daughter's scary fascination with TV commercials
Playing superheroes at the school playground
Watching my son go up (and down) the Hi-Jacker ride at the Fryeburg Fair
Seeing my daughter get on the swing and go by herself
The street sign on the way to the fair that read "Pig Street"
Playing "bedbugs" in the hotel room
Swimming at the YMCA
Sitting on a bench at Deering Oaks Park watching the squirrels together
Riding the Tornado ride at the fair all together
Room 112 at the Extended Stay America
Can being 500 miles away be better than 1,100 miles away?
Who would talk to me for an hour anymore?
Teaching my son about football
My daughter blowing raspberries at me then singing "I'm a Little Scarecrow"
My son leaping from one bed to the other in the hotel room
My kids talking about their "step-family" as if were their own
Needing to feel useful and pining for a better job

Reading this list a week later I feel it does a better job of summing up my feelings than would any contrived narrative. My feelings were (and are) scattered, and the time I spend with my kids is best summarized in this manner. There is no arc to the story. There is no recurring theme. There is just a series of highs and lows. Elation in one moment melts into fear and despair. My fragile heart soars 80 feet up to the top of the Hi-Jacker, then shatters upon impact.

I'll see my kids again in a month or so, again alone in a hotel somewhere near Portland, although I can almost guarantee that it won't be 80 degrees any sunny this time (and if it is, I'm really going to give Mr. Gore a call!) Until then I'm left to stew in my own juices about the life I'm living. I'm sitting here at work, having all the time in the world to write this entry as, after more than three months, I still have virtually nothing to do all day long. Meanwhile, I've been offered a job in the Washington DC area, and have only a few days to decide about it. The job could be great, but I've been keeping myself up nights worrying about whether or not that's really close enough to my kids and being if neither here (Maine) or there (Atlanta) is going to allow my marriage to work. But I don't feel like I have any other options, as there are no better opportunities on the horizon anywhere else.

By the time I write my next post I will have decided whether or not to take the job, in the process probably causing more stress than I can handle. My body has, technically, survived the injuries suffered due to my first marriage and its disastrous end, but I'm having a hard time seeing how my spirit will carry on. No matter where I live (Atlanta, DC, Boston, Maine), I will feel like I'm giving up too much and that my life will always fall short of what I wanted it to be. In that regard I suppose I haven't survived my injuries at all. I'm not living the same life that I was living before the crash, but instead feel like a ghost who is inhabiting the same body but somehow unable to feel the same way. But that's the definitation of survival, isn't it? I've been bloodied and battered, but my body still lives and breathes. I guess I've got my title.

56,800 Miles

2011-09-29T05:51:00.000-07:00

What was it I was saying last time about sound and fury, signifying nothing? Well take that, put it in a six-page court order, and make it a double.

Well, the judge agrees with me...my ex-wife is guilty of (and I quote), "naivete, at best, and self-decption at worst," and "there is no doubt that [she] has not complied with the terms of the Judgment and, without tighter strictures, will continue to do so." Sounds good for me, right? Well, let's keep reading to see how the court intends to put "tighter strictures" on my ex:
"[The mother] shall allow no unsupervised contact between the children and [the boyfriend]...[The boyfriend] shall not consume alcohol, or be under the influence of alcohol, in the residence or in the presence of either or both of the children." Throw in a small victory of me now getting the kids for six consecutive, uninterrupted weeks in the summer, and that's the ballgame.

I suppose there is some lemonade to be made here. I do now have an official opinion from the State of Maine stating that my ex-wife is somewhere between naive and delusional and that her boyfriend is quite obviously not cured of his drinking problem. I do get the kids for six weeks straight starting next summer. I do, on the surface, have some restrictions on the lowlife who kidnapped my daughter and drove her home drunk. But what I don't have is any way to enforce those restrictions.

So the bum can't be alone with them, drink in the house, or be under the influence in their presence. That's good and well if I'm the guy from Rear Window sitting in a wheelchair all summer long and staring at him through my binoculars. But I live 1,100 miles away. Even if I lived 10 miles away, as I did a year ago, I still don't see how I would be able to indisputably prove that he had done any of these things. In fact, I already know that these things have happened in the week since the decision was rendered. My son told me on the phone that he and the bum went for a bike ride around the neighborhood, including down a busy, hilly street with mangled sidewalks. But I can't use the word of a 7 year old in a court of law, so it never "officially" happened.

Furthermore, let's say that I do miraculously obtain hard proof of the order being violated--the order contains no "then what." I was hoping that it would at least tell my ex that one screw up would result in the bum going or even her losing the kids. It seems that my only remedy would be to take her back to court again, and replay the whole tragi-comic-farce once more (and at great expense, of course). I am filing a motion to appeal the decision, but I'm not holding my breath.

So, in the end, I feel like she was convicted of her crimes, but given a very light sentence. Meanwhile the person at the heart of the matter, the drunk boyfriend, gets to stay put, living in the house that I bought with my money and pay for with my child support checks. He is allegedly going to school to become a medical assistant, but I can't possibly imagine any responsible medical office wanting to hire this clown, who looks like death, walks with an alcoholic's shuffle, chain smokes, and generally always seems to be drunk. And the person ultimately responsible--my ex-wife--gets to go on with her life as if she did nothing wrong, but she still is raging with anger at me for, as she put it, "ripping the kids away from me for the summer." Never mind that she gets them all year long, and I'm in the midst of going six weeks without seeing them right now (I'm going up over Columbus Day weekend).

Meanwhile, I'm sitting at my desk 1,100 miles away typing this. I'm at work, but my job is such that I basically get paid to do absolutely nothing. I'll save the details for a future post (or not), but the gist of it is that I was hired by a public agency to help get an ineffective lifer of a bureaucrat off the dime, but she is refusing to share any work with me and our mutual boss is too much of a wuss to do anything about it. Thus, I have been sitting here for three months now with literally nothing to do but surf the internet and feel like a complete ass for being so far from my kids for no other reason than to collect a paycheck.

If I were at least doing something good for the world, or at least something that occupied my mind all day, I'd feel a lot better. As it is, all this job is giving me is money and a serious case of depression. I've again begun to seek out something better closer to where my kids live, and this time my wife swears that she's coming along no matter what. The adventure continues...

55,700 Miles

2011-08-26T08:38:00.000-07:00

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing."

--Shakespeare, Macbeth

I'm not often one to quote The Bard, but my day in court yesterday reminded me of nothing but Macbeth's conclusions about life upon his hearing of the queen's death. My central conclusion from yesterday is that courtroom is nothing more than two theatrical performances going on simultaneously (all the world's a stage?) To the judge and the attorneys, the proceedings are mostly scripted comedy-drama, with elements of farce. They recite their well rehearsed legalese and misleading questions, and trade occasional in-jokes with one another. Meanwhile, the Plaintiff and Defendant get to muddle their way through improvised tragedy, with their fates at the mercy of the well dressed and highly paid jesters acting beside them. And to top it off, yesterday's performance certainly had the most anticlimactic ending I've ever seen.

For three hours, the motion that I made to protect my children from the ravages of the dangerous drunk that their mother permits to live with them devolved into a series of truths that could not be told, lies that were left uncontested, and, at the end, an announcement that the decision would be sent by mail at a later date, followed by a bang of the judge's gavel.

I don't have the strength to go into bloody detail, but here are the main points of the trial:
- I testified, mostly on the strength of my own knowledge and of several self-incriminating emails sent to me by my ex-wife, about the long and perilous pattern of alcohol abuse, drunk driving, and cover-ups in her home.
- I was barred from discussing hard evidence of her in the form of police reports, because police reports are considered hearsay unless the officer who wrote the report appears in court to testify.
- Her attorney repeatedly objected to most things that I said and tried to get me off on irrelevant tangents such as whether or not the drunken boyfriend's license was officially suspended on October 9 or October 19 (as if it matters--she still let him drive the kids after his second drunk driving arrest in six months). This was all done to waste time and run out the clock, as he knew that only three hours were alloted for the trial.
- My ex got on the stand and skated on the edge of crying for the better part of an hour as she painted herself as an ideal mother, her boyfriend as a wonderful human being who is trying to conquer his tragic disease of alcoholism, and me as one part sterotypical bumbling father who is overwhelmed at the thought of spending time with his children and one part jealous, jilted ex-lover who is trying to get back at her.
- She spun one tall tale after another: saying with a straight face that she never dreamed that their "maintenance plan" of giving him 64-80 ounces of beer a day could ever be considered alcohol abuse; insisting that last week's domestic dispute, which was described in the police report as her boyfriend yelling and throwing things at her, was really her yelling and screaming to him about how mad she was at ME; and, especially, that her boyfriend had not imbibed a drop of alcohol since going to jail last October, in spite of common sense and ample evidence.
- She refused to accept a condition that another incident of her boyfriend drinking or even getting nabbed for drunk driving would automatically result in him being tossed out of her house, arguing that alcoholics never truly beat their disease, and he could be forgiven for an isolated slip-up.

And then the lawyers chewed up the last 10 minutes of our time discussing who would be paying the other lawyer in the room, the Guardian Ad Litem, and then we were dismissed. The case is now left twisting in the wind for at least several more weeks while the judge takes her sweet time writing up a decision. So all the sound and fury signifies nothing, at least not yet.

Meanwhile, things are in typical SNAFU mode. I am hanging around Maine for two more days (possibly longer if I get held up by Hurricane Irene), and was hoping to spend most of it with my kids. I had previously arranged to get them during the day on Saturday, and then emailed my ex four days ago to see about having them Friday night as well. When she didn't respond, I had no choice but to call her at home two hours after the trial ended. She of course barked at me that I can't just drop a last-minute request on her. I told her that I had informed her days earlier, but she snarled that I know she doesn't check her email much, so, no, I couldn't have the kids Friday night. It's just one more example of how she has no concern at all about what's good for the kids, as they haven't seen me in three weeks.

So that's the way it is. More to come.

54,600 Miles, ready for takeoff

2011-08-24T17:01:00.000-07:00

It had to happen sooner or later...a blog entry from the airport. I thus haven't accrued any additional miles, and won't until my plane departs in 90 minutes. Tomorrow is the big day--the court hearing. Nearly nine months after filing my "expedited" motion to modify our divorce judgment, D-Day is finally here. As expected (see previous entry) the Guardian Ad Litem (GAL, for short) concluded that my ex is wacky and delusional, but shouldn't lose the kids because: 1) they are extremely attached to her, and 2) I don't live in the same community where they allegedly have a support network.

Now I will admit that my kids are attached to their mother, but they are also attached to me. She did manage to bamboozle the GAL by convincing him that, because she's still nursing our 4-year old daughter, that our little girl simply can't be away from mommy. Of course she just got done spending 15 full days away from mommy and only cried for her one time after hearing her voice on the phone. I am fully convinced that, at this point, the nursing is 110% about the mother, not the child.

As for the second issue, I don't see why my residence matters. Their mother puts the kids in harm's way every day of their lives by letting an unreformed drunk live with them while their other parent (me) has a safe, secure home. The GAL asserted that the kids have a strong support network in their hometown, specifially citing their grandmother. Never mind, of course, that their grandmother was barred from their lives for more than 6 months last year for suggesting that the drunk should go, and that they see her at most once a month, though she lives two miles away. To me, the point is this: one parent puts them in danger and the other does not. Shouldn't they live with the one who keeps them safe?

Well, anyhow, there may be some hope. Call me obsessive, but for the past 1.5 years I have checked up on the drunk boyfriend by scanning the local police log that gets posted online every two weeks. Time after time there was nothing, and I began to think that maybe he actually is serious about staying out of trouble. And then yesterday I took one last-ditch peek at the current report and, Eureka, there it was--a domestic disturbance last Thursday night, the very day that the GAL report arrives. I still don't know all of the details but it seems that my ex and her boyfriend got in a violent screaming match at 6:30 pm (while the kids were home) and a neighbor called the cops. Though they were dismissed with warnings, there is now hard proof of very current bad things going on in her home. I've gotten my hopes up 100 times before, but doesn't this event at this late date portend something positive for me? Shouldn't it?

So will truth and justice prevail? One can only hope so. There will certainly be no shortage of material for the next entry!

Tune in next time for the conclusion to this cliffhanger.

54,600 Miles

2011-08-16T10:08:00.000-07:00

The summer has gone by and The Frequent Father was on the move. 1,100 miles to Maine to get my son, 500 miles to Maryland for two weeks with him, 500 miles back to Maine, 1,100 more back to Georgia. Later, 1,100 miles to Maine to corral both kids, 1,100 miles to Georgia for two weeks with them, and one more 2,200 mile round trip to return them and return myself...so that's 7,600 miles in all. Fortunately, there were plenty of good times to go around. Unfortunately, the drama continues to unfold.

Let's start with the fortunate.

For two whole weeks in late June and early July I had my beloved boy with me every day, with nothing to do except hang out with him and enjoy summer. I picked him up from school on his last day of first grade and took him to my parents' house so we could all spend some time together. I took him swimming every day but two, and by the end of the trip he had transformed from being afraid of the water to being able to swim a whole 25 meter lap by himself. We went running at the high school track each day. I had shown him a video of Usain Bolt running the 100 meter dash in 9.58 seconds, so now my boy wants to train to be the world's fastest man. He is very fast for a 7-year old, and can actually run 100 meters in less than 18 seconds, so he's halfway to his goal!

We also did lots of DC tourist stuff--I took him to the Smithsonian, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial and even Mount Vernon. He loves presidential trivia, so Mount Vernon was a great experience for him. The only bad part about the trip is that I had to return him on July 3, so I didn't get to spend Independence Day with him. I spent that day traveling back to Atlanta and preparing to start my new job on July 5. The job has been underwhelming so far, but the paycheck is a wonderful elixir, as is not having to stress out about my work situation for a while. The job is only a contract position, though, so I am still seeking a better opportunity.

The real fun came in Round 2, when I went to work on Friday, flew up to Maine after work, arrived at midnight, hit my favorite late night restaurant in Portland, slept in the rental car, picked up both kids at 5am, and caught the 7am flight to Atlanta. The next two weeks were jam packed. On weekdays when I was at work, my son went to "superhero camp" at the YMCA, and my daughter and stepdaughter stayed home and had "princess camp" while my wife worked in the next room. On weekend days we went swimming, had playdates with their many step-relatives, threw a birthday party for my daughter (she's 4 now) and even took a trip to Six Flags. The three kids (my 2 + stepdaughter) all did mostly well--we stayed 11 hours! It was an exhausting but phenomenal experience to operate like a family for an extended period of time.

But all was not perfect. My son continues to have a number of behavioral issues that I simply can't figure out how to overcome. I feel helpless, as his mother has refused to do anything to correct these problems, suggested that he only has them when he's with me, and concluded that I must not be a good parent if I can't manage my own child. After much wrangling she finally did agree to take him to a counselor, so he hopefully will get some direction. I hate to be cynical but I suspect that she only agreed to this because of the threat of the court case.

Ah, yes, the court case. In nine days I finally get my day in court. The guardian is set to deliver his long delayed report tomorrow, and I'm on pins and needles. On the one hand I am dying to see what he actually says about my ex's inexplicable behavior, to see just how outlandish it seems to an independent expert. On the other hand I fear the report, as I'm 98% certain that he will ultimately conclude that she's wacky and delusional, but that she hasn't done enough to merit losing custody.

Either way, the whole nasty business will be done soon, and I'll figure out how to proceed. In the meantime I have been a ball of stress and uncertainty. One day I swear I'll never set foot in Maine again (I told my wife that I'd rather have my manhood hacked off with a meat cleaver than move back there), and the next I'll seriously ponder applying for a job there. One hour I am frolicking in the swimming pool with my stepdaughter, and the next I am sitting on the couch with my heart aching after my son tells me that he's sad that I couldn't come to his karate belt test. I know that the hearing next week won't put the situation 100% right, but at least it will be done, the new rules will be written, and I can make the necessary decisions about my life and career based on them. I am not holding out hope that my days as the Frequent Father are coming to an end, but I'm not giving up either.

47,000 Miles

2011-06-17T07:01:00.001-07:00

Summer vacation is upon us, and I, The Frequent Father, am preparing for what will hopefully be the last summer spent under the dreadful divorce agreement that I signed two years ago. As of now, I get two 14-day blocks with my son (age 7) and one 14-day block with my daughter (age 3.75). I don't get two blocks with her until she's five.

Believe it or not, this was the best compromise I could get out of my ex when we divorced, and I signed it so our marriage could be over and we could avoid a long, messy trial. Her opening offer was that I couldn't even have my daughter with me overnight AT ALL until she turned five, as she was still nursing (and still is at nearly four) and there would be "significant emotional damage" to her if she were away from her mommy for even one night. Don't get me wrong--I am an advocate for the health benefits from nursing beyond infancy, but past a certain point (three years?) it becomes more about the mother than the child.

Anyhow, I'll be spending the next two weeks with my son at my parents' house in Maryland, as it turns out that I have exactly two weeks between the end of his school year and the starting date of my job. Yes, that's right, I have at long last secured a good paying full-time job with a great company in Atlanta, which should be a good thing. Unfortunately, the more I have consiered the implications of having this job, the more uneasy I get.

One the one hand, I will be finally making a good salary for the first time in years, will be able to pay off my credit card debt, and will be able to save money to provide for my kids' futures. On the other hand, I need to be in an office in Atlanta five days a week and can't easily get away to see my kids, and that has made me feel rather depressed. But I've already tried the alternative, taking a crappy job in Maine just to live near them, and that didn't work for me. Even though I was there, I still only saw them 4-5 days each month, and felt like I was trapped in someone else's life for the balance of my days.

So, to sum up, I was miserable living near my kids because my job sucked and I had no life, and I'm miserable where I am with a good job and good life because I'm far from them. My wife, sage that she is, has correctly concluded that the only thing that will truly make me happy is to get my kids full-time. Failing that, I'm going to have to learn to live with the situation, whatever it may be.

And so here's what it is: my wife and stepdaughter came up to Maine for a long (four day) weekend in early June. We rented a two-bedroom unit in a dumpy old motel on the beach and had a fabulous time, but it sort of drove home the fact that, once my job starts, I won't be able to randomly do things like that any longer. The guardian ad litem continues his work, and he actually met up with the whole gang and got to see my kids interact with Daddy's new family, which was undoubtedly positive. I'm leaving for Maine in two days to see both kids, then bring my son to Maryland for the last two weeks I'll have before I start my job. It will be fun, but likely bittersweet, as I won't have my daughter (or my wife or stepdaughter), and it will probably be the last time I ever get to spend two uninterrupted weeks with my beloved child.

Last but not least, is the whole legal morass. The trial has been pushed back until late August so the guardian can finish his work. While I'm glad that he's doing thorough job, the "expedited hearing" I requested last December is going to take nearly nine months to occur. During that time my children have been living in the presence of an unreformed drunk and a delusional mother who, at least publicly, doesn't seem to grasp the danger. I called last night to talk to the kids, and I heard the bum in the background yelling at someone at the top of his voice. I have no ideas what the circumstances were, but I know that my heart sank. I'm still not sure what's going to come of this legal action, but I can't let it ruin my summer. I need to just try to enjoy my time with my kids as much as possible and have faith that everything else will fall into place somehow.

44,800 Miles

2011-04-24T19:07:00.000-07:00

I just finished the Boston Marathon during the Patriot's Day holiday, but didn't even wear running shoes. No, my version involved flying from Atlanta to Boston, renting a car, driving to Maine, meeting with the court appointed guardian ad litem, picking up my kids, driving back to Boston, flying back to Atlanta for the week, flying them back to Boston, renting another car, driving them back to Maine, dropping them at their ungrateful mother's house, driving back to Boston, and flying back to Atlanta. I'm not sure what the world record is for frequent fathering, but I've got to at least be sneaking up on it.

The good news? The week in Atlanta with both of my kids made all of the rigamarole worth it. It was the first time that my daughter had come down here, and I finally, at long last, had everyone I love in the same place at the same time. My kids got to feel like they were part of my family and my life, and not just hear about it. Every day was an adventure, full of playdates, sleepovers, family celebrations, fun outings, and all around good times. My son played superheroes with his stepcousin, and my daughter played dress up with her new sister (they don't even say stepsister!) and several girl cousins. We all went to a Braves game together, and when I say all, I mean all--our group was 14 people, of which 8 were kids! It was a beautiful experience that I hope will alter their lives forever.

You see, at home, they don't get any of that. Their mother has essentially no friends, and she's content like that. Other than school and daycare, they never get together with other children or other families. They never go to baseball games or movies or even dinner. Their mother is a hermit and she wants to raise them to be hermits too, but they obviously crave what I offered them last week, as they both were smiling from morning to bedtime every day. I am hopeful that, now that they've seen the life they could have if they were with me, someday they will ask to be part of it.

I realize that courts don't let kids choose where to live, parent-wise, until they are much older than my kids are, but I have to believe that their excitement at being in Atlanta will shine through when they speak with the guardian. Oh yes, he will be meeting with them one on one, and he's been doing this a long time, so he'll know how to get them to talk about things. I don't know if he'll get them to describe the drinking habits of their supposed stepfather, but my daughter has said more than once that he drinks beer, so one never knows.

In the bigger picture, we are now definitely on course for a trial. The guardian has already met with me alone, and with the kids and me (at McDonald's, right before leaving for Boston). He's going to meet with my ex, with her and the kids together, with each kid separately, with my son's teacher and the daycare director, and, most of all, the bum himself. I have to imagine that a seasoned family attorney with more than 10 years' experience as a guardian ad litem will be able to peg the guy on sight. We'll see. Once the guardian renders his report in a next few weeks, his findings will set the stage for a trial--then the real fireworks begin.

In the meantime, my life is as scrambled as ever. I have been out of work for three months, but have four job interviews in the next 10 days. I'm trying to be positive about it, but it's getting harder. I don't know how much time I'll get with my kids this summer, as the divorce agreement is likely to change after the trial...but I don't even know if the trial will happen before the summer. Even if I do get more time granted with them, I don't even know if I can use it, since I'll (hopefully) be working full-time. And then there's the trial itself. Dare I even dream about this whole mess ending in me getting custody of the kids and being able to whisk them away from Maine forever? Do I even really want that for them?

The amazing thing is that, in spite of all of these crushing concerns, I am actually beginning to overcome my depression and feel like I am returning to living a full and meaningful life. I left Maine for good three months ago, but have still gotten to spend substantial quality time with my children in places where I can be myself and they can have access to everything I want to give them. I know that I won't be able to do this forever--I'll either get a job or burn through my savings account--but it's certainly put me in a far better place. In a couple of years, even if they are still living far from me, they'll be able to travel by themselves to where I am. Who knows, maybe when they're grown up they'll pay the ultimate compliment by choosing to live with their father. I can dream...

40,400 Miles

2011-03-25T05:23:00.000-07:00

Three more months and nearly 12,000 miles later, I am sitting here in Georgia, preparing myself to not see my son on his seventh birthday. Yes, he turns 7 today, and this is the first time that I won't get to see either of my kids on their birthdays. I didn't send anything in the mail because I fear that his mother would throw it in the trash, and I have no expectation that she will answer the phone when I call tonight to wish him happy birthday. And so, life as the Frequent Father has resumed.

My decision to leave Maine came over winter break, when I spent a week at the beach in Florida with my wife, stepdaughter, and their extended family. Yes, I missed my kids, but I was too busy enjoying life again to dwell on that fact. I reminded myself that, even if I were back in Maine, I still wouldn't be with them, and I would probably be all alone. For the first time I felt like I had a new family and that there could be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Our original plan was to come back to Atlanta from Florida, pack up, and move everyone to Maine for good. I had already quashed that plan, as I told my wife that I hated my job so much that I needed to find something else if I was going to stay up there. Not surprisingly, nothing came of my desperate attempts to find anything better, and I got nothing but pessimism from people. By late January I had had enough. I quit my job, broke my lease (in spite of an empty threat of a lawsuit and pathetic attempts to hang criminal charges on me from my landlord), packed my belongings into my ex-wife's 1996 Corolla (she got the good car in the divorce), and hit the road.

I was sad to be leaving again, this time for good, but it felt different this time. I felt like I had built up a stronger bond with my kids through one more year of being near them. I felt like I truly had given it my all in Maine, and that it simply wasn't possible for me to have a good life there. Most of all, I felt like I could finally live with myself if I didn't see my children for more than a month. We'd figure out ways to love and stay attached to each other.

One thing missing this time is Skype. My ex broke the computer that I gave to her last year and claims that she hasn't got the money to replace it, which is funny, because she has enough money to hire a lawyer to fight me over her boyfriend's presence, not to mention that she can afford to buy him cigarettes and alcohol. Yes, I said alcohol--he is quite obviously still drinking. her own brother called me a couple of weeks ago to report that he actually witnessed the guy in the most stereotypical lush pose ever--guzzling wine from a 1.5 liter bottle then whipping it behind his back when he saw that he was being watched and pretending that nothing was amiss.

There have been some additional minor bumps:
- I sent my kids handmade Valentines last month but they told me they never came (nor did those from my parents or grandmother). My ex insists that they did come and that the kids must be lying.
- My ex "forgot" to tell me that my son was supposed to be in a play at Sunday School last weekend.
- A beer commercial came on the TV and my 3.5 year old daughter exclaimed, "That's beer!" I asked her how she knew that and she said that her alleged stepfather drinks it. Swell.

Anyhow, back to Skype, it is hard to not get to see their faces, and the phone can be a challenge at this age, especially for my daughter. Sometimes she won't talk at all. Other times she'll talk for five seconds and run off, or sing me a song and say "bye, Daddy." In spite of this, I still hear the love in their voices, and know that our bond is cemented, no matter what.

Another big change is that I no longer have any qualms about the potential of having to fight for custody. This conclusion came a bit from my ex's continued lying and enabling of her boyfriend, but more from the fact that my daughter has broken out of her iron-clad attachment to Mommy. I took the kids for 9 days during their February vacation--flying up to Maine to get them, spending a week in Maryland with my family, then returning them to Maine and flying back to Georgia (the miles are certainly piling up). During this time, my daughter was perfectly happy and fine, never asked for her mommy, refused to even talk to her on the phone, and even told me that she wanted to stay at Grandma's house when I told her it was time to go. My parents and I went up to Maine again last weekend to celebrate my son's birthday, and the kids didn't want us to leave. My son even told me that he wants to live in Georgia someday (hmm....)

Which brings me back to the legal proceedings. My trip to Maine in February included a mediation session with my ex and our lawyers. During this grueling and expensive session, I got her to agree to a bunch of constraints on her boyfriend's access to the kids, and squeezed more summer vacation time out of her as well. I wasn't exactly happy to be allowing him to stay, but at least I put some clamps on him, so I was satisfied. Well, my satisfaction lasted all of two days, when the aforementioned incident with my ex's brother came to my attention. She was in mediation one day, insisting that her boyfriend was sober and posed no threat to the kids, and the next he was guzzling Thunderbird in the garage. I was obviously irate.

I thus made the decision to not sign the mediated agreement, so it looks like we're headed for a trial after all. I don't know what will happen, but I do know that I cannot trust my ex at all. The court is going to have to decide what to do about her boyfriend and, possibly, about the kids. I don't know that I will get them, but one never knows.

As for me, I haven't found a job yet, but I've had several promising interviews, and I at least feel like there may be good news soon. More importantly, I am getting back to living again, and making it possible for me to be a good father to my children for many years to come. I know they can sense it, and that takes away some of the sting of living so far from them.

28,500 Miles

2010-12-01T07:21:00.000-08:00

Months later, after three trips to Atlanta, one trip to Maryland, and more loneliness and detachment, my ex-wife finally cracked...but sadly, nothing has changed, and I'm feeling more hopeless than ever. Now there have been some good times along the way. I took my son to Atlanta over Labor Day weekend, and he had an absolute blast meeting my wife's family and his many "new" cousins. I rented a real house, not just a crappy little apartment, and my kids have enjoyed having my home and yard to call their own. I took both kids to my parents' house in Maryland for Thanksgiving, at which my 91-year old grandmother finally got to meet my daughter (who is named for her), and we had a fabulous time.

In spite of this, everything else has been horrific. I'll start with the image of the bum boyfriend's car pulled up to the front of my ex's driveway with a "For Sale" sign in the window that greeted me last Sunday night when I rolled up to her house to return the kids after our Thanksgiving trip. Now, one might consider this a good sign--he's gone, so she is dumping his car. But, yet again, nothing can be so simple for the Frequent Father.

Let's pick up the narrative in early September.

My ex emailed me over Labor Day weekend to inform me that she had taken a full-time job, and would be putting the kids in daycare at once. My daughter would spend all day at daycare, and my son would be bused there after school. She apparently came to the conclusion that her boyfriend just couldn't support her financially, and that she would have to go get a job herself in order to keep her life together. I was actually quite happy about this, for two reasons: 1) she would be back in society every day, and maybe would come back to reality, and 2) the kids would be spending less time at home with the bum.

All was well for about a month--I went to work each day, saw my kids every other weekend and at least one weeknight each week, and my wife even came up for a weekend in September to go house hunting, a sign that she was serious about looking to move here. I was starting to feel like everything could finally be OK. You know where this is headed...

I came in to work on the Tuesday following Columbus Day weekend to find an email from my ex stating that she was pulling our kids out of daycare at once and that the bum would stay home with our daughter and our son would be bused home after school. She asserted that our daughter was miserable at daycare and that she would be so much better off at home. I immediately responded by saying that I was absolutely opposed to this, as her boyfriend is an unreformed alcoholic with a recent drunk driving conviction. I added that she couldn't even do this, as our divorce agreement grants us joint say over childcare arrangements. Her response was to agree to send them back to daycare, but that our daughter would go in later in the morning so she didn't have to "get up too early." Presumably, this meant that the bum would be driving her in.

I immediately figured that something must be up, as my daughter had not previously expressed any unhappiness with daycare, and she always seemed upbeat and cheerful when I picked her up. I did some searching and, much to my amazement found that the bum had been arrested for drunk driving AGAIN in August, just five days before his trial for his previous offense (he pled guilty, and is now a convicted criminal). As a result, a hearing was held on the Friday before Columbus Day, at which his driver's license was immediately suspended for three years. I did the math--he lost his license, he couldn't work anymore, they had no money, she had to pull the kids out of daycare.

I called the daycare center, and they confirmed that the bum had indeed been driving our daughter in each morning for the week following the suspension of his license. I was livid. I called my ex to inform her that I knew what was going on, and that the kids would need to return to daycare immediately, or I'd have to take legal action to ensure that they did. After arguing (yet again) that he wasn't actually drunk when he was arrested, citing his tragic medical condition, she eventually relented. I still couldn't believe that she would believe his BS about not being drunk and knowingly put a three-year old in a car with a guy with two drunk driving arrests in the preceding eight months.

A week later, I was awakened at 6:30 AM with a phone call from my ex. Our son was sick, and would have to stay home from school. Her job only pays by the hour, so if she stayed home, she wouldn't get paid. I had previously told her that, if this ever happened, I'd be happy to stay home with him, but was still quite surprised that she would actually take me up on my offer. I figured that her boyfriend must have been too drunk to watch him.

I drove to her house to get the kids, but noticed that my ex hadn't packed a lunch for our daughter--she apparently figured that I would keep both kids at home all day. I figured differently--since my son needed to rest, he would have a much easier time doing that if his three-year old sister wasn't running around. I thus brought both kids to my house, packed her lunch in my lunch bag, and dropped her at daycare. I had previously made arrangements to take my daughter to the library that night, so my plan was to get her from daycare at 5:00, and drop my son off at my ex's house. At 4:00, my ex called, informing me that she was home with our daughter, and that I could come by any time to swap the kids. Very curious...

When I picked up my daughter, she told me (as three-year olds will do) that she had dropped my lunch bag outside the daycare center. I laughed, and drove over to pick it up. The daycare director had my bag, along with a nasty surprise. The director called over one of her employees to occupy my daughter, so she could talk to me in private, saying that she was going to call me at 5:30 when all the kids were gone.

At 3:00 that afternoon, after a day apparently spent drinking alone, the bum had gotten himself so upset that I would dare drop my daughter at daycare when he was perfectly capable of taking care of her. He got in his car, drove to the daycare center, and demanded to take her home. I had previously told the director that, since his license was suspended, she was not to allow either of my kids to get in his car. She observed that he was obviously drunk, and told him to leave. She then went inside to call my ex to tell her what was g0ing on. While she was inside, the bum grabbed my daughter, ran to his car (dropping my lunch bag on the steps on the way out), put her in the FRONT SEAT of his car, and sped off. The director saw this and ran back inside to call the police. Unfortunately, the police didn't beat him home, so they weren't able to arrest him for drunk driving or child endangerment. They did, however, arrest him for driving on a suspended license and violating his bail by drinking.

The worst part of all of this was that my ex tried to keep all of this information from me. This guy had put our very young child in obvious danger, and she didn't feel the need to inform me of it. Worse yet was that she begged the daycare director not to tell me about the incident.

When I returned to my ex's house that evening, I told her that I knew all about what had happened, and asked her what she was going to do about it. She simply responded, "he's gone." I asked, "what do you mean, he's gone? Gone for good?" Her answer told me that he would be back, as she said, "If he can get himself 100% sober, then I will take him back." I told her that she was in denial and needed to get real. She slammed the door in my face.

The next evening, I called my ex to discuss things further, and she had clearly already stepped back from the "he's gone" declaration. I told her that, if she would sign an agreement that he would never see the kids again, I would keep the courts out of the picture, but if she wouldn't do that, then I would have to take legal action to ensure that he never again put our kids in danger. She refused, saying that he was a wonderful man, and was just an innocent victim of his medical condition. Over the next few days she sent me insane emails, "explaining" his condition in detail and assuring me that he was never drunk at any of the four times he had been arrested for being drunk in the preceding months.

I was left with no choice but to take action. But what action? At first, I told myself that I had to go for custody, to get the kids away from their crazy-ass mother who would protect her drunk boyfriend rather than protect her kids. I fantasized about having the judge award the kids to me so I could get the hell out of Maine once and for all and start a new life in Atlanta. But three things kept me from doing this. First and foremost, I asked myself if my daughter was really better off being wrenched away from her mother. She's three. She still breastfeeds. She gets upset if she goes a day away from her mommy. I know that her mother put her in a dangerous situation, but I couldn't live with causing this emotional damage to her. Second, my wife and I feared for our safety if I went for custody, as we felt that my ex and her boyfriend could turn violent. I was asking my wife to move up here with her daughter--what if my effort to protect my kids resulted in her kid getting hurt? Third, my odds of winning weren't all that great, and I couldn't justify the monetary and emotional toll for something that was likely to fail.

I instead decided to file a motion to find her in contempt of our divorce agreement, and to modify the agreement to bar the bum from living with the kids or having contact with them. I told my attorney that my real goal is to have a judge look my ex in the eye, wag a finger at her and tell her that she endangered her children and would lose them if she did it again. The motion is pending. We'll see what happens.

Back to the present, the car for sale was indeed a sign of the worst. After a month in jail, the bum got released and she immediately took him back. She claims that he's magically 100% sober, and is serious about staying sober this time. After all, he's accepted that he can't drive, so he's selling the car. I don't quite understand her defenses of this guy, but she's going to defend him to the death, and there's nothing I can do about that.

So where does that leave the Frequent Father? The disaster that I always predicted/feared actually happened, and yet nothing has changed. I have no idea if my legal action will produce any results, but I'm not all that optimistic. In the meantime, this lowlife got drunk, snatched my three-year old daughter from preschool, and drove drunk with her while already being suspended for two previous drunk driving arrests...and there he is, living in the house with my kids again. I've come to the conclusion that someone is going to have to be killed (or at least maimed) before I am able to do anything to change the situation.

Meanwhile, I am growing more miserable living in Maine, in spite of being near my kids. My job is terrible, and doesn't even pay enough to cover my bills (thanks to losing 30% of my income to child support), and I have no prospects of getting anything better here. It seems like every week my ex does something else to drive me nuts, and I find myself obsessing about her every action, even though I can't do anything to stop her. My wife is on course to move here in less than 30 days, but I don't even want her to come. Why have her come here to a place that I don't even want to be, where I have no career, no family, and no close friends, when I can be with her in Atlanta, get a good job, and have a good life?

I hate to say it, but returning to being the Frequent Father may have to be the answer. I have realized through this whole year that, no matter what, my kids will love me and I will always be Daddy to them, no matter how often I see them. Even now, with me living 15 minutes away, the bum is the primary male in their lives each day, and I am seeing them at most 4 days each month, and for an hour or two on an occasional weeknight. So for the other 27 days each month, they are not with me, and I am alone, miserable, and in a dead-end and low-paying job. What's better for the kids? Seeing me more, but having me be miserable and poor, or seeing me less, but having me be prosperous, healthy, and happy? I'm afraid the answer to that question lies 1,100 miles away.

20,900 Miles

2010-08-24T18:33:00.000-07:00

August is full of birthdays in my world. You heard about my daughter's birthday last time, and mine was three days later, then my stepdaughter's is next week (she turns five). But the party was last weekend, as she just started school yesterday, and we wanted to get it out of the way before then. So, yes, I did the reverse of my previous seven months and flew down to Atlanta for the weekend. And what a weekend! Friday night I celebrated my birthday with my wife's whole family, then on Saturday was the birthday party, which featured 35 people, a swimming pool, and 7 kids sleeping over at our house. Not very relaxing, but certainly lots of fun. Then came Sunday, when I had to say goodbye to my new family to fly back to Maine to go to work and to see my own kids. What a life.

The rest of the weekend was spent discussing the who, what, where, when, why, and how of my wife and her daughter potentially moving up to Maine. It seems like we've got that under control in terms of the logistics, but there is the matter of her ex-husband potentially trying to stop her from moving (not likely), and the massive guilt trip that her family is laying on her to sway her from leaving. I understand the motivation, but she's 36 years old, and they are treating her like a child.

As for me, I don't need a guilt trip to feel guilty. All weekend long we were surrounded by family and friends, and my stepdaughter was revelling in having so many cousins, aunts, uncles, etc. around to celebrate with her. After I left town on Sunday night she told my wife, "I don't want to leave. I want to have my birthday here every year." And I haven't gotten a good night's sleep ever since. While I know that being near my kids is terrific, the fact is, they're all I've got here. I have no family in Maine, few friends, and no real network of people to call my own. I could, of course, make an effort to build such a network, but my attention is taken up by work, my kids, my wife (phone calls every night make it hard to get out), and I haven't got the time, energy, or money for much more.

So when I think about taking my wife and stepdaughter from their complete, happy world into my uncertain one, I feel awful. I'm trying to tell myself that we'll make friends and find a way to have something of a life, but it seems very hard to imagine.

In other news, things get ever grimmer at my ex's house. My son finished his basketball camp two weeks ago, but doesn't start school for two more weeks. In the meantime he basically hangs around the house all day or plays by himself in the driveway, as she has no money, no friends, and no inclination to do anything. I took my kids out to dinner last night and tried asking them about what they've been doing, but they never really say much, because there isn't much to say.

And things continue to get worse with her family. I went to her mother's house with the kids last week, because she hadn't seen them in months (since the bum got drunk in her barn). I was struck by the fact that all of the pictures in her whole house of my kids and/or my ex were gone. I found out that my ex had let herself into her mom's house and taken all of the pictures. At best, it's psychotic. At worst, it's burglary. Either way, it ain't good.

I also found out that she has been working for several months, getting paid under the table by a friend of her brother's. I want to blow the whistle on her with child support, but there is no way to prove that she's working, and her employer won't confirm it, because he'd get in trouble with the IRS. Of course now that she's not speaking to her brother, maybe his friend will find some way to help me rat her out. Even so, she's not making much ($600 a month), and that won't get you far in this world.

As for her brother, I took the kids to his house last night, and we had a lot of fun. He clearly misses his niece and nephew and I feel horrible for him that he doesn't get to see them. Naturally my kids told their mother where they had been and, sure enough, she sent nasty email to his girlfriend that night, which was aimed at getting her to get rid of him (she claimed, among other things, that he cheats on her, slept with a transsexual, and has AIDS). It's just pathetic.

I ask myself how much longer this can go on. How much longer can she live with no family, no friends, no money, and nothing but a drunk to fill up her life. The kids start school soon (my daughter will be in preschool 2 days a week), and she won't even have then for much longer. She is going to have to crack sooner or later--hopefully sooner. I guess I have to just be patient and be ready when she does.

18,700 Miles

2010-08-09T18:47:00.000-07:00

Seeing as how the number after the comma in this posting's title is odd, I'm in the midst of a one-way trip. I've been back in Maine for 10 days and started my job last week. It's going pretty well, I guess--I like the work and am enjoying being busy again, but there is the matter of my boss' wife being literally on her death bed, which makes things more than a little gloomy. That's all secondary, though, as I've seen my kids on 5 of the 10 days that I've been here. I remind myself that seeing them makes everything else worthwhile.

This past weekend was my beloved daughter's 3rd birthday. She had asked me several times to come to her party, but her mother decided not to invite me. In fact, her mother decided not to invite anyone except for her dad. She didn't invite her mother or brother, not after the drunken incident with the fiance. And she's got no friends, so nobody else was there. It breaks my heart.

When I went to pick up my kids that afternoon, it all seemed OK. They came running out of the house, and hopped right into my car. I actually exchanged a few pleasant words with my ex in the process. But the bum had other ideas. While I was buckling my kids into their car seats, he snuck up behind me and was standing about five feet away, staring me down. When I closed the door and stood up, I saw him glaring at me, as if he was about to pounce. I looked over and asked, "Do you have a problem?

He said, "You know, she wakes up twice at night crying for her mother. Can you handle that?"

I replied, "You're not her mother. This doesn't concern you." I then glanced over at my ex, and said, "Do you have something to say to me? Because if you do, I'll be happy to discuss it."

She said nothing. He jumped back in and said, "Well I'm her stepfather."

I took two steps towards him and said, "I told you, this doesn't concern you. Now get out of my way."

"What?" he replied.

"Get the FUCK out of my way," I said.

He stomped off, threatening to call the police (for what, I don't know exactly). I drove away in a huff.

The good news is that the rest of my daughter's birthday weekend was good news. My birthday present to my little girl was to get her a "princess bed." I bought a daybed--white with pink roses--and princess sheets and a princess comforter to give her a special place at my apartment for her to sleep. And to my great joy, she did sleep! No crying for mommy--she just snuggled up in her new bed, put her thumb in her mouth and went right to sleep. I can't possibly express in words the joy I felt watching her close her eyes and go to sleep in my house. It almost made up for all of my suffering. Almost.

On Sunday I drove my kids up to Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire, where an old college friend has a family cabin right on the lake. We spent the whole day swimming and riding around in a paddle boat. It was the perfect summer day in New England, and I'm sure they'll remember it for a long, long time. I dropped them off and came back to my apartment to get ready for the work week.

Later that night I got an email from my ex brother-in-law's girlfriend. They apparently had tried to send a gift over to my daughter, but my ex refused to accept it. She told her dad (who was the go-between) that if he didn't take it back, she would throw it away. She is so angry over the incident in the barn that she intends to never speak with her brother again, I guess. I called her brother up to discuss things, and he kept me on the phone for 45 minutes, telling me all sorts of wild stories. He told me that she admitted to him as recently as 2 months ago that the fiance is still drinking heavily (in direct contrast to what she's told me). He said that she's been working for several months for a friend of his, taking money under the table, which of course violates her child support agreement and constitutes tax evasion. He also told me that his friend (her employer) reports that, while she's on the phone with him for work, he's heard the fiance screaming obscenities at my children in the background.

Given her brother's checkered past, I'm not sure what I believe, but I know he loves my children, and I also know that he is deeply hurt by his sister's behavior. I have no illusions that these latest twists and turns will get me any closer to getting custody of my kids, but at least I'm living close by to keep an eye on things.

I've obviously left out the part about now living 1,100 miles away from my wife and stepdaughter. That's a whole 'nother story, one that will have to wait for another day.

17,600 Miles

2010-07-26T06:07:00.000-07:00

In this edition: our hero fights for justice and then gets yet another unexpected surprise that may change everything.

Let me be straight--I don't like lawyers. I don't care for the way that they create strawmen just to destroy them, I don't like how they can twist words to convict the innocent or exonerate the guilty, I don't like how they can harbor secrets that can lead to justice all in the name of attorney-client privilege and, most of all, I really don't like how they can bill you for six minutes of their time when it took them 15 seconds to read your email. In this case, though, it was all worth it.

So I had my day in court. My attorney told me that he KNEW my ex would show up and burst out in tears after telling the judge what a horrible, horrible person I was and how terribly I was persecuting her. He was right. She painted a picture of me as a vicious monster threatening to steal her children away from her, the poor, innocent mommy. My attorney then got up and proceeded to blow holes in her story like a howitzer pulverizing a home made of balsa wood. He attacked with ferocity, asking "isn't it true that your fiance was arrested for drunk driving?" and "isn't it true that you and your children are living with a known domestic batterer?" Every time she would say, "Well he is innocent," or "That's not exactly right," he would cut her off and say, "Yes or no, ma'am. Is that true or not?" and she would have to admit that it was. The coup de grace came after he got her to admit that her fiance was a longtime alcoholic but that he couldn't have been drunk on the morning of his most recent arrest because she only bought him two beers. That's right, folks, she admitted in court that she bought beer to give to an alcoholic!

Needless to say, after her weepy display of victimhood and my attorney's subsequent bodyslamming, the judge swiftly dismissed her petition to slap me with a protection order. I walked out of the court a little bit lighter in the wallet, but confident that she would never again try to use the justice system to bring me down. Before I left, my attorney said to me, "It's clear that she just doesn't view reality the way the rest of the world does." So true.

That matter now settled, I got to enjoy some more time with my kids, going to the beach several times and generally enjoying the Maine summer. But, alas, it was just me and them, and my wife and her daughter were back in Atlanta. The whole trip I kept wishing that we could all be together.

Well, that brings us to part two of this posting. The very afternoon of my court date, I had a follow-up meeting with a small consulting firm in the Portland area with which I had tried for years to get a job. They had made me an offer months earlier, but the terms were not acceptable, so I dismissed it out of hand. Given my total unemployment and my newfound need to be in Maine for potential legal reasons (custody battles are far easier when you live nearby), this time when they made me an offer, I really seriously considered it.

I went back to Atlanta and talked it over with my wife. Since the job was not certain for the long term, we agreed that, if I took it, she would remain down south for the time being and we'd be in a long-distance relationship all over again. I gave myself a week to make a last-ditch effort to find a job in Atlanta. I called dozens of contacts to follow up on earlier discussions, but nobody had anything for me nor did anyone know of anything for me. So that was that--I needed a job, and I said yes.

And thus begins the next chapter. I start my job in Maine next week, and am about to head up there by myself. I won't need to pile up frequent father miles to see my own kids for now, but I'm still going to need to get on airplanes to see my wife and stepdaughter. I'll also still not be the primary caregiver so, at best, I'll see my kids once a week. It won't be as daunting as it has been, but I suppose that every non-custodial dad has some "frequent father" in him. We'll see how it goes.

15,400 Miles

2010-06-24T11:49:00.000-07:00

I am back in Atlanta again, after two more trips to Maine. The first was over Memorial Day and was nearly terrific--my new wife and her daughter finally came along, and for a few days we felt like a family. The two of us and our three children collectively got to spend good time together, with our daughters becoming instant friends and things generally feeling terrific. There was just one small problem--my daughter didn't much like the fact that, at the end of each day, she had to go back to her mother's house and not get to have a sleepover with her brother and her "new sister."

One night she decided that enough was enough and she wanted to stay over at my house. The decision came while sitting in the driveway at my ex's house. When my daughter said that she wanted to stay with me, I went inside to ask my ex if that was OK, and she reluctantly agreed. So we all went back to my apartment for our sleepover, and all was great. The girls got in their jammies and watched a Dora video together on the bed while my son played in the living room. We were all ready for bed, and I crowded onto the futon with my son to my left and my daughter to my right. She snuggled up against me, put her thumb in her mouth, and prepared to drift off to sleep. But then she sprang up and said, "one more thing," and went and got a toy to bring into bed. And then another "one more thing," and another, and another. Finally, she demanded to go into the bedroom with the girls to see if they were asleep. When she saw that they were still awake, she wanted to stay awake too. I said, "No, it's sleepy time now."

And then all hell broke loose.

My daughter started screaming, "I want Maaaaamaaaa. I want milk," over and over again. For 20 minutes I tried to calm her down, but she never did. Finally, I put her in the car, hoping that she would fall asleep, but she just kept on screaming and screaming, so I decided to head for her mother's house. Upon arriving, I handed her off to my ex, who flashed me a smug smile, and told her that she had two months to get our daughter emotionally prepared for staying at my house overnight, as she was bound by our divorce order to let her stay with me come her third birthday in August. My ex just stared at me as if I had just suggested that she put our daughter to bed with a drink of cyanide. I left in disgust.

During this trip I interviewed for and was offered a job in Rhode Island (2.5 hours from my kids), but had to turn in down, as it was only a short-term job, so my wife and stepdaughter couldn't move with me. Taking it would thus mean working in one place, and then "commuting" to both Maine and Atlanta--it just wasn't feasible.

Two weeks later, after returning to Atlanta, I was checking my email late at night when I got a Skype call from my ex-brother-in-law. He was calling me from Holland, where he was on tour with his theater company, and passed on the urgent news that my ex's fiance had been arrested...again. He had been hired by my ex's mother to do some yard work, but instead of working, he traipsed out to the barn behind her house and proceeded to down 1..2...3...4 full 40-ounce bottles of malt liquor. He was discovered with bottle #5 in hand by my ex's other brother, who told him to leave at once. He called up my ex to pick him up, and she arrived with my daughter in the car. Upon arriving she got out of her car and began screaming at her brother and his girlfriend. During this confrontation, my daughter was screaming “Mommy! Mommy!” from the car. Her brother's girlfriend suggested that she should attend to her crying child, to which my ex responded, “Shut the fuck up, you fat fucking warthog!” She then left the scene, and her brother called the cops, who came and arrested her fiance shortly thereafter for being drunk, in violation of the bail from his earlier arrest for DUI.

I then called the brother in Maine (who had been directly involved) and he further informed me that my ex continues to deny that her in fiance is drinking, in spite of the clear evidence. He also reports that the fiance has not worked since being fired following his DUI arrest in February, and that my ex continues to refuse to find a job. In the meantime, she has been receiving money from her parents, and that he believes that she has sold her food stamp credits in exchange for cash, which is a crime. His last word to me was that his sister was dead to him, and that even their mother no longer wanted to have anything to do with her.

I immediately decided that I needed to go up to Maine and sort things out, so I bought a plane ticket to come up for a whole week, figuring that my employer would understand. Instead, I was told to come back two days earlier than planned, or else, even though there was no work that really needed to get done. I was subsequently asked by my boss to resign, which I did on the spot. No part time job is worth that much.

So there I was, up in Maine for a whole week with my kids. It should have been great, right? Perfect weather, quality time, going to the beach, etc. Unfortunately, with the various clouds hanging over my world, it just didn't feel quite right. My little pseudo-apartment, which lacks TV, internet access, toys, books, and anything resembling a comfortable environment for kids, is simply a stressful place to have kids for day after day. Adding to the confusion was that my parents came up too--on the one hand, it was good to have them around, on the other hand, two more people in the house often created more stress than anything. On top of it, back in Atlanta, my wife was having chest pains and went to the ER one night where she was diagnosed with having a gall bladder issue (that remains unresolved).

In the midst of this, I went to see an expensive but highly recommended attorney to discuss what, if anything, I could do to get my wife and her alcoholic fiance in line before something happened to my kids. He told me flat out that the only way I stood a chance to get primary custody of the kids was to move back to Maine at once, and that even then, it would be a bruising and (naturally) expensive battle.

After meeting with him and realizing that the courts may not be the answer, I decided that it was time to appeal to whatever was left of my ex's conscience. I called her up to see if we could set up a time to meet to talk things over. She refused, and told me that I could say what I wanted over the phone. So I told her flat out that if she didn't rid herself of her fiance, I would have to take her back to court. We got into yet another argument, and she hung up on me. That evening, as I was on my way to drop off my daughter for the night, my ex called me and instructed me to park on the street, not the driveway. When I pulled up in front of my house, her fiance came out of the house, stood 2 feet behind me while I got my daughter out of her car seat, and all but snatched her from my arms when I turned around to face him. He told me to leave at once. I said that I needed to ask my ex something, and he said, "if you go to the door, I'm calling the cops." I told him that I still was co-owner of the house and he couldn't call the cops on me. My ex then came out and told me that she would call the cops, and refused to even answer my simple question regarding when she'd be dropping off my daughter in the morning.

For the last three days of my trip it went on like this--we exchanged the kids without words. I wonder what is going through their minds when they see their mother not even willing to say hello to their father. It can't be good for them.

Then came the final surprise.

Yesterday, as I dropped off the kids for the last time before heading to the airport, I noticed a police car parked down the block, and wondered what was up. After I let the kids out of my car and got back in, the police car pulled up next to me, and the officer asked to talk to me. She then served me with a Protection from Abuse petition that my ex had made--she apparently believes that my repeated entreaties to her to get rid of her drunken criminal of a fiance constitute emotional abuse.

Now my next trip to Maine will center on going to court to defend myself against charges that I am somehow abusing her--no matter that I have never threatened her or anyone else with any sort of violence, no matter that all I have done is to beg her to wake up and see what the rest of the world (especially her own family) sees. I am the one who was put out of his home, replaced by a worthless drunk. I am the one who has been threatened with violence. I am the one who is trying his best to get a job, be a good husband, and most of all, do everything I can to give my kids the lives the deserve. And now I'm the one being treated like the criminal.

11,000 Miles

2010-05-10T06:51:00.000-07:00

I've let three more trips to and from Maine slip away without posting. I don't know if if it's too painful to talk about it, or whether I just don't have anything new to say. The first trip involved my parents flying up to spend a few days with my kids and me around my son's 6th birthday. It was tough, as I still have a somewhat strained relationship with my parents, and the apartment is very small, but it was great to not feel all alone. The second trip was just me, but I stayed for five days, as it was my son's Spring Vacation from school. I made plans with other adults on three of the days, so it was a lot better. This past trip was a whirlwind--24 hours in Maine, then a drive to Boston for a job interview. Yes...it's possible that I may be coming back to live closer to them.

But, yet again, it just can't be that simple.

I had made up my mind after the trip for my son's birthday that, come hell or high water, I'd have to move back to Maine, as I couldn't live with myself being so far from my kids. I re-contacted a firm in Maine that had made me an insult of a job offer (low pay on a weekly rate, with no time commitment), and told them that if they could offer more money and/or a six-month commitment, I'd reconsider. It wouldn't be a great job, but it would be 15 miles from my kids, and that would make up for a lot. Ah, but they couldn't even do that. They called back and said, "take it or leave it." So I left it. I'm not moving back north for a job that could go poof at any time.

Also, as I've been in Atlanta longer and longer, I've seen just how attached my new wife and stepdaughter are to the place. They have so much family and so many friends around, and life is, well, nice for them. I never had such a network of people in Maine, and likely never would. I would always feel guilty about taking them away from their home, and I'd only see my kids every other weekend and on occasional weeknights no matter how close I lived. If I live 1.5 hours away in Boston, at least we'd have a chance at life and careers in a bigger city, and it's a drive, not a flight, up to see my kids.

I don't know if this job is right for me (even if I get it), but I love Boston and always have, and at least have a better feeling about the potential of starting over here instead of in Maine. I suppose if I lived here, I wouldn't be getting on airplans to see my kids, but I'd still be the "frequent father." My trips would be in car, buses, and trains, but remaining in my kids' lives would still require a lot of travel, separation, angst, and feelings of hurt and loss. At least it would be cheaper.

2,200 Miles

2010-03-03T13:47:00.000-08:00

I'm back from a weekend with my kids at my pseudo-apartment in Maine. It was, as expected, simultaneously fun and exhausting, rewarding and depressing, fulfilling and gut-wrenching, et cetera, et cetera. How to even recount the events?

Flight cancelled due to snowstorm in NYC (flying through Newark). Rerouted to Boston, so had to take bus from Boston to Portland, then taxi to get my car, then drive to get the kids just in time for a party on Friday night. Take the kids to get photographed to be "weather kids" in the local newspaper Saturday, then dinner at a friend's house. Sunday school and a cancelled playdate, so many hours spent in the apartment on a cold winter day trying to keep smiles on their faces.

Then came Monday.

My flight was at 2pm, so I thought about trying to get my daughter for a few hours, but decided instead to drop in at the ex's house to ask her once more what, if anything, I could do to convince her to move to Atlanta. Big mistake. The discussion itself, while unpleasant, wasn't awful. Then I found a court document on the counter regarding her lowlife fiance's domestic assault case against his ex-wife from 2006. I asked her what it was about, and she made excuses for it, just as she had when he assaulted her. Then she insisted that she was 100% happy in her life in Maine (in spite of having virtually no support network) and told me to leave. So I kissed my daughter goodbye and headed for the airport, which should have been the end of the story.

But nothing's ever easy for the Frequent Father.

Two hours later, while waiting for my delayed flight (high winds + Dash 8 prop plane = delays), my cellphone rang, with my ex's home number coming up. I didn't answer--something told me that it was her fiance, not her, placing the call. I let the message come up, then listened to it. Yes, it was the fiance. He said that he came home to find her crying (why would that be the case if she were so happy?) and that I should never again upset her. He went on for three minutes, ordering me to never talk to her "like that" again, and that "you don't know who you're dealing with."

The phone rang again, and I let it go to voicemail. It was psycho fiance again, repeating his threats, this time adding, "you don't know what I'm capable of." Then it rang again. This time I picked up, said calmly, "I'm not talking to you," and hung up. Well now I've got his two messages recorded on my computer for safekeeping.

Upon returning to Atlanta, just for curiosity, I googled his name to see if I could find anything about his criminal past...and I found something far juicier. It seems that, not even two weeks ago, he was nabbed for Operating Under the Influence and possession of illegal drugs.

This is all good and well, but now what? My kids are living in a household with an emotionally unstable mother and a a drunk-driving, wife-beating, ex-husband-threatening, nutcase, while I, the responsible, law-abiding parent, lives 1,100 miles away. However, since nothing bad has actually happened to them yet, I doubt the court will do a damned thing about it.

And so it goes for us stupid fathers who go to work every day to provide for our kids while their mothers stay home to care for them. It's all good and well when it works but, as soon as the stay-at-home mother gets bored of the hard-working dad, she just snaps her fingers, and the court says that the kids need continuity, so she gets the kids and the dad can go fuck himself. If I still lived near them, this whole thing would feel like a knife in my heart. Being so far away just serves to make the knife feel just a bit sharper.

Now Boarding

2010-02-25T14:34:00.000-08:00

My bag is packed for the shortest long trip I'll ever have to take. Actually, it's the fourth such trip of the year, and it's still February. I am flying out from my new home in suburban Atlanta to spend three short days with my two young children, ages 5.5 and 2.5, who live with their mother 1,100 miles away in Maine. I've been trying to live this impossible life for two months and am already nearing the breaking point.

On the one hand I can't just not see my children, not when they are so young. On the other hand, the routine is taking its toll on me emotionally, physically, and financially. One day I'm ready to drag my new bride and stepdaughter up to Maine, even though my prospects for employment there are dim, at best. The next day I convince myself that it will be OK if I only see my kids once every 2-3 months. The third day I start to believe that this routine of flying up every odd weekend will be fine. By the fourth day, I just crawl into bed and cry.

If you've read this far, then you won't mind hearing the short version of how I came to exist in this pickle.

Ten years ago, while living in Washington, DC and building a promising career I met and fell in love with a pretty, seemingly innocent, recent arrival from Maine. We got engaged, first to each other, and then in a state of warfare with my entire family, who objected not to the marriage, but to our plans for a modest, small-town wedding. Soon after the wedding (which my entire family boycotted), we decided that we couldn't live in the midst of my meddling relatives in the DC area, so we relocated to her hometown, in spite of the fact that neither one of us had a job there.

For the next seven years I struggled and mostly failed to secure a decent living in Maine, subsisting on out-of-state consulting work and then taking a low-paying and wholly unrewarding job as a local bureaucrat. In the meantime, we welcomed two children into the world, first a son in 2004, and then a daughter in 2007. She became a devoted stay-at-home mom, and I went to great lengths to limit my working hours so as to maximize my time with my kids. It wasn't easy, but it was completely worth it.

Soon after the birth of our daughter, two important things happened: 1) we purchased a two-flat apartment building and moved into the first floor unit, and 2) I got a job with an out of state consulting firm that required me to travel frequently. Everything was finally falling into place--we had a very nice home that was made affordable by the rental unit, and I would finally earn a good salary. Our marriage had grown a bit stale, but maybe these things would improve the situation.

There was just one problem. It turned out that the upstairs tenant, an affable, elderly widow with a severe drinking problem and advancing Alzheimer's, had a 41-year old son who sat in his room all day long watching TV, drinking can after can of Budweiser, and smoking. Well this confirmed bum saw the pretty young stay-at-home mother downstairs struggling with her children all day long while her husband was working (and all night long when I had to travel), and he decided to come down from his room. I don't know when exactly the affair began, but by last April when they went to Florida together for the weekend (ostensibly because he was buying an investment property and needed her home-buying advice), the score was clear to me.

She first kicked me out in May, telling me with utterly no emotion that she LOVED me but was no longer IN LOVE with me. I told her that we should at least try counseling, but she refused, saying that she had given me enough years to work things out. She then told me that her upstairs paramour would be moving in as a "roommate" to help pay the bills, as his mother was moving away to live with his sister in Massachusetts, and he needed a place to live. She insisted that they had no romantic relationship, and that she would sleep in a twin bed in our son's room. Right...

I went to a hotel for a week then out to my boss' bayfront house in Wisconsin where I could both work and decompress for a week. During this time, I began speaking with an old flame from Atlanta who had divorced from her ex-husband when their daughter was two, as I didn't know anyone else who had been through divorce with such young kids. I tried to convince myself that she was just a good shoulder to cry on, but my heart was starting to tell me otherwise.

The day before I was to return to Maine, my wife called to tell me that she missed me and wanted me to come back. I was elated--in spite of our distant marriage, the only thing that mattered was being able to live with my kids again. In the intervening 24 hours, her would-be lover showed up at her door drunk at 2am and demanded to talk to her. She told him to leave, but he grabbed her and dragged her into the hallway. She pushed him away long enough to close and lock the door. She called me in the morning to tell me what had happened, and I convinced her to call the police. They arrested him for assault and she got a restraining order against him.

I moved back into my home, so beginning a wonderful family summer, with lazy evenings in the backyard, weekend afternoons at the beach and trips to amusement parks. My wife and I were getting along OK, though I still tried to convince her that we should go into counseling. I shrugged off her refusals, though, as I was having too much fun with my kids. In the meantime, her would-be boyfriend violated his restraining order twice, once for hanging around outside our house and once for calling and leaving a message, and got arrested two more times. I figured he had gotten the message and wouldn't be coming around again. I was wrong.

It occurred to me that there might be trouble again in mid-summer, when my wife said she was going to the gym, a trip that usually took 60-90 minutes, but didn't return for three hours. I asked her where she was and she replied that she just wanted to do an extra-long workout. This happened again the following weekend, with the same result. On the third weekend she returned from "the gym" smelling of cigarettes--I knew something was fishy.

That night, after the kids were in bed, I confronted her about her "long workouts," and then used that and the cigarette smell to accuse her of seeing her lover. She offered a pitch-perfect repeat of her speech from May, this time adding that the whole summer was a charade. She had dropped the restraining order on her boyfriend in June and had decided to get rid of me once and for all. The only reason I was invited back, it seems, was so she and her boyfriend could get their ducks in a row so she could file for divorce and not risk losing custody of the kids to me.

Tired yet? Oh, it's just getting interesting now!

Within the next seven days: 1) She handed me divorce papers, 2) I moved into a furnished one-bedroom apartment a few miles away, 3) her boyfriend moved in with her and my kids, with no pretense of him being just a roommate, 4) I talked for hours each night with my Atlanta flame and realized that I still had feelings for her, 5) made arrangements with said old flame to fix her hair up pretty and meet her in Atlantic City, 6) found out that I was in danger of being laid off from my job. Even leaving pointless hockey and Bruce Springsteen references aside, it was quite a week.

That weekend in Atlantic City, my life changed again, as the in-person meeting confirmed that the love was strong. But what then? I was in Maine with my two kids, and she was in Georgia with her four-year old daughter. By the time we parted ways, we had agreed that we would marry someday and that we'd move wherever I could find work.

Over the next three months, while my divorce case festered in Maine's clogged court system, I scrounged in desperation for any decent job that would keep me in the area. Even in good times, decent work was hard to find in Maine--in this recession, it was hopeless. I spent as much time as I could with my kids, having them over to my little apartment frequently, and even having my son stay there with me on occasion. It wasn't great, but it was becoming OK.

In December, the divorce was sealed, granting me legal custody to have my children every other weekend, plus holidays and extended summer visits. Yippee. I also agreed to a separation with my boss, as work was getting low and my performance was slipping due to my personal catastrophes. I had no place to go now, other than to go down to Atlanta with my fiancee, so she flew up to Maine just after Christmas and we packed up my apartment. I also had the kids with me most of the week.

The day before we were to leave Maine, I was at my apartment with my kids and my fiancee, when there was a knock at the door. It was my newly-minted ex-wife. She was crying, and asked me to step outside to talk. She looked like she'd been hurt--maybe her boyfriend had hit her? I asked her if he had, but she said no. She then said something like, "I made a terrible mistake in divorcing you. I'm not going to lie to you--I'm not in love with you, but I'm in love with our family. I've been so miserable this week without the kids, and I realized that I missed you too. I feel so guilty that you're leaving town. I don't want you to go."

I replied, "Are you asking me to come back?"

"If you want."

"What about your boyfriend?"

"He can be gone by tonight."

I looked at her for a second. This was it--my last chance to stay with my kids. All I had to do was think of the betrayal that she'd inflicted upon me, and I simply said, "Leave. Go home. I'll bring the kids by later."

Three hours later when I dropped off the kids, she was all smiles. I asked her if she was OK, and she cheerfully answered, "Yep. We talked things out, and he's going to make some changes." The next morning I left Maine behind. Now, two months later, I have started a job (albeit part-time) in Atlanta, but have flown back to Maine every other weekend to see my kids. I have rented another apartment there that I'm only using for two weekends per month, but it beats hotel rooms. I am now remarried to my old/new love, and we are trying to build a new life.

And so the ending seems happy, right? I found a new love, a new job, and I'm working to rebuild my life in a new city. But there is the small matter of the toll this is all taking on me--each month I spent more than $1,000 in rent, airfare, and taxi fare just to have a few days with my kids, not to mention spending a whole day (6 hours, 4 times per month) just to travel back and forth, the emotional strain of knowing that my kids live so very far away, and the thought that they aren't even getting to see my new, happier life. When I see them, it's just me--they aren't going to feel like they're part of my new family at all.

Why have I made all of this public? It's quite simple--I've asked counselors, friends, and total strangers if they know of any books or websites offering any sort of support for people in my situation, but they've all said no. I know there are other fathers out there who, for whatever reason, live far from their kids. I know I'm not the only one dealing with the guilt, anger, sadness, and emptiness that goes along with this lifestyle.

I don't know if my kids will ever understand or appreciate how much I love them, nor do I know if they will understand why I've had to move away from them. Their mother, who cheated on me and willfully destroyed our family, has them most of the time and gets to look like the good guy, while I, who is simply trying to weather the storm, feel like an ass for moving away.

As I fly out tomorrow morning, I'll be earning another 2,200 Frequent Father Miles. This blog will follow me as I continue to accrue them. I may not earn free trips or hotel rooms with these miles, but seeing my kids is the only perk I really need or expect. If you are a fellow traveler, I'd love to hear your stories too.