I'll say it until it's heard. That's conviction, sir.

The following is why it pays to have paid for transcripts (when there was such a thing as a family court reporter):



THE RESPONDENT: I wasn't permitted by law to be at that residence or remove/retrieve my belongings at that time.

THE COURT (akaThe Presiding ever-changing-at-any-moment-but consistent-at-this-point-in-time, Judge S.): "Because of your conduct which led to the CLETS order, Am I getting that wrong?"
THE RESPONDENT: Yes, you are.
THE COURT: You didn't get arrested and convicted?
THE RESPONDENT: No. I was not convicted of a domestic violence. I plead no contest to disturbing peace.


bum

ba

dah

bum:


THE COURT: You are on formal probation?
THE RESPONDENT: Yes, I am.
THE COURT: Domestic violence counseling?
THE RESPONDENT: Yes.
THE COURT: A 52 week program?
THE RESPONDENT: Yes.
THE COURT: You are on three years formal probation ?
THE RESPONDENT: yes,sir.
THE COURT: That's conviction, sir.



That's conviction, sir.

Sledgehammer

Everything is fine, nothing to see over here.

Yes, I know many of you know we went back to court today.

Nothing happened - there was not enough information offered today for a ruling, so we are going back on Nov 13th, with a bit of mediation sprinkled in.


He used to call it 'the sledgehammer'. He'd bring it out if he needed to...get something done. Or just if he wanted to disarm someone.
He would tell them about Elijah.
Wouldn't talk about Elijah with me, ever. (That's what your blog is for, he'd remind me.)
But the sledgehammer, use as needed, was his weapon.

Today, in court, he pulled out that sledge hammer over and over.
And I feel fucking pummeled.

Nice one, dude. Real nice.

Do You Have A Parenting Mantra?

Supergirl's birthday is tomorrow. She will be eight years old.
My job is to make her birthday awesomeness even if her world has been turned upside down. Even if she wishes every night so hard that she, my little lithe fragile faerie child, could change the events that happened three months ago.
My little girl has the world on her shoulders.



She wanted to get her ears pierced for her birthday. She wrote a letter to her Daddy asking him a number of questions, including, "Why did you hurt Mommy?" and, "Can I please get my ears pierced?"
She later told me she regretted asking one of the questions because she didn't want to make him angry. Which one? "Why did you hurt Mommy?"
My heart broke in a million pieces to watch her try to navigate this mine field into which she landed through no fault of her own.

His probation officer refused to give him the letter; she didn't want to 'get in the middle' of delivering communication. I was livid. There has to be some way to allow the children to send him a letter, I protested!
No. She said that if I wanted, she could ask for a probation review to be moved up on the calendar so we could amend the order to allow some form of communication. I said, "Yes please. This is interfering with our daughter's ability to even process this!"
I tried to explain this to Supergirl. She said, "But the judge is trying to punish Daddy and he is punishing all of us!"

Domestic Violence is very difficult to explain to children. I hope you never have to.




"Why can't we just get my ears pierced?"
"Because we agreed on ten years old before, and because Daddy gets to have an opinion about it too!"
"But Daddy's not here! Why can't I just get them pierced?"
"Because Mommy's taking the high road here he is still your Daddy and gets to help decide things like ear piercing!"


Am I having a hard time taking the high road? Not so much, because I want the children to have a healthy relationship with their father which should not be connected to our togetherness or lack thereof.
But at times...when the bills come in and I freak out because it's hard to stay on top of bills when I have paid three thousand dollars of his debt just to move forward and live here....when I think of how he has not paid one cent to assist his children through this or support them or supply one morsel of food....I need the mantras.



My parenting mantras as the questions come hard and fast:

There is a direct correlation between hearing negative things about a parent and child's self-loathing.

It is better for her to be angry with me than angry with herself.

The best help through any crisis is to be held through it.



These little mantras gets me through everything right now.

How Far is Too Far?

I guess I cannot say that I am surprised.

I mean, I suppose it's somewhat expected that he may have decided what boundaries are acceptable for me - boundaries are only to be set by him - and I guess he decided that he will live next door to me, in the other house on this property, 20 yards away.

It doesn't really surprise me that he would assume that I would be fine living next door to him - the person who hurt me, choked me to the ground, and then justified it. Really, it doesn't. There have been many serious requests I have made about boundaries that have gone ignored over the years.

But I guess it does surprise me that, even after a judge told him he may not be near me or live here for three years, he put down his contact address for the court....as my address.

I guess it is not very shocking that he would refuse to move, after not paying a cent in rent for nearly two months. But it is rather shocking that he would refuse to move after being ordered to stay away from me.
He isn't living here, he can't live here, but lists this as his address.
He isn't living here, yet refuses to move his things out.
I have been told to move them myself, but it is slightly more complicated - I am not trying to be unkind, but am running out of patience.
Also? He is a packrat, and the moving of his things is more than my delicate constitution can handle.


But, he would like everyone to know that he is 'doing everything possible to become a family again'.

Even against my will. For my will is, apparently, insignificant in his equation.

He is their father; he is not my partner.

The line was crossed. He took it too far. I do not wish to retrace those steps, ever.

Hello, California Legal System??

I would like to mention this little detail about restraining and stay-away orders....

He knows where I am. He knows.

But do I know where he is?
No, I do not.

Has he volunteered this information, in the interest of answering the questions? Or in the interest of goodwill?

No, he has not.


UPDATE 9/23/09: Did he use the information he got from this post to try and keep his address from me for months? Yes, he did. I am leaving it up. Be forewarned.

Be Careful What You Don't Tell People

I feel so overwhelmingly sad right now.

I can hardly find the 'poetic' and 'cryptic' words right now (which apparently describe my writing so well) to even write about this, as my style of writing and the mere fact that I do write, were attempted to be used against me today in court.
I don't want to feel censored, but if I remain a public blog, then I am and I will be. If something I say with heartfelt meaning can be used against me in a handy little twist, then yes. I will. You would too.


But for now, I cannot allow him to take away or hurt this one thing I have left.
Our children are ours. They will always be ours.
But this blog, these words?
They are mine.
This poetic license to be cryptic and have a quirky sense of humor?
All mine.

This is my blog. This is where I can tell my truth, where I can record the awesomeness that is my children, and even record my parenting triumphs and fails.
This is where I have been able to share the 'unspeakable'; the coping with parenting loss...this blog has been what even helped to keep me sane those years of cyclical arguing.
Sometimes people even pay me astonishingly low amounts of money to write things.
I write only the truth (which, perhaps upon reflection, is why the amounts are so astonishingly low).


Today I was told by a judge, that although it is obvious that there was a battery committed against me, he (the batterer) was offered a plea bargain which allowed to plead guilty to a lesser charge of 'disturbing the peace' instead of going to trial with the original two charges of 'battery' and 'child endangerment'.
So although he admitted to battery, and admitted to child endangerment, the charge was lowered.
He still gets DV (domestic violence) terms, which means there will be some court mandated counseling and a stay-away order, a small fine.
No trial.

I guess this is standard practice for a first time offender.
I have to tell you something. If it ever happens to you? Even just a 'tiny bit'? Even if someone 'just' shakes you or threatens you and doesn't do what you consider 'physical damage'?
Report it.
Do not hesitate to report it.
That was my biggest mistake. I didn't report the first time, or the second time. There were no bruises. Just fear.

New Post at Hopeful Parents

I wrote this.

Over here.

It's not about dead baby cake, I promise.
Just about dead baby birthdays.

Happy Birthday Tiny Boy

Elijah Brooklyn
3-31-03 - 5-11-04

We miss you so much.

There is nothing poetic about dead baby anniversaries

Pissed.

You would think that I would just get it by now, not have any expectation, and reduce potential for being pissed.
But no, here we still are for some reason, and I'm pissed.

I ask for nothing, or so very little. Yet I am wrung out.

For just a few days out of the year, just a few predictable days, I only wish (not even ask) that he could think of someone but himself. To have the kindness to set aside some resources and time to weather the storm with me. To not pretend to maintain his well honed water treading yet try and drown me should I come swimming by.

There is so much wrong, not the least being that the glue that adheres us to one another is made of a dead baby. A dead baby who won't have another birthday on March 31st.

But instead of my wish, what I get is illusion, oppression, and a person who walks into a room to rip a childrens rainbow off the wall just because it is there.

I swim alone, because I can't risk drowning. And I close my eyes, because I can't watch.






I know this is incredibly depressing. Maybe after reading this you will forgive me for the Happy Dead Baby Cake post which is in my head and surely to worm its way out.

What's Not Fair Today?

When, almost every time I try and cook anything with a certain audience witness spy companion(or have already cooked something) (or even if the something that I cooked has already been eaten), the use of dishes and tools which I find necessary to use while attempting said cooking (aka: Feeding The Family), is referred to by this certain audience witness spy companion as 'in there making another mess'.

That is not fair.

Today or ever.