On Scales

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scalesIt seemed like there was always too many things to buy and too little money to buy them. It was like a giant scale, take off the magazines and put on a pair of gloves, one looseleaf equals a jar of pickles, the taxi instead of the bus means no paper plates. Take something off, put something on, careful careful.

You’d think you would get used to it, that constant counting, but you never do and the piles all jumble and all you want to do is sleep.

It was cold that inky night, that bitter cold that cracks your words, but the walls were closing in so out we had to go.


On Custody 

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  1. May 26, 2009. Brooklyn Family Court. Petition for Custody.
  2. August 27, 2009. Brooklyn Family Court. Petition for Custody.
  3. September 16, 2009. Supreme Court of New York. Summons with Notice for Divorce.
  4. November 6, 2009. Supreme Court of New York. Verified Complaint for Divorce.
  5. August 14, 2017. Superior Court of New Jersey. Motion for Custody Pending Order for Relocation.

So far he has sued me for custody FIVE times. This was one response.

The Plaintiff has stated that the living arrangements of our children are “unsafe and unwise” and that I am not a “suitable parent.” I wholeheartedly deny the entirety of his allegations.

It is difficult to conclusively define a “suitable parent.” The temperaments and needs of the children, the nature of the parents, and the circumstances of the home, are all contributing factors. Despite the best of intentions, it is impossible for us as parents to consistently measure up to our own self-imposed standards. I love our children unconditionally, provide for them in the best way that I can and I do my utmost to always be there when they need me.


On Love and Hate

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My son’s wall, age 9.


On Locks

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It seems strange now to think of myself as a prisoner, but I was one, in my own basement, for the 6 long months between the time when I asked him to leave and the time of his departure.

I had to get away but I could never leave my babies, so there was no place to go but down.

I used to take the door handles off, it was my only cushion against him when I tried to sleep. You can’t get in without the handle most of the time, but when he was really angry the screwdriver worked just as well so I guess it was a silly idea.

He let me come upstairs when the schedule said so, but down there was my home, my nest, and up there were my beauties, my loves, my jewels.

I remember lying there in the darkness, as the sounds of my children dripped down through the ceiling, their tears leaving stains above my head.

Once I tried to keep him out of the basement by installing a lock on the door. I never thought he would actually break the door.

Maybe the locks kept me in instead of keeping him out.

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