Lion and Magic Boy

A few weeks ago, in a fit of premonition, we visited the Pearl Street Mall for what appears to be the last time for a long time. The Pearl Street Mall is a stretch of pedestrian mall in downtown Boulder, a swath of funky shops and restaurants, tree-lined and bricked. It’s where the hip hang out on a weekend, or at lunchtime, or whenever. There are fountains, buskers, often live music, and even a mobile cart selling real crepes! I mean, this is Boulder!

The first time was last fall. Michael and I were in a flush of new-love, and this was the first time we committed any sort of PDA in front of the children. We were outing ourselves, and it was wonderful. We walked hand in hand through the crowds of a music festival, wending our way amid the hip of Boulder, and people turned their heads to look at us. We carried an aura around us of such happiness that it was unmistakable and other people apparently caught glimpses of it. It was like walking in a huge rainbow wonder-bubble of happiness.

So this last time, we stopped to watch some of the buskers. First there was a Jamaican guy who could fit himself into a tiny little box (try that at home). Then there was a juggler/unicyclist whose tag line was: “I’m 48, I’m chubby, and I’m bitter” while advising the children in the audience, amid a stream of flatulence jokes, not to grow up and become what he is. The guy was truly hilarious. Michael tipped him $20.

Since this is my Angry Post, I can tell you now that I’m (mumble-mumble), I’m (mumble-mumble), and I’m ANGRY.

Here’s why:

I’m angry that my children were taken from me last week, to live with their father who never had much to do with them in the past, choosing instead to listen to NPR and Paul Harvey on headphones rather than interact with them directly.

I’m angry that my children hate being with him.

I’m angry that Serena pretends everything is okay, even though it is not.

I’m angry that Eric can’t express how he feels.

I’m angry that I have to move from this place that we love and go back to humid-hell, PA.

I’m angry that the judge in the matter believed my husband’s lies about me.

I’m angry that I probably shouldn’t be blogging about this, lest someone read it and hold it against me in a courtroom later, which they probably will.

I’m angry I can’t blog ALL my anger today.

I’m angry that I was married ten years to this man who will stoop to anything, and stop at nothing, to get back at me for leaving him. What was I thinking, after all?

I’m angry it took me this long to see him for who he is.

I’m angry that it’s the children who bear the burden of my mistake.

I’m angry that Michael keeps pointing things out about me that I hate hearing, yet he is right about.

I’m angry that he is right.

I’m angry that I’m not the person I could be.

Dammit. I’m still angry.

technorati tags: angry

Results are in: we are moving back to Pennsylvania. No, this isn’t what any of us wanted, except for this person, but we are going to make the best of it. Yes, it’s true, I thought I was done with that state (weren’t 15 years of my life enough?) a year ago when we joyfully headed west into the sunset to Colorado, but perhaps Pennsylvania isn’t done with me. At any rate, there’s a judge there who apparently thinks so. Not only that, but the lives of my children will also change significantly as they now will be spending a lot of court-ordered time with their father and away from me.

That one I can’t make sound any better than it is. Isn’t.

I love my children; they’re my life. There’s nothing more than that.

Here they are:

At least I have good hair where it’s humid. There’s that.

Pennsylvania
Colorado
custody wars only hurt the children