In this house, I’m the Mama…

These are the conversations we have after the kiddos return from The Egg Donor’s (ED) How to Live in an Alternate Reality Class:

Velma: We had SUCH a great time at the festival.

Me: I’m so glad. Was it hot? (Because I know it was supposed to be close to the temperature on the surface of the sun on Saturday, and I don’t want to ask some other ridiculous question, like “did anyone stab your mother in the eye with a corn-on-the-cob stick while you were there?”).

Velma: Yeah. It was soooooooo hot. It rained? And even the rain was hot.

Me: Yep. It was pretty hot here, too. I thought about you guys and I wondered if you had those little propeller hats to keep you cool.

Daphne: (Eye roll) I would soooooo not wear one of those. (Right, because you’re soooooo a tween-ager and therefore way too cool for school)

Velma: Nope, no propeller hats. And my costume (because this is one of those things you had to wear a costume to) was really hot.

Me: Mmmm hmmmm… (methinks Wise Parenting 101 dictates that you don’t take your children out… for. the. entire. afternoon… to a place that might be hotter than the surface of the sun IN A COSTUME… for the love of God and all that is Holy!)

Shaggy: Yeah. And it was a bummer because Mom isn’t supposed to be in the sun.

*** Crickets ***

Me: (Tilting my head to the side like the dog does when she’s confused) Did you really just say that Mom isn’t supposed to be in the sun?

Shaggy: Yeah, she’s not.

Me: (Incredulous) Really?

Shaggy: (Nodding emphatically)

Velma and Daphne: (Also nodding, but in that “life is so boring” way they’ve newly adopted)

Me: Does that really make sense to you?

Shaggy: (Still nodding)

Me: It does? Because it really seems to me that your Mom just wouldn’t be able to go the festival AT ALL if she wasn’t supposed to be in the sun.

Shaggy: (Looking puzzled now)

Me: Did she wear a hat?

Velma: (Shaking her head no)

Me: So let me understand… She’s not supposed to be in the sun, but you guys spent THE. ENTIRE. DAY on Saturday at the festival, walking miles and miles around a ginormous field, in heat that could probably peel the paint off of my car, and she didn’t even wear a hat? What happened to her after baking all day in that heat? (hopefully) Did she melt?

Shaggy: No. She was fine.

Me: (disappointed) So I’m guessing the sun really isn’t so much a problem then, huh?

Shaggy: (Shrugging his shoulders) I guess not.

My new favorite phrase?

“Does that make sense to you?”

Yeah… me neither.

The Court Order specifies that My Hubby gets the kiddos (all of them) on the day before each child’s birthday. We agreed to this because the actual day wasn’t so important to us, just the celebration, and we really wanted to get them on stable insurance back in 2005. This was one of her big issues. She HAD to have them on their birthday DAY.

The specifics of the Order state that My Hubby has them the day before until the morning of at 9am. The Egg Donor (ED) gets them from 9am on their birthday until 9am the day following unless the birthday falls during My Hubby’s parenting time (which all of them pretty much will now that we have them full-time). If the birthday falls during My Hubby’s parenting time, then the Queen of Psychosis has to drop the whole crew back off to him by 7pm. Simple, right?

As you know, nothing with her is simple.

She was in the hospital weekend before last, supposedly because of the life-threatening, disabling illness she had back in 2006. In that instance–the one in 2006–she really was ill. She was in ICU for three and a half months–not something you can fake. But she had her doctor write this fantastic letter when she got out, saying how healthy she was, that she had made a miraculous recovery, that she was fit as a fiddle, no problems with parenting or working, and on and on and on, ad nauseum. Regardless of the miraculous recovery, or the doctor’s letter, she has managed to milk everyone in her gravitational field for every ounce of sympathy she can get… still… especially her children.

So she went home last Tuesday and the initial story we heard was that she had a bad reaction to some medication. Of course the story has morphed into something completely different now. When the kids talked with her that night she told them all about how very sick she’d been, how it was “just like last time,” (responsible parenting, right there folks) how she couldn’t keep a single morsel of food down, how they’d advised her not to go back to work AT ALL, that she would have to stay home all. by. herself for the remainder of last week and possibly this week since her creepy boyfriend had to work. Reeled them all right in, in that expert way she does.

Although she was desperately ill still, she evidently could still type. Wednesday we had the following fun.

**********************

ED said:

I am planning something for Velma’s birthday and I will need to pick the kids up at 8:00 instead of 10:00 on Saturday July 5th.

**********************

My Hubby said:

You have the children the day of Velma’s birthday, from 9am to 7pm. On July 5th, because it is the day following the July 4th holiday, you pick the kids up at 9am.

**********************

Of course ED said (at 5:30pm):

What I’m asking for is to pick Velma and the children up at 8(sorry, I put 10 in out of habit). We need to be at her bday party at 9:30 and 9:00 doesnt give me enough time. Considering that this is for Velma’s birthday, it would not be in her nest interest to not allow her to attend this or to arrive late.

**********************

Then she said this (at 6pm):

Thinking this over, I also think that it would be in the childrens best interst to spend the night on her birthday. As you are well aware, Velma has shown extreme duress over the custody change and has voiced this to you and to Ms. Therapist. She has never spent a birthday night without me, it is her day and she will not understand why she cant have things the way that she has always had them. I’m happy to take them to daycare the next morning if need be or to drop the children at your house. I think that causing her more stress is very unecessary.

**********************

So My Hubby said:

Please follow the court order. We will pick them up at 7pm on her birthday and drop them off Sat. at 9am. Thanks for your cooperation. When were you planning on paying your child support and medical share for May and June?

**********************

So she had to say (and copy her attorney):

he makes this appear as though childrens schedule could be moved if he gets money

**********************

So of course he replied (and copies her attorney):

I’m not sure how you got that impression. It was a statement, and then a question-no relation except for the fact that scheduling and child support are both part of the court order. Regardless, I am not willing to change the children’s schedule.

Editor’s Notes:

I’m wondering what “nest interest” is. Does it have something to do with homemaking? Birdhouses? Sticks and feathers?

I’m also completely baffled by her “extreme duress” comment. I do not think that means what she thinks it means. (Yes, kind of like “Inconceivable!”)

Does she really think that because she feels like Velma will be stressed about not spending the night that we should cave and let her do it? Clearly the Court thought it was not in the children’s best interests to spend more than four overnights with the crazy loon per month. I mean, really, if she was worried about their reaction to having less time with her perhaps she could have made some effort to abide by the judge’s orders.

A good friend pointed out that if she were in the large amount of hot water ED is in right now, she would be asking for things in the kindest, sweetest, most non-threatening way she could think of… begging really. Not so much ED. Demanding is really her way of life. It’s amazing to me. Inconceivable!

Ah… there it is. The accusation. He’s a money-grubber, right? Because we couldn’t possibly get through one conversation, even one regarding things already specified down to the letter by a Court Order, without accusations about how rotten My Hubby is. That’s always the last resort.

And? She’s had them on the line for the past week and a half, concerned about her well-being, worried that she’s home all alone, with no one to take care of her. But she called last night to tell the kiddos that they were all going to an outdoor festival this weekend, one that requires that everyone wear costumes and wander around in the blazing sun for several hours.

Sounds quite ill, doesn’t she?

I apologize for the delay in posting. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks since I got back. I have some additional posts almost ready about our trip to Wyoming, but thought I’d take a break from that to catch everyone up on the court happenings. It’s always an adventure, isn’t it?

You’ll recall that we filed a Notice to the Court back in early June, and then her attorney followed up with some ridiculous insanity, and we responded to the ridiculous insanity with some details we hoped would clarify things a bit. It all stemmed from the sanction that The Honorable What’s-His-Name (THWHN) slapped her with for her THIRD Contempt of Court. Let me just stop and say here that if it were My Hubby who had been found in Contempt for a third time, he would be in jail. The Egg Donor (ED)? Not so much.

So THWHN ordered her to pay My Hubby $1400 within 10 days of the hearing, which was May 14th. She paid the medical she owed (and that we had to go to arbitration to get out of her, which we did not believe was part of the $1400 sanction. She then made two random deposits into our checking account, one for $642 and one for $70, but never explained–despite multiple e-mail requests–what her intentions were. We thought the $642 was for April’s medical expenses for the kids and child support. And because we weren’t taking the $711.81 in medical into account, it appeared to us that she had not paid the $1400 she owed.

Anyway, part of her attorney’s response to the Court was to request that the Court reconsider its sanction and make My Hubby responsible for paying her back $711.81 since she had already paid it. Let’s just throw logic out the window, right? The fact that she issued the check for the $711.81 BEFORE the hearing ever happened says to me that it was not meant to be part of that sanction. And if she didn’t want to be sanctioned, or found in Contempt for the third time, it would have made sense to be prepared for the hearing with PROOF of the payment. Regardless of anything else, it should most certainly not be My Hubby’s responsibility to pay her a plug nickel.

Imagine our delight when we got a shiny white envelope in the mail last Friday, addressed from The Honorable What’s-His-Name. Inside was a copy of Miss Fancy Attorney Pant’s Response to our original Notice to the Court–the same response wherein she asked the Court to reconsider its sanction and called My Hubby lots of not-nice things, like malicious, vexatious, harrassing, and incompetent. On the last page of her neatly typed Response was a stamped impression with a signature line, a date line, and options beside which THWHN would place an “X” to mark his selection. The options were “Granted”, “Denied”, “Set for Hearing” and “Calendar for 20 Days”. There, in heavy black ink, was a larger-than-life “X”, right beside “Denied”, along with his signature and date. We did a little dance, right there at the mailbox.

Still we don’t know what the intention of the Court really was. We asked for clarification when we filed the Response to the Response (gotta love that Court lingo), and haven’t heard back yet. It’s possible that she still owes an additional $711, being that the medical payment should really have been separate from the sanction. My guess is that he’ll give her the slack on this one, though.

In other news, ED has not paid a single penny of child support. Despite the fact that she owes My Hubby $1K per month and her arrears are therefore stacking up mighty quickly, she has made no effort whatsoever to pay anything toward it. My Hubby opened a case with Child Support Enforcement several weeks back, but it sounds like it will be quite awhile before we’ll see any results. Evidently it takes them 45 days just to process the application (not sure why that would be given that we gave them every single piece of information available to us including the order and her employer–it seems like it should be simple), then another 60 to actually take action. So it will probably be September before we get anything out of her on that front.

However, we have been seeing results from the garnishment we filed to collect the $1044 in outstanding medical she was ordered to pay back in November of 2007. So far we’ve been able to collect almost $900 of that (Note: all action taken on that garnishment did not involve a government entity, just our own blood, sweat, and tears). The medical she owes from April forward? Yeah, you got it.

Nothing.

I feel another Contempt of Court coming on. I’m just not sure whether we should file these things quarterly or bi-annually.

After we returned from the park refreshed and rejuvenated, we had dinner and the kids and I headed off to the local bowling alley. Like the city park, the bowling alley is an altogether different experience than one we would have if we were at home. It has only six lanes and one young, very helpful, amazingly polite, teenage girl working the counter. I thought she was a patron when we first walked in. In fact, I wasn’t sure the place was even open.

Ours was the only car in the parking lot, which really wasn’t a parking lot at all, but a short, dusty, gravel strip just in front of the building, with no defined spaces or even a curb, that left the car sticking out into the road a bit beyond my comfort zone. As I got out and reminded the kids to lock their doors (no automatic locks in my car, unfortunately), they laughed and Velma snickered, “Lock it for who? There’s nobody around!”

When we walked in the door, one lane was in use, by the aforementioned young girl and a friend of hers, and there was no one in sight to hand out shoes or take our money. She turned slightly, saw us standing at the counter, probably looking a little lost, and made a beeline in our direction. Her voice was friendly and lilting as she welcomed us and asked our shoe sizes. She gathered the shoes from behind the counter, and I had a moment where I was sure the giggles welling up inside of me would come right out.

The shoes were all different, every single pair–not like the bowling shoes I’m used to. A couple were solid white, with white laces, and looked almost like tennis shoes. My pair were tan with blue stripes, like I’m used to, but had velcro instead of laces. And up above the counter was a sign, hastily scrawled in blue marker, that detailed all of the culinary delights to be had here. Nachos with cheese, $1.25. Super Ropes, $0.75. Soda Pop, $1.00. And a slice of Totino’s Party Pizza, in tonight’s flavor of Combination, $1.50.

Nowhere in sight was the neon lighting or the disco ball that keeps the lanes awash with swirling color at our bowling alley at home. No loud carpeting with cartoonish bowling balls and pins in all shapes and sizes. No large bank of garishly bright blue lockers. No walls and walls of bowling paraphernalia for sale. No game room with pinball machines and Dance, Dance Revolution operating at maximum decibel levels. No army of sullen teenagers, pants hanging down around their ankles, piercings in every possible spot, looking put upon at every opportunity.

In fact, there was nothing on the walls except a couple of posters announcing recent bowling events around the country, and an interesting assortment of trophies. Also conspicuously absent was the heavy smell of smoke, rising from the carpet, seeping from the walls, and dripping from the ceiling, that still permeates the bowling alley we frequent despite the fact that it’s been a non-smoking establishment now for several years.

There was no music, just the sound of the ball rolling and the pins falling, that satisfying SMACK and SNAP as the ball meets its target. The snack machine was still the type the kids thought was antiquated, one that only accepts coins–no bill changer or credit card slot–and it was full of candy bars in all shapes and sizes. No Cheetos or Lays or Sun Chips. No Twinkies or Planters Peanuts or Trail Mix. All chocolate. My kind of place.

I dug in my purse for my debit card, and she smiled at me with a smile that said, “You are clearly not from here.”

“You pay at the end,” she said, “and I don’t have a credit card machine, just cash.” I nodded, feeling sheepish, and put my debit card away.

We spent a few minutes finding bowling balls that fit us and weren’t too heavy, and then we went to our designated lane, lane number six. I was pleasantly surprised to see that they did have a computerized scorekeeping system, and the lanes looked very new, wooden planks freshly polished and gleaming. I typed our names in, and we began.

Our first several rounds were dismal, so dismal in fact that the polite young gal stole quietly over to our side of the alley and gently offered to move us to the side with bumpers. At first I resisted, but the kids begged and pleaded until I finally gave in. We moved to the side with bumpers and spent the rest of the game laughing at the sheer number of times a single throw could bounce off of the bumper sides; at our ability to throw a ball that could miss the bumpers entirely and still land in the gutter at the very last second; and at the odds of throwing a ball that hit each bumper at least twice and only knocked down one pin.

Halfway through game number two, people started to arrive. First came the aforementioned army of teenagers, only they weren’t sullen at all… and they weren’t really an army. Maybe ten of them total. They were freshly scrubbed, polite and respectful, tastefully dressed, there to have a good time. And they actually bowled! Shortly thereafter a couple of families arrived, one with young children, and one with tweens.

They waited patiently as we finished up our game, changed back into our street shoes, and went to the counter to pay. There I got the best surprise of all. The tab was exactly twenty-three dollars and thirteen cents… for four of us! For two full games! And for shoes! It would have easily been over $50 at home.

We walked out into the cool evening air just after nine, happy voices, laughter, rumble of the ball on the lane, and the crash of the pins following us out the door, propped open with a rusted coffee can full of sand, to let the air circulate. There was still some sunlight left, though it was fading quickly behind the mountains. As we piled into the car, backed out, and headed back to my Grandad’s house, we were all smiling. There was no conversation, just contented silence and I contemplated leaving city life behind. The slower pace, the clean air, the friendly atmosphere…

This was the kind of burg where I could spend a lifetime.

For a city girl, used to the hustle and bustle and noise of thousands upon thousands of cars, the road was isolated and empty. It was a serpentine ribbon, stretching out for miles and miles in front of us, looping down through valleys and up again over the next rise–not a car in sight except for ours. Aside from the sound of the wind against the car and the hum of the road rolling out underneath us, it was quiet. No horns, no backup signals, no airplanes, no sirens, no jackhammers… nothing. There is something singularly spectacular about driving like that — no noise, no cars, no stoplights, no city. Just us and the road… and a canopy that must rival Montana’s Big Sky–deep, deep blue; stretching as far as the eye could see; perfect white, fluffy, cottony clouds chasing shadows across the hills like children playing tag or hide and seek.

By the time we reached our destination and turned off of the highway into the sleepy little town my Grandad calls home, I already felt like a new person. The girls wondered when we might go to Wal-Mart and I laughed, a long, deep, belly laugh–the kind that had them laughing with me, without really knowing why. I explained that there was no Wal-Mart here, no K-Mart, no Target. Too small, too rural, and probably too wise to let them build here. They looked horrified and I smiled at them in the rearview mirror as I assured them they wouldn’t miss it, not even a little.

As we drove, the kids commented on how old everything looked, like the houses had been there for a very long time–and they have been. I remembered our trip in November, turning up a side street and marvelling at the deer, five or six of them, just standing in someone’s front yard like they belonged there.

The downtown buildings are stately–tall, red brick structures that have been in place since the 1800’s. What used to be a hotel, a sundry, and a saloon, is now a gift shop, an art gallery, and a sporting goods store. But the character of the place, the charm, the throwback to times of the Cowboys and Indians, is still there in spades. I could picture folks walking the dusty street in front of the shops, the river pouring through the center, horses tied to the railings perhaps, as piano music flooded out of the saloon’s swinging doors.

We stopped in to say hello to my Grandad and drop off our things and then we headed to the city park to stretch our legs. The kids needed some time to run and play and my Mom and I needed to walk after sitting for so long. This city park is distinctively different than any of the parks in our fair city. It sits in the middle of a small valley, on the edge of a stream that gurgles and bubbles invitingly. It has all of the playground equipment any kid could ever want–tire swings, regular swings, giant teeter totters, and a huge metal structure that’s part fort, part spaceship, with rings to hang on, rope ladders to climb, tall metal slides, steps, and even a fire pole to slide down.

It’s the kind of play structure that our city has been replacing with short, plastic, snap-together configurations that keep their legs cool when they slide down, but seem to lack the imagination and fun of the “old fashioned” kind. The kids talked about it for the entire week preceding the trip, and they could hardly wait to get there once we arrived. Their eyes lit up like it was Christmas as we walked, and as soon as we came over the ridge, they ran down the sloping hillside as fast as their legs would carry them.

We spent well over an hour playing there, letting the last remnants of the car ride seep out of our bodies, into the sand and the cool grass, reminding our muscles what they were really supposed to be doing, soaking our feet in the crystal clear water of the stream, icy cold from the snow still melting on the mountains, skipping smooth stones across the water and watching them sink to the bottom, brown, black, quartz, and mottled. We watched giant bumblebees float from flower to flower, listened to the breeze whispering through the treetops above, and searched the sandy banks of the stream for forgotten treasure.

Though other people came and went–a new mother with her baby in a stroller, a young couple with a picnic, an older gentleman occupying a bench with his dog–it felt like we were all alone. It was so different from the park by our house, smack dab in the midst of suburban sprawl, cars driving by with loud music blaring, dogs barking, the noise of the city ringing in my ears. I wanted to lay down in the deep, green grass and spread my arms out as wide as they would go, just to remind myself that there were still places where I could do that and not touch another person. I wanted to stay there, grass tickling the bottoms of my feet, staring up at that deep blue sky, the warmth of the sun on my arms offset by the cool moistness of the earth beneath me, listening to the soft, delighted, musical laughter of the kids.

It was quiet.

It was calm.

It was perfect.

My grandfather lives in a small town in northern Wyoming. He hasn’t been well. We went to visit last November, thinking it might be the last time we could go. He has lymphoma, a non-aggressive type, but he hadn’t been responding well. His platelets were low, he was weak, and we were scared. When we were there he seemed at peace with things. He said it was up to the Good Lord to take him when He was ready. He’d lived a full life and was ready to go whenever it was time.

A few months, a bout with pneumonia, and an experimental drug later, he’s like a new person. His platelets are up higher than they’ve been in a long time–almost to normal range. His voice sounds chipper and cheerful on the phone. He’s breathing easier. What better time to take another trip up there to visit? My Hubby had to work, and Freddy was off to Washington State to visit his aunt for a week, so it was just me and the three, caravanning with my folks. We left Thursday evening, later than we had planned, but with new brakes, fluids topped off, jumper cables, a fresh bottle of washer fluid in the trunk, and re-charged air conditioning all thanks to my thoughtful husband.

It was a beautiful day–not too hot, a little cloudy, the sun taking a respite from blistering heat to gently warm instead. The kids rode in the van with my Dad for awhile, elbowing for the opportunity to pick the first movie they would watch. My Mom rode with me and she and I had a chance to chat. It was nice to have and be a captive audience. Usually our conversations happen on the cell phone, in between dropoffs and pickups somewhere, or during someone’s soccer game, or dance class. The conversation usually starts and stops several times, interrupting my train of thought, and jumping around from topic to topic. It was nice to talk without interruption, without another call to take, another place to go, or a hard and fast time limit.

A few hours later, north of Cheyenne, amidst a great political discussion with my Dad who had traded driving duties with my Mom at the last stop for gas, the sun started to go down. It was quite possibly the most incredible sunset I have ever seen. As it sank behind the mountains, the sky lit up with brilliant reds, golds and oranges, then deep pinks and soft purples, fingers of clouds stretching away from the mountains as far as they could go, like they wanted the amazing beauty to reach across the whole sky. I wanted to stop and take a picture, but I knew that I would never be able to capture on film what my eyes were seeing. I settled for drinking it in, wishing it would stay there just above the snow-capped peaks for the rest of the drive, saddened as the light dimmed and the last tendrils of color gave way to the blackness of a sky untouched by city lights.

We spent the night in Casper, at a place the kids adore. They loved it when we went in November, and have been asking to go back since then. The excitement on their faces was worth every second I waited to tell them. We didn’t get there until well after 10:30, so they were disappointed that they couldn’t swim, but we checked into our room and fell asleep amid promises to wake them at the earliest second I possibly could so they could go directly to the pool.

At 7:30, My Hubby called and woke us all from our sound sleep. There’s something about sleeping in a completely dark room, away from the thoughts of dishes and laundry, with several extra pillows propped up beside me to fool my body into thinking My Hubby is there, that make sleep so deep. I stretched and moved slowly. The kids were already a flurry of activity, racing to see who could get their bathing suit on first, and they were practically headed out the door for breakfast before I was done with my call. Post-breakfast, they spent two hours in the pool.

It’s an incredible pool. It’s not large, but it sits on the southeastern side of the building, completely enclosed in glass so the water and the room are warmed by the rising sun. The water, completely still when we arrived, sparkled and winked after the first cannonball and I relaxed in a lounge chair while they screamed and giggled with delight. My Mom came later, to spell me, and I got some work done while they worked out the rest of their energy.  When they finally left the pool, they went for round two of breakfast and it was time to head out.

As we drove we watched for antelope (”ampelope” in our lingo), and marvelled at the gorgeous rolling hills, green for this time of year from all of the rain. Each hill looked like a new piece of slightly crushed velvet, mossy and soft, dotted here and there with antelope, sheep, and cattle, smooth except for clumps of sagebrush and an occasional gnarled, weather-worn, tree. Far away, the cows looked like little ants, though not as busy. Up close, they stretched out on the hillside, noses to the ground, or big brown eyes lazily watching us, chewing uninterestedly, as we flew by. The antelope were more skittish, long-legged and gangly, heads snapping up to see what we were doing, spotted babies jumping along behind their mothers like their spindly legs were on springs.

In the background, the Big Horn mountain range rose up from the hills like spiny spikes on a dinosaur’s back. The top peaks were solid white, snow-capped and majestic, falling down into lower peaks so thick with pine trees they looked almost black. Lower still, more rolling hills, broken by flat bluffs and outcroppings of rock. One I saw looked just like a child’s building blocks, discarded on the hillside until the next playtime. In other places the hills were carved by water long ago dried up, leaving the top green, but the sides exposed, soft brown like the inside of a warm muffin. The designs were amazing — some zigzagging, some diamond shaped, some softly curving, some so straight I pictured God using water as a putty knife, sculpting the shapes just so.

Along the way we laughed at the names of the rivers and creeks we passed, rushing and swollen, water tumbling over the rocks in a hurry to get to wherever it was going, or almost dry, the flow down to just a lazy trickle. We passed Crazy Woman–the middle fork and the north fork–and that was the only time I thought about The Egg Donor (ED) all weekend. We passed the Powder and the Platte. We crossed old bridges and new, rolled past miles upon miles of snow fence, and wondered who named interesting locations like Antelope Hill and Teapot Rock.

Somewhere just north of the road construction, I realized that my shoulders were no longer tense. The hum of the tires against pavement, the rythmic sleepy sighs of the kids from the backseat, and God’s country all around me served to melt away the stress of the past few weeks. I felt my brain quiet, the constant thoughts of courts and filings and work left undone slowing to make way for all that my eyes were seeing. I felt my lips turn upward at the corners and my neck muscles relax. I forgot about chores and bills and responsibilities.

I lived only in the moment…

only for what would be over the next hill…

COMES NOW, Petitioner, and responds to Respondent’s Response to Notice and Request for Reconsideration of Sanction, and states as follows:

1. Though Respondent did “agree” to pay Petitioner $711.81, her pro rata portion of the children’s uninsured medical expenses incurred since November 2007, Petitioner believed that arbitration was necessary, as Respondent has made multiple past claims of agreement to pay, and has always failed to follow through on payment, even making claims that payment has actually been made—including false check numbers and payment dates—when payment has not been made.

2. The fact that Respondent would not agree to pay sums due prior to arbitration, but rather after arbitration, caused Petitioner to believe that Respondent was using her offer of agreement as a way to manipulate Petitioner into dropping his request for arbitration so Respondent could get out of paying sums due.

3. Additionally, Petitioner believed that the arbitrator could issue a judgment for the sums due, thereby reducing the issues at hand for the Court during the May 14, 2008 hearing. Petitioner communicated this to Respondent’s counsel, via e-mail, attached hereto as Exhibit 1.

4. During arbitration on May 8, 2008, Respondent agreed to the sums due Petitioner, and agreed to pay the sums due on May 9, 2008, via Electronic Funds Transfer (EFT), which would result in an immediate and traceable credit to Petitioner’s bank account. Petitioner provided Respondent’s counsel with his bank account number and bank routing number on May 8, 2008. Memorandum of Agreement is attached hereto as Exhibit 2.

5. No deposit was made to Petitioner’s bank account on May 9, 2008. Petitioner notified Respondent’s counsel on May 10, 2008 that he had not received the payment in the amount of $711.81.

6. Respondent’s counsel provided a transaction number to Petitioner as verification that this payment had been made. However, Petitioner was advised by the bank that only Respondent could verify because she was the account holder.

7. Petitioner sent e-mail to Respondent’s counsel, notifying counsel that only the account holder could verify the transaction number, requesting another form of verification of payment, and offering to schedule a conference call with the bank to verify that payment had been made, prior to the May 14, 2008 hearing. E-mail between Petitioner and Respondent’s counsel is attached hereto as Exhibit 3.

8. Respondent’s counsel replied again with the transaction number, but did not offer any additional proof of payment, nor agree to the conference call with the bank.

9. Respondent’s counsel was to sign and return the Memorandum of Agreement to the arbitrator, so that the Agreement could be filed with the Court. However, as of May 13, 2008, the arbitrator had not received a signed agreement from Respondent’s counsel. E-mail from the arbitrator stating such is attached hereto as Exhibit 4.

10. Because of the reasons listed above, Petitioner had reason to believe that Respondent had not made payment.

11. During the May 14, 2008 hearing, the Court requested proof of payment of the $711.81, as well as proof of the payments Respondent claimed to have made towards the $1044.39 Respondent was ordered to pay during the November 1, 2007 hearing, from Respondent.

12. Respondent again offered the transaction number as proof of payment of the $711.81 and offered no proof that any payments had been made toward the $1044.39 in outstanding medical expenses. The Court advised Respondent and her counsel that the transaction number could not be verified and requested another form of proof of payment.

13. Respondent did not provide any further proof of payment to the Court or to Petitioner.

14. Petitioner believed that the Court’s sanction of $1423.62 against Respondent was a punishment for her continued Contempt of Court, and did not include the $711.81, as Respondent is already Court ordered to pay for her pro rata share of the children’s uninsured medical expenses. It was Respondent’s continued failure to pay these expenses that resulted in the Court-imposed sanction.

15. On May 23, 2008, Respondent deposited $642.00 directly into Petitioner’s account, but did not communicate to Petitioner the purpose of the deposit.

16. Because May 23, 2008 coincided with Respondent’s pay date, Petitioner believed the funds to be for child support ($500) and payment towards outstanding medical expenses ($142) for April 2008, which totaled $157.48 and had been communicated to Respondent via e-mail on May 15, 2008. Petitioner tried to clarify the purpose of the funds deposited by sending e-mail to Respondent and Respondent’s counsel, but received no response. E-mail from Petitioner to Respondent and Respondent’s counsel is attached hereto as Exhibit 5.

17. On May 27, 2008, Respondent deposited an additional $70.00 directly into Petitioner’s bank account, but again did not communicate to Petitioner the purpose of the deposit.

18. Petitioner denies Respondent’s claims that he filed the Notice to the Court in a vexatious or harassing manner, or in order to confuse matters before the Court. Instead, Petitioner notified the Court of Respondent’s failure to comply with the Court’s orders based on the reasons listed above.

19. If the Court’s intention was for the $711.81 in Respondent’s pro rata portion of the children’s uninsured medical expenses to be included in the $1423.62, and if Respondent wishes to allocate the $642 and the $70 deposits toward the $1423.62, Petitioner agrees that the total of $1423.62 has been paid. However, Respondent is then in Contempt of Court for non-payment of child support and again for non-payment of her pro rata portion of the children’s uninsured medical expenses.

20. If the Court’s intention was for the $1423.62 to represent a sanction against Respondent, and did not include the $711.81 in Respondent’s pro rata portion of the children’s uninsured medical expenses, then Respondent will still owe a balance of $711.62 and will be in Contempt of Court for non-payment of child support and again for non-payment of her pro rata portion of the children’s uninsured medical expenses.

21. Petitioner requests that the Court not reconsider its sanction of Respondent for the following reasons:

• Respondent had ample time prior to the May 14, 2008 hearing to provide proof of payment, but failed to do so;
• Arbitration would have been unnecessary had Respondent paid her pro rata portion of the children’s uninsured medical expenses as they were provided to her by Petitioner and as directed by order of the Court, rather than waiting seven months to do so;
• It was Respondent’s failure to pay any portion of the $1044.39 she was ordered to pay in the Order of November 2, 2007 that prompted Petitioner to file the third Contempt of Court motion;
• Respondent had ample time (seven months) to attempt to make payment of the $1044.39, or of additional medical expenses, but did not do so, prompting the Court to find her in Contempt of Court for the third time;
• Respondent has still not made payment of the $1044.39, causing Petitioner to file a Writ of Garnishment in order to collect sums due; and
• Reversing sanctions for Respondent’s consistent failure to abide by orders of the Court would encourage Respondent to continue to ignore Court Orders.

WHEREFORE, Petitioner respectfully requests that the Court clarify its intention with regard to the sanctions issued against Respondent.

Petitioner also respectfully requests that the Court NOT reconsider sanction of Respondent ; and for such further relief as the Court deems appropriate.

Gah.

It will never end.  She’s a loon.  And her FAP is even worse…