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Re: If it's charity, call it charity
by Schizo (Aranea@Spidersdance.com)
on Sep 17, 2004 - 04:27 PM
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Well, it seems I'm the first person back after the server crashed. My update got wiped out in the tragedy, so here it goes again.
After being delayed by car trouble and a trip to the emergency room for an allergic reaction (and the subsequent week of drug-induced haze I endured the following week), we realized that setting up new visitation stuff was going to take a LOOOONG time. And in the meantime, we needed the kids, and they needed us. So I called the ex, and left a message on her phone when I knew she wasn't home. I really didn't want to talk to her directly. I asked her if we could have the kids on Sunday, and explained that we did NOT call the cops on her. And also explained that her behavior on our honeymoon was completely out of line, and that we no longer were willing to let things continue the way they were, etc. etc. Her response was a short message where she said in sweet and dulcet tones (the same ones she used back in the day to inform me she hoped my baby would die from the nasty, and luckily curable, disease she passed on to me) that if Michael wanted to see the children, he would have to talk to her first.
Needless to say, that is not an option. Like hell he's going to go see her so she can berate him for not letting her play games with us on our honeymoon.
So we didn't see the children last Sunday.
Then, all of a sudden, I get an e-mail from a very interesting address with a very obvious identity. Just a stupid little chain-letter type thing, about how a certain number of people love you, and a certain number of people think about you at night. The next day I got another e-mail entitled "the kids" with the entire body of the letter being "they say hi". The next day was the most baffling. From another address, still obviously hers, reading "Is this you (SCHIZO)???!!!", with a cartoon of a pair of Spanish dancers, leaving me to wonder if she was asking if the address she was writing to was mine, or if she was enquiring into the identity of the Spanish dancers. I still don't know why she sent me a picture of Spanish dancers.
Then I had a brainstorm - here I was, provided with the woman's e-mail address. What more perfect form of communication could there be? How easy to be able to take the time to word things the way I wanted, and even more importantly, how perfectly simple to be able to document exactly what has been said between the two of us?
So I wrote her another e-mail, asking for the kids this Sunday. I told her Michael was not willing to see her or talk to her. She gave the expected response - that Michael could only see the kids if he talked to her first. I've written a couple more replies to her, repeating my request, explaining that discussion with Michael is out of the question, informing her that she does not have the legal right to withold the children from Michael, and letting her know that if she continues to keep the kids from us just because Michael is not complying with her demands, that we will pursue whatever legal actions are necessary to ensure that he can see his children on a regular basis.
In the meantime, I have been playing the most nightmarish game of phone tag. I have been interrupted, almost hung up on, and have spoken to more answering machines during business hours than there are stars in the sky. Every actual human being I can seem to get to talk to me merely gives me a new number to call, where maybe I can get the information I want.
But I refuse to give up. I have got the bit between my teeth, and I'm not stopping until those children can see their father every week. I'm not stopping until Michael's relationship with his children does not depend on the whims and moods of a near-psychotic. I'm not stopping until people in places of influence understand what this woman is doing, and start helping these kids find a better way of life.
And the ex should know better than to think she can ma
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