Rage Gardening

This is not a story about gardening.

This is the story of Captain Douche.

Please allow me to preface this by saying that I make terrible choices in men. They have historically been so terrible, in fact, that after the twins were born (almost five years ago), I swore off dating. I needed a detox. I no longer trusted any of my decisions. And also, raising twins as a single mom is HARD and who has time for going on dates? Prior to meeting the Captain and subsequently getting knocked up, I went on a series of terrible dates. I was an online serial dater, meaning I was going to try every single website that there was to find the new Mr. Carrie. I found myself going out on date after date with guys who did not have their lives together in the least. (Let me pause and say that I know that there are normal, great guys on these sites, but I was obviously sending their messages straight to the trash.) I quickly grew tired of their sob stories of having no money and needing someone to take care of them. I was ready to be done. Then I found the Captain.

This probably goes without saying, but Captain Douche is not his real name. After all of his later tomfoolery and his impending hasty exit (which we will get to), I asked my Facebook friends to come up with a nickname that suited his less-than-stellar behavior. Big thank you to my friend from high school, Jason F., who made the winning suggestion. It has proven to be well deserved.

Anyhow, if I recall correctly, I was the one who reached out to CD first on whichever God-forsaken website I met him on. He was a teacher and a basketball coach who had moved here a year or so prior from my home state of Michigan. We shared a slight obsession for University of Michigan football. I was smitten. (Again, let me pause and remind you of my poor decision making skills. They are important here.) For our first date, he told me that he was too broke to take me out (hello, red flag!), so I agreed to go to his apartment for dinner. I still remember what he made….fettuccini alfredo; I am a sucker for parmesan cheese. I will not make excuses for anything that happened that night; I will only say that I had one glass of wine and that I don’t remember anything after that. As a girl who enjoys a glass of wine or three on a regular basis, it takes a lot of wine to get to that point. Whether anything nefarious occurred, I cannot say for sure, but to this day, it strikes me as odd that there are chunks of time that I do not recall from that night. I am also kicking myself because either way, I should not have been at some guy’s apartment on a first date, and I only hope that my daughters one day make better decisions than me.

Long story short, guess who found herself to be knocked up shortly after? (Hint….it was me.) Our relationship was not good at all, largely because we did not know each other very well and also because of his obvious immaturity. What followed was a bizarre nine-months of crazy after I discovered that a solo little one was actually two. I will never forget CD’s response when I called him with the news of twins. He blatantly told me, “I’m not excited about this at all.” Those words will be burned into my memory for all of eternity. What a bastard. Even my ex-husband was excited. Because I was having twins and also because I was old(er), I spent the entire pregnancy shuffling to numerous doctor’s appointments and constant ultrasounds. He rarely checked in. I felt incredibly alone and largely devastated. When the girls were born, I didn’t allow him anywhere near the delivery room. It was only because he guilt tripped me that I gave him access to the hospital afterward. Had I known how he would behave over the next few years, I would have made a different decision. It was a stressful time, and having him around only magnified the situation.

From the get go, he was not a good father. Using that term to describe anything he did after the girls were born is quite a stretch. We lived an hour apart, so I did not expect daily visits, but checking in occasionally would have been nice. His mom came to visit from Michigan to meet the girls a few weeks after they were born, and she spent most of her visit to my home reprimanding my older daughter (who was 14) for how she handled the babies. Considering that Kylie had been hands on with the girls since their birth while her son played video games in his apartment, her criticism was unwelcome. CD was not financially supportive of the girls, and it was apparent that I was not going to be able to depend on him to voluntarily step up. I filed for child support, and he was surprised by how much two babies seem to cost. When they were two months old, he told me that he was leaving to go back to Michigan. By the time they were three months old, he was gone. We haven’t seen him since. Every three months or so, he would send a text to check in. He has gone as long as six months without a word. This usually happened when he was late on his child support. Living in your mom’s spare bedroom is costly, I imagine. The last time that I had heard from him prior to yesterday was in January of this year when he popped up for the zillionth time and asked what it would take to be active in the girls’ lives. He acknowledged that he had been absent and wanted to know if I would allow him to FaceTime with them. I stood my ground and told him that we would have to work up to something like that, as I had heard him mention the same countless times before. I also explained that I did not think he could be a good father unless he was in the same state, not because it is impossible to co-parent from across state lines, but because it was too easy for him to forget that they existed. I further explained that I needed him to be consistent with his check-ins before we progressed. He committed to doing so. That commitment lasted approximately three days.

Fast forward to yesterday afternoon. I was minding my own business, enjoying a perfect Spring afternoon. I had finally decided to tackle the unforgiving flower beds in front of my house, 44′ of weeds and roots that needed to be ripped out so I could plant something prettier. I was truly enjoying my Sunday, basking in the glory that I was going to be girl who gardens! Then, I peeked at my phone and saw that I had a message request on Facebook from a woman that I didn’t know. When I opened it and began to read, my entire body went cold.

This girl introduced herself as CD’s fiancée. Fiancée! We will call her Jenelle (because Jenelle is actually her name). Jenelle started off sounding decently nice. After her introduction, she went on to say that CD has been trying to reach me (which she knows because she has seen his messages), and that she thinks it best that she act as an intermediary since he and I do not communicate effectively. Jenelle acknowledged that he has been immature and absent, which I thought was a step in the right direction, until she excused his behavior by saying that he pays so much child support that he cannot afford to be involved. (Excuse me??? Phone calls and text messages are free!) She tried to relate to me by explaining that she has also been a single mom. Then, she said (and I quote), “You know as well as I do that they need a dad. They are young enough to not have the absence of their father totally ruin their lives.” This is where my blood started to boil. She continued and explained that now is the time to allow them into the twins lives. They have spoken to a counselor who advised that I begin to show the twins pictures of them and then allow phone conversations. From there, we will move to visitation with a long-term goal of allowing the girls to visit them for holidays in Michigan. She also suggested that they spend a week over the summer there. Jenelle followed this suggestion by stating, “If you don’t feel that we can work together on this, then we can let the courts decide.” She cushioned this blow by telling me a little about herself. She has owned a hair salon for almost two decades. She is a terrific mother. She volunteers at a women’s shelter. She is Mother-effing Teresa. I hate her so much.

What was my overall reaction to all of this? Well, basically my head exploded.

After reading her message twice, I sat on my front steps, with my heart beating fast and also feeling as though it may have stopped. Who was this person who, only moments ago, did not exist as a part of my world? How dare she message me and imply that she has any sort of idea of what I had been going through for the past five years? Obviously, I did what any normal girl would do. I went directly to her Facebook page and checked her out. They got engaged five days ago. Less than a week. It only took FIVE DAYS for her to decide that it was her responsibility to interject herself into this situation. She clearly has bigger balls than he does.

Suddenly, I was wildly angry. In fact, I don’t think “angry” is an appropriate term to describe my feelings. I was suddenly rage gardening. I was stabbing my shovel into the ground with a ferocity that surprised even me. I was yanking out roots that were longer than my arm and flinging them across my yard. I started talking to myself like a crazy person. I questioned my own sanity. I defended myself in my own mind as the martyr of a mother that I clearly am. For the past five years, I have kissed every boo-boo, calmed every fear. I have tucked them into bed with their special bears every night. I have single-handedly built this life for them, and this stranger strolls in and asks for me to send my children to her for a week during the summer?

Then, on the flip side, I questioned my judgment. Why can’t I be the bigger person here? Why can’t I allow a bigger, happily blended family to be a thing for me? People make it work. Why do I feel the need to be bitter and petty about it? I should be rejoicing that the Captain wants to be involved in the twins’ lives. Right? But it’s not enough that she wants him to be involved. He has had every opportunity. I have sent photos and their scribbly artwork to him. I have (reluctantly) wished him a Happy Father’s Day. I have responded when he texted, even when I didn’t want to. I have given him more chances than he deserves. This situation makes me angry because my girls didn’t matter enough to him until he had a fiancée. He didn’t care enough to be involved until she wanted him to be involved. And that, my friends, is simply not good enough.

I am currently preparing for battle. I don’t know what to do next. I am super angry. I am absolutely, postively, unquestionably ENRAGED.

But, on a good note, at least I have shrubbery now.