Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations by Jessica Vivian Page A

incidentally, was to coincide with my 30 th birthday. Salt in the wound. I decided to call my dad for advice.
    My
parents were excellent at being divorced. I was two when they split
so I actually have no recollection of them as a couple. It didn't
matter, though, because they co-parented well enough to take me on a
vacation to Disney World together several years later. My parents
were always able to be in a room together and make small talk. When
they both got remarried, they had already set the stage for the
step-parents so then the four of them could be in a room together
interacting easily.
    When
I moved into my college dorm, both my moms were decorating while my
dads set up my computer.
“Who are the parents?” my
roommate's parent asked.
“Uh...all of us,” they would
answer.
If anyone could guide me through this new phase of single
parenthood, it's him.
I set the kids up with snacks and a movie
and went down to my car in the parking lot so they couldn't overhear
my conversation. I explained the situation to my dad. He listened
intently and then answered.
“Jessie, unless he is planning
on getting married, you have no obligation to meet some girl he's
screwing. If it's serious, then yeah you're going to have to meet
who's going to be spending time with your kids. But if that's not what's going
on, then later for it .
As for the kids, you really have no control over that. He's going to
date and he's going to want to do the look-I'm-a-dad act on these
women because it works. And it might hurt your feelings, but it is
what it is.”
    “Thanks,
Dad. I didn't feel okay with it. I can't explain why. I just didn't
like the idea,” I explained, “I just didn't .
And he kept telling me I was being irrational and I guess he's
right.”
“Hooooold on, hold on, hold it, hold it,
hold, hold, hooooooold it,” he interrupted.
    “Jessie,
listen to me. If you never listen to me ever again for the rest of
your natural born life listen to me now.”
I waited.
“You
have every right to be as irrational as you need to be. You just got
divorced. You are raising kids on your own with no damn help from his
sorry ass. Uh yeah, you're gonna be a little emotional and
irrational. Fair ,
Jessie. You earned it.”
At this point I was fighting
tears.
“This whole thing, Jess, is painful. It...it just
really sucks. Let it hurt. Give yourself room to be a little crazy. You take good care
of those kids. As long as you don't drag them into the crazy with you, it's fine. So screw him, Jess. You don't
need to meet this woman and you really don't owe him an
explanation.”

Dad is right. Dirty Thirty

    I
felt like I deserved to have a shitty thirtieth birthday.
If
anyone had given too much of a effort, I would have felt bad about
leaving.
I ironed out the kinks in my exit plan and I'm moving
next month for better or for worse. I planned on spending my 30 th birthday packing and preparing to leave.
My ex called, however,
and told me to get lost for an hour because he was on his way with a
surprise. I did and when I came back to my apartment there were
balloons outside. I walked in to find even more balloons and an
immediate dousing in that crazy spray-can foamy string.
It was a
sweet gesture.
“I had to do something for you for your birthday, especially with you leaving and all,”
he grinned sheepishly.
I wasn't particularly moved by the attempt
because it was only the second birthday of mine he'd ever
acknowledged, but was grateful that he included the kids.
He made
dinner. I don't remember what it was because he also brought a bottle
of wine and I drank most of it. It was my birthday wine after all. It was the wine that made me think, “ I
should have sex with him, since I'm leaving and all.” And
after the kids went to bed. I did.
And it was sufficient, I
guess. I was too hazy to be present.
I noticed that he was
making himself very comfortable in my bed, which was strange because
I thought that
perhaps his girlfriend was still in town so I