Sunday, March 17, 2024

Do I Call This Part 8? An Update

I met with my attorney before Christmas because I simply could not wait until after the holidays to learn the outcome of the December 11th Pre-Trial Conference. We met by Zoom for an hour and a half.

Most of the news was not good.

I'm going to tell you the good news first: the Divorce Master has declared this is not a 50/50 split case. That was something of a relief. But of course the Divorce Master hasn't looked at any of the evidence yet, either. He did, however, suggest to my attorney that I would likely be getting a larger portion of the assets because of the fact that I will not be able to collect any kind of alimony, APL, or child support from Hubby due to his imprisonment. To what end? Probably a 60/40 split, maybe 65/35.

It became rapidly clear, however, as my attorney and I reviewed the assets and debts of the marriage, that I wasn't going to be able to do the one thing I'd hoped for over the last two-plus years: keep the house.

I had already spent an hour one Friday night on the phone with our current mortgage servicer, seeing what I could do to put the remaining balance of our mortgage in my name. I cried when I got off the phone because it was so unfeasible. What they wanted to do to get me to keep my house was impossible, and that didn't even factor in an extra $30-40k to buy Hubby out. It was just impossible.

All because Hubby was insistent on having enough money to pay off his debt to the US Government with the sale of the house and have a little leftover to fall back on when he gets out of prison.

I'm sorry, but his worries about his after-jail life are not truly my concern.

My concern--and his, it should be--is the safe rearing of our children until they're grown...and thus a safe place for them to live.

I told the girls the day after Christmas that we were going to have to move.

On the one hand, they're mad. We love this house. It holds a lot of memories for us. On the other hand, the thought of a new place and new memories has a great deal of appeal. The house's memories aren't all good.

I have been packing up what I can here and there, stuff that doesn't need to stay out, filching empty boxes from work to bring home. The china cabinet. The library. The yarn for my crochet projects that are currently sidelined while moving is my new project. The scrapbooks. The shelves in the living room. Out-of-season clothes. Games that we're not playing. Christmas decorations.

Preparing to change our lives.

We sent an offer to Hubby's attorney of record: a 75/25 split on the sale of the house, since everything else was pretty much settled. We felt, my lawyer wrote, that this was a fair offer, given my lack of support of any kind from his camp.

The week that the response was due from Hubby's side, my lawyer received notification from the court that Hubby had changed lawyers. This is just five weeks before our trial is scheduled. My lawyer reached out to his new one to confirm he'd received our offer, and received a counter-offer in response: 55/45 split, and digital copies of all photographs from the marriage.

Well. There's a sticking point. The children do not wish for their father to have photos of them. Ever.

I discussed this with my attorney and we sent back what we called our "best and final offer": no photos, as we would be respecting the children's wishes, and a 70/30 split on the proceeds of the house, expiring on 3/15/24.

Hubby's attorney responded twelve days later with Hubby's own "best and final" offer of a 60/40 split.

My attorney and I began preparing for trial.

I began to quietly freak out.

My lawyer reassured me that she would support me no matter what I decided to do, trial or settlement, but suggested we prepare and gather our exhibits.

Court is in ten days.

Ten days.

The most recent bill from my lawyer's office came today. Almost $520. Between that and the one two months ago for $1500, I have maybe $100 in my little account for the divorce.

We meet on the 25th to prep for trial, which will be about two hours of time. Court is scheduled for three hours on the 27th. $100 is not going to cover us. Our GoFundMe is still active, and we'd appreciate your help as we head into this final stretch.

Friday, December 15, 2023

We Three Kings of Orient Are Tried to Light a Rubber Cigar

It was loaded, and exploded...


Or ran into a Kahi. It's anybody's guess, really.

But my manger scene is down to two wise men.

It's bad, but I'm hoping to superglue him back into some semblance of normalcy.

This set is extra special to me because my mom made it some 40-odd years ago for her mother, and it got passed down to me.

Kittens are no respecters of antiques, I guess.

Sigh.

Sunday, December 10, 2023

I Have a Problem

 I've been doing holiday baking this weekend, because this is when I can get it done, and I just hope it lasts.

I suppose that's problem #1.

Today, I made a staple around here, but tried it this time with gluten-free flour, something I've never had to do before. This is my first Christmas season being gluten free, and I wasn't sure all my favorites would hack it.

Yesterday's peppermint meltaways handled the gluten free measure-for-measure flour I use just fine. But they're delicate to begin with and don't travel well, so I don't think I'll be taking them in for the office cookie exchange, despite my plans. And yesterday's buckeyes were naturally gluten free (small favors), and so was the fudge (of course).

Today I tackled a box mix for lemon bars (new to me and I still haven't tried them; they need to chill awhile longer before I can cut them) and the perennial favorite around here: Peppermint Snowy Bars.

They'd finally cooled completely and I was able to dust them with powdered sugar a little bit ago. They're a bar cookie, so I cut both pans and then proceeded to taste-test both (an important step). I was thrilled when they tasted just like the real thing, and even the texture was right! (This is not always the case in GF baking.)

I was putting the cookies away when I realized I had a problem.

I'd bought six new goodie storage bins when I was at Walmart earlier, but as usually happens, they're even smaller than the ones I bought last year. A single batch of fudge won't fit in one of these bad boys, as I discovered. There was no way one was going to hold an entire 9x13 pan of bar cookies.

Well, first step: get rid of cookies. I took three upstairs to offer to the girls.

Youngest actually moaned over how good the cookie was. Medium echoed the sentiment around a mouthful of confection.

"These are awesome, Mom."

"Gluten free," I said to Medium.

"Really?"

"That's the good news," I said. "The bad news is we have a cookie storage problem."

"No, we have my stomach," Middle fired back.

This kid.

I don't think her stomach can hold an entire pan of cookies, but I shouldn't ask.

She might try.

In the end, I used up all but one of my remaining goodie bins for the Peppermint Snowy Bars.

I honestly don't know what I'll do with the next rounds of fudge (I need to make at least two more vanilla mint) or the lemon bars chilling in the fridge.

Get more bins, I guess.

It's sure not fair for Middle's stomach to hold all the cookies.

Saturday, December 9, 2023

New Words

Me, coming back into the kitchen: Put 'em back in for a little longer?

Youngest is taking Christmas pinwheel cookies out of the oven for the second time.

Youngest: Yeah, they didn't look right.

I'd had a similar experience the other night with my first attempt at peppermint meltaways.

Me: Maybe there's something wrong with the oven.

Middle, who has been spectating and taste-testing but not actually baking: Yeah, I had to ovenate something the other day, and . . .

I just looked at her.

My word kid.

Ovenate.

Middle: Ovenate. I'm just making up words now.

Me: You mean cook. Bake.

Middle: Yeah. Ovenate. I'm telling you, I'm losing it.

Maybe, maybe not.

She's given me two blog posts in one day.

Tis The Season...

...for Christmas goodies.

I spent most of last night working on a double batch of buckeyes (a big favorite that didn't get made last year), doing all the prep work so that I didn't have to do anything but dip today.

I'm standing in the kitchen this afternoon, trying to keep Kahi from eating toothpicks and naked buckeyes and generally being a nuisance, as well as dipping said buckeyes, when Middle walked in.

She took one look at what I was doing and asked, "Are those buckeyes?"


Ask a silly question...

"No," I said with a straight face.

"Oh. What are they?"

I grinned. "Buckeyes."

Middle gave me a sly smile. "Do they need taste testing?"

I grabbed one that had fully set up and handed it to her. "I've already taste-tested a couple, and they were pretty good, but..."

"They're delishish," she said around a mouthful of chocolate and peanut butter confection.

I'm surprised she stopped at one.

Tuesday, December 5, 2023

Changes, Part 7

 Auntie Jlwrites, I can hear you saying to me, why are you telling us all of this stuff? It can't be just catharsis.

Well, there's that for sure.

And this is a family blog, which chronicles the events of my family. These have been some pretty big events, if I don't mind saying so myself. They've forever altered what our family looks like. Someday my kids may want to know what happened in a fuller way than our conversations have said, and they'll have this record to look at. 

It also shows that even what looks like perfection on the outside can turn ugly when sin sinks its claws into it.

This kind of stuff is everywhere, and it needs to be talked about. It hid in my home, behind a man wearing the mask of a Christian. The more it gets talked about--that it happens, that it's real, that pornography is a threat and an addiction that claims lives in an altering way and rips families apart--the more light comes in and kills it.

This happened to us.

I think, in some ways, we are stronger for having lived through it.

He's sentenced. His projected release date is more than eight years out, with credit for time served and time knocked off for good behavior.

I am, however, still fighting for my total release from this nightmare. It's not quite over.

September 2022

Hubby and I had been chatting (sort of) via the texting app that he has access to while incarcerated in BigTown County Jail. We don't need lawyers, he'd written. He cited that we've been together twenty-six years and ought to be able to figure out a way to amicably split the marital property ourselves, without any attorneys in the mix (to muck it up).

So we hammered out an agreement. He'd wanted to boot me out of the house after the last kid had flown the coop, sell it then, and split the profits. That was his first offer that he'd sent my attorney. He asked now what my plans were for the house. I said I planned to live in it. The house was the biggest thing in contention. He was willing to agree to everything else and said he'd only asked for 10% ownership of my writing (which, I'll point out here, predated my relationship with him) because he desperately felt he needed it as a bargaining tool. I had no problem with most of what he'd asked for in return, and in the end, we'd messaged back and forth until we'd hammered out an agreement that was agreeable to both of us.

Or so I thought.

I forwarded the screenshots of our conversations to my attorney so she could draw up the Marital Settlement Agreement from those. She sent it off to Hubby for review, with the instructions to let her know as soon as possible if there were changes he wanted to make.

And we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Mid-December 2022

And waited.

Prison mail is slow, but this is ridiculous. I messaged him about something else entirely, but tacked on a post-script: "Are you going to do anything about the settlement paperwork, or do I have to make other plans?"

When I heard back from him via the app a few days later, he responded angrily about the first thing I'd mentioned, and then said he was going to do something about the settlement paperwork "soon."

Right. I'd seen his "soon." The last time he'd said he would do something soon, it took him 8 weeks to do it.

March 2023

It was finally "soon." Hubby wrote to my attorney, saying he was going back to his original counteroffer (the one in which he wanted 10% ownership of my writing) to settle the marital assets and debts.

And one more thing. 

He wanted my wedding and engagement rings returned to him, as part of his personal property, as they were "contingent upon a continued marriage."

I almost came unglued at work when I read that. I messaged SnarkyDad, who did some fast research for me, and determined that my state's law already has precedent for that: the rings belong to me from the moment of marriage. They are legally mine and I do not have to give them back to him. Whew.

I told my attorney I was not willing to accept his (ridiculous) proposal, and said I was not willing to attempt negotiating with him again, when he can take as much time as he wants to respond. I want this divorce over. Let's go to trial. 

Scary words.

She prepared the necessary filings and I sent in the money--$350--for the filing fees for a Divorce Master to be appointed.

Hubby, meanwhile, had written to the Court without copying my attorney, something she had asked him not to do. He complained that I am controlling all the marital assets and not releasing any marital funds to him (what marital funds? any money that was ours was long gone, in taking care of us before I found a job; also I had no way of releasing money to him anyway, but that's beside the point). He had no way of getting legal representation, he said; his calls to the PA Bar Association are disconnected before he had a chance to talk to someone. His criminal attorney had told him he would not likely get free representation because we have real estate involved (hey, I didn't qualify for Legal Aid, either). He wrote that I refused to communicate with him (not entirely true; I just wouldn't speak on the phone with him). He begged the judge for help.

Twenty days later, as she went to file the next round of paperwork, she discovered that the certified mail return postcard didn't have the date of receipt written on it. The clerk at the prison had neglected to put that on. Further investigation showed that even the tracking number had been improperly scanned, so we couldn't even prove delivery that way. With no proof of service, we couldn't do the next filing. We had to start all over. Argh.

June 2023

We received word that Hubby has an attorney now. No idea who is funding her, and I'm not asking. My lawyer thinks this is a good thing. We may be able to avoid a costly trial and settle now that he has an attorney.

Hahahahahahanotsomuch.

July 2023

Maybe it's August now? I don't remember. We'll call it late July. All I really remember at this point is that my attorney wanted to hear from his attorney by June 30, and his attorney wanted mortgage statements on June 28 while the girls and I were in Virginia Beach (sorry about your luck) and so she didn't get them until July 5 after we got back, and it was at least another month before we heard his attorney's proposal. So...

August 2023

We got Hubby's attorney's proposal.

Oh, he agreed to everything else on the list (including me waiving child/spousal support and alimony), but he wanted me to buy him out of the house to the tune of $65,000...or sell the house now, and give him half the profits. I admit I was also a little surprised when his lawyer indicated that "It is my understanding the parties have come to an agreement" about personal property, because last I knew, he still wanted my rings, and I wasn't budging on that.

The whole point of me waiving support was so that I would get the full value of the house, and he wouldn't have more debt hanging over his head when he got out of jail. I'm nice like that.

Plus, there was the matter of the lien on the property. You know, the one on his half of the equity. To secure potential payment for his restitution for his crimes.

The proposal was preposterous.

I told my attorney, after some thought, some discussion with my mother and SnarkyDad, and some prayer, that we needed to move forward with trial. Mom and I had done some rough calculations and figured out that, should Hubby actually be paying child support and alimony pende lite and alimony, he'd be looking at owing me nearly $90,000 for everything. That far exceeded what he wanted from me for the house. I paid yet another $350 for Divorce Master fees (the first sat in an account and slowly been whittled away at). 

My attorney wrote a brilliant letter to his, declining the offer, stating that the lien on the property because of his crimes thus forfeited Hubby's rights to the equity in his name. And, of course, further that what he would owe in various supports exceeded his equity, and that we would proceed with a filing for a Divorce Master. 

And the paperwork finally got filed for a Divorce Master.

October 2023

The Court has appointed a Divorce Master. Next up is the Pre-Trial Conference, which is just for the attorneys and the Divorce Master, where they present evidence, go over things, and learn when the trial will be. My attorney has advised that this will likely not be until after the first of the year.

Present

The Pre-Trial Conference is now set for December 11. My lawyer has told me not to expect a trial date until spring. I would love to simply have this settled and move on, but Hubby is not of that mind. He wants his half of the house and his cake too.

My lawyer is good, but she is not cheap.

I have a good job, but it covers our regular expenses. It doesn't cover...this

SnarkyDad set up a GoFundMe for me, because he's a gem like that. It is, however, running low since I took that last $350 out of it to pay for Divorce Master fees. I am blessed to have so many people--friends, family, outright strangers--who have contributed to the cause of helping me manage to pay for thousands of dollars of legal fees I could not otherwise afford, all to get me out of a marriage I cannot, in good conscience, stay in for the sake of my kids.

Ahhhh, here you are, Auntie Jlwrites. You're shilling for cash.

Consider it an investment.

An opportunity.

A way to change the world for that one starfish you throw back into the sea so it doesn't suffocate.

My kids and I need out of this. We're suffocating.

So if our story has moved you at all, I'd consider it a huge blessing if you'd hit that link up there and donate. 

Thanks for listening in. May the season bring you joy.

Part 8

I Strongly Suspect...

 ...that Youngest's dinner tonight was nothing more than a big bowl of chocolate pudding and half a dozen or so of those Pillsbury Reindeer cookies.

You know, the presliced ones?


My kids love those. I bought a couple boxes of those and a couple boxes of the Christmas trees. Came home from work today to find Youngest had just taken a bunch of reindeer cookies out of the oven.

Do I care that she had pudding and cookies for dinner?

I suppose I should.

But tonight I don't.

Sometimes, you've just got to live and let live.