The Color of My Parachute

I made an appointment today to be evaluated by a vocational expert. What fun! At long last I'll find out if my current job as stay-at-home-mom has earned me any street cred, or if, in fact, serving sausage patties twenty years ago at Bob Evans was the apex of my career.

This amusing little diversion is being "offered" to me compliments of my estranged husband, who was kind enough to bring this matter before a judge, who was gracious enough to pen the invitation on fancy paper with a Cook County logo on it, and even stamp it with a fancy stamp!

It's all part of that intricate pas de deux known as The Divorce Proceeding. I'm while I'm told that it's not uncommon for a working husband to want a non-working wife to be given a gentle nudge toward employment, I know of only one other person (my cousin) who was "invited" to career counseling. Her ex is a prince, a successful hotshot who had it all, including a pregnant girlfriend in Mexico. My cousin was tested and questioned and evaluated and told she might make a good office manager. She's now finishing anatomy and biology on her way to becoming a registered nurse. Which is a shame, because she makes a mean cup of coffee.

I can't wait to find out what MY skills are! There's that bachelor's degree hiding around here somewhere (buried under my Victoria's Secret undies, perhaps?). There was that pesky 12-year stint as an entrepreneur and business owner. But that's all a vague memory, made murky by years of lactating and, you know, other mom...stuff. Because what do moms really do anyway? I heard on the radio once that if you break down the duties of a mom and assign market value to each one, a mother would earn a salary of $118,000. Ha! A conspiracy theory, no doubt, started by lazy, unqualified whiners who want credit for living the easy life.

Not me. I'm ready, EAGER to be tested, to have another man tell me what I need to do. Lead me, I say! It's just that, well, the $2,500 pricetag of this particular dance is a little baffling. Wouldn't a new computer be a better investment and help generate income? How about a training course? Or even childcare to allow time for new pursuits? But gosh, thinking of ways I might spend $2,500 just makes my pretty little head hurt! I'd rather think about what I'll wear to my appointment. The frilly apron is nice and goes with anything. Or the mom jeans and white sneakers. Oh, and I can't forget my giant Mary Poppins-inspired carpet bag. It's one of those magic ones that allows me to stuff the three kids inside and forget about them. They don't require much, really. Just a little air. Otherwise they mostly take care of themselves.

Yes, I am really looking forward to this opportunity to show off my talents. I might speak a little French. Or play the pianoforte. I might even take a refreshing turn about the room (to show my figure in the most pleasing light!)

Hmmm. What color is my parachute? (And will it match my shoes?) I think it's more of a mantle, anyway. As in a cloak worn by women in Victorian times. How fitting. I'm a modern day Elizabeth Bennett. Plucky and independent. And I have so many more choices than she had in her day. Nevermind that determining my own path is not necessarily one of them. There's no time for that when I have laundry to fold. And yes, that's on my resume.

(Check in next week to hear which vocation the magical expert chooses for me!)

Yearly Resolutions are for Wimps. Not Divorcees.

2009 seemed to be a year of major upheaval. I found myself going through a divorce, but, with a good handful of friends contemplating, initiating, or reeling from their own break-ups, at least I had company. (Granted, not the kind of company you want for dinner unless you plan to hide the sharp knives.) I think I speak for most divorcees out there when I say that what we want is Resolution. Not a silly list of do's and don'ts. Real Resolution. An end to the re-hashing, the second-guessing and what-ifs. A giant kiss-off to quitters, cheats, Peter Pans and control freaks. A rousing 'up yours!' to the judges and lawyers playing God in our lives. A signed document that sets us free.

Except. The document is just the first step. What divorcees really need is the manual. The 2010 Code on Divorcing Gracefully.

This Manual (mine at least) might include the following:

Stop working on euphemisms for what happened, such as: my husband had an interesting take on 'to have and to hold.' Or 'the grass was greener.' Or, as the legal documents would have it, it was a matter of 'lifestyle choices.' Stick with 'we're divorced' and don't feel compelled to launch into the unabridged saga. Face it. No ones cares as much as you think they do.

Accept that, yes, SHE is 12 years younger. Know that whoever 'she' is, she will undoubtedly stay the same age, while he ages and becomes pathetic. Allow yourself small satisfaction on this point.

Stop flinching when your son goes on about the girlfriend and how awesome she is because she calls him 'dude.'

Believe your therapist when he tells you that your Ex did you a favor. Resolve to continue therapy if you have to donate blood to do it.

Stop expecting to understand your Ex. Remember that peace described in a very famous book, the kind that passeth all understanding? Ponder that, and enjoy the superior feeling that comes from knowing verbs that end in 'TH.'

Know that cooperation with an Ex is overrated. Learn to make decisions — about finances, housing, kids, career — on your own. Embrace the single mom power and mystique. If you've never done it, raise a fist and yell 'girls rock!' (Except girls who call boys 'dude.')

Don't take it personally when friends treat you as if you're contagious. They simply want immunity from this particular plague and know there's no magic pill they can take to get it.

Enjoy alone time. Learn the difference between loneliness and solitude. Consider these wise words from Anne Lindbergh, who writes about solitude in her memoir Gift from the Sea: Woman must be still as the axis of a wheel in the midst of her activities, she must be the pioneer in achieving this stillness, not only for her own salvation, but for the salvation of family life, of society, perhaps even of our civilization.

Follow your own bliss. Stop following a blueprint with someone else's comments scrawled all over it. Thank another wise soul who said that the best revenge is a life well-lived.

Live 2010 well.