Easter Blessings

It's been eerily quiet on this end these days, almost too quiet. Things have been going along like a well-oiled machine. Even J-Fed has been on his best behavior. And with the holiday here, it was a time for peace, love and understanding.

One of the things that we've attempted since our divorce is to do the important aspects of the holidays together. In fact, we even did a week of our vacation together in the mountains last summer as a "family," albeit a broken one. A great deal of people I know think the entire thing is insane, especially since our divorce has gotten extremely acrimonious at times.

Yet, we find it's best for the girls to do the important kiddie things -- opening Christmas presents, finding Easter eggs, ect. -- with both parties present. It means the world to them to have J-Fed and I both there.

I guess one thing that the two of us have always been is resilient. After the nastiest, ugliest knock-down, drag-out fight, you wouldn't even know it had ever taken place 20 minutes later. Okay, maybe resilient isn't a good word. Perhaps certifiable is a better label. I'm guessing it was a quality that kept us married for so long. However, we all know that all "good" things must come to an end, and such was the fate of our doomed relationship.

Now, I've talked to countless friends who had assured me that these "traditions" would certainly cease once I got into a relationship. They told me that no man was going to put up with it. Part of me believed they were right, but that part of me never realized that I'd one day meet Mr. Ex, or that he'd be so damned flexible, easygoing and generally accepting of the madness of my divorce.

Since J-Fed usually leaves it up to me to put in place the best laid holiday plans, I decided it would be best to hold our annual Easter egg hunt at my parents' house. That's right across the street from Mr. Ex's house where I now live. And in a way, it's more like neutral territory. Not J-Fed's house. Not my house. Not Mr. Ex's house, although you could have pissed on his lawn from my parent's mailbox... if you had really good aim.