I've said it before: I don't have kids, I have pets. And as I disassemble my marriage and the life I built, I'm holding on tightly to my dogs and cats (having already let go of my birds and fish). This is turning out to be more challenging than I expected.

As you might remember, I've planned to give up my house and move out of South Florida. But I might've known there would be a problem with the wonderfully affordable house in a big fenced yard I arranged to rent in a new part of the country.

The problem is the neighborhood. I joked with my mother that I might have to skip this year's family Thanksgiving at my brother's house to man a machine gun in defense of my rented home, but it may not have been all that much of an exaggeration.

Then there was the old farmhouse on five acres, taken before I even had a chance to respond to the listing. It needed TLC, said the ad, which also included what I'm coming to understand was a great anomaly: the phrase "all pets welcome."

It was my soon-to-be-ex Ed who taught me that there's almost always room, at least temporarily, for one more animal in trouble. That's all well and good when you're in your own home with terrazzo floors. But the landlords of the shiny hardwoods I so admire are somehow not crazy about my having so many critters.

Ed introduced four of my remaining six pets into the household. My mother suggested loading the cats into a carrier and leaving them at his office. (She's obviously not a cat person.)

I reminded her that the animals stayed with me when I put Ed out because Ed is a drunk. I never wanted three cats, but I allowed them to join the pack and now I am responsible for them. I have also, um, grown accustomed to their little kitty faces.

There are a gazillion stories in New York, but for some reason mine have a tendency to intersect and overlap. Shortly before I married Ex, the man I had originally moved across country to marry (which is another story in itself) called to congratulate me. And to share some good news. "I'm not sure how you'll take it," he warned.

"If it's good news, I'll take it just fine," I replied.

"Well, I just got a great new job — everything I wanted, more money, good accounts."

And the down side would be...?

"My office is next to Ex's. We'll be working together."

Great. Welcome to The Story of My Life.

Which brings me to my current conundrum. While I didn't need to vet my dates with Ex, he and S had known each other most of their lives, even played in a band together for heaven's sakes. How exactly to broach the subject that we were now dating?

The little devil perched on one shoulder couldn't wait to spread the news. Just weeks before S and I became an official item, I received a disturbing phone call from my church.

Seems Ex and his Next wanted my pastor to officiate their upcoming nuptials...even though neither of them were members of my — or any — church. What's more, they decided the best place to hold the ceremony would be the lovely little chapel down the street from my house, where my daughters annually sang Christmas carols, a place that had meaning for me, my daughters, the family we once were.

"Rise above," my friends told me. "You don't want to spoil his wedding; wait until after to drop the bomb." Okay, okay. I conceded to the little angel on my other shoulder.

Well, at least my intentions were good.

The night of the wedding rehearsal, S and I went out to dinner to avoid any awkward confrontation with Ex picking up and dropping off the girls at my house. I told them to give me a heads up when they were leaving.

I have a court date scheduled with Levi for October 23rd. He still hasn't paid a dime of child support and I, sick of draining my bank account down to pennies every day, am sick of putting up with his bullshit.

I am exhausted. This whole ordeal is so freaking exhausting. I never realized how worn out your emotions can make you. Getting a divorce is like running a million marathons.

I tried everything. I tried to go it alone. I've tried to pay for everything by myself. I've tried having four or five jobs at one time  I've tried to reason with him. I've tried to negotiate with him — always reiterating, "I'm not asking for a whole lot, I'm not asking to get rich, I just need some help." 

Every single time I've tried, I've either been met with lies, empty promises, or absolute hostility.

It's weird though, I'm not even angry anymore. I'm just...tired. I want peace in my life. I want happiness. I want my son to have a peaceful, happy, wonderful life. I need to be able to provide that for him.

I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong. Why is it so impossible for me to communicate this effectively to Levi — effectively enough so that he'll listen? Effectively enough so that he'll step up and do SOMETHING.

This doesn't feel right, either. It doesn't feel right to drag the man — a man that I once loved so much — into court and call him a deadbeat.

I realize now why I've been avoiding this moment for so long — filing papers, and then retracting them — it's painful. This hurts. This back and forth bickering. This sitting back and watching Levi not only abandon but totally neglect our son. This really hurts. I only wish there was another way. 

I met my ex's sister, Erica, for the second time today. We had originally planned to meet yesterday and have a picnic in the park, but that didn't work out.

So, as I had already decided to take Adrian fall shopping today (it's getting cold quick, and I just realized he doesn't have any pants that fit him!), she asked if she could come along and perhaps buy him some clothes.

I agreed, but warned her that shopping on a weekend, in Manhattan, with a two year old can make someone nuts — but she still wanted to come.

The last time we met, we barely talked about Levi and I was hoping not to talk too much about him today. On the way to meet her, I reminded myself, several times, to keep my snide comments to myself. I'm really good at making them, but I know it's not her fault her brother is an asshole, so I try to keep it in check.

Well, about halfway into shopping she announces to me that she is adopting a baby. I was pretty surprised by this as the last time we talked she told me that she would never consider adoption.

She went on to tell me that the process was going to take awhile, because she wants a newborn and some other specific requirements.

Before I even had a second to think the words "Or, you could just wait until your brother has another one he doesn't want" popped out of my mouth and right at her.

She didn't say anything...right away. About five minutes later she said, "You know, I told Levi that he should get a vasectomy." I nodded and said, "He should want to." Then she said, "Yeah, I told him that he should freeze some sperm before he gets it, in case he wants to have another baby."

That's when I said, "Or he can just take care of the children that he has."

If I could go back in time and tell myself to not get married in the first place, would I? Heck no. My kids are amazing and even if this marriage ends in a gigantic mess of hurt feelings and resentment at least I know that I'm halfway responsible for bringing two astounding individuals into this world as a result of the marital union.

When I look at my kids I know that everything was worth it. I think about how my husband made me feel about as big as a gnat, but then I see my son giggle and I know it was worth it.

I think about how my husband prefers silent treatment and guilt trips over rational conversation, but then my daughter dances through the house and I know that it was worth it.

I think about how my husband doesn't follow through on his obligations and how he resents me wanting him to push hard to succeed, but then my kids give me a big hug and I know that it was worth it.

It's when I start thinking about leaving that these same things keep me here. My husband twirls my daughter around or he sends my son into a fit of laughter from making funny faces and I feel guilty about ever tearing this all apart. I love my kids more than I have ever loved anything before — including myself — and the idea of shaking their world up bothers me to no end. 

How much less would my kids see their dad if the marriage ended? Would he take off like his father did? Would the seemingly unshakeable bond they all have together now be reduced to occasional visits and greeting cards on birthdays?

Or would my husband fight to take the kids away from me?

I hate that things have to be this way. I hate that I'm not part of a family that is altogether happy and content. I hate that my beautiful children will probably be the ones most hurt by a divorce. The mere thought of ever hurting them makes me want to scream, or throw up, or curl into the fetal position and cry.

I don't know what to do. 

Who? Who? You are wondering. Good headline eh?

First the backstory. On Sunday my late brother Stephen's beautiful wife remarried.

His 11 year old daughter was a flower girl and his two boys ages 11 and 10 walked their mom down the aisle and gave her away.

Waiting at the altar was her lovely new husband. His 16 year old daughter and his 14 year old son from a previous marriage were also in the ceremony.

Suffice to say it was a bittersweet day for my family.

Tears of sadness flowed as freely as the notes from the saxophone playing in church, as we watched his family move on without him.

Tears of joy flowed too, for this wonderful new opportunity and for this blended family that found each other to move forward with.

The party was classy and full of love and my sister-in-law and her new hubby left for a two-day mini honeymoon in NYC.

I volunteered to sleep over and handle things on day two.

The kids live in my old house. My brother had bought it from my mom.

It's decorated different but its the same house.

I took the kids out to dinner, struggled through homework and finally needed to lay down.

It didn't matter where, but the kids wanted me to sleep in my sister-in-law's room.

I cannot tell you how it felt laying there. It had been years.

It was my parents room at one time and visions of my late father laying on the bed watching football came rushing back. Gone.

Then I imagined my brother lying where he used to in this very same room. Gone.

Now his kids jump in bed with me and want  to talk about their dad because I am one of the closest things left to him and they need to talk about him.

We do.

We also talk about this new wonderful man who loves my sister-in-law and them, and his kids who are now officially their step-brother and sister.

It has come to my attention that my ex, Levi — the man that's been crying broke for three years — now has his eight-year-old daughter living with him in Los Angeles.

Apparently, his first ex-wife will be moving to the West Coast in a few months (family reunion?) and she thought it best that her daughter starts the school year there.

When my friend (and former fling) Rex first told me about this, I was pissed. I mean, I was really in a rage.

How dare he take care of one child and totally disregard the other?! How dare he cry poverty whilst bringing his daughter on trips to Disneyland? And what about the rest of them? Do any of these people have a conscience?

I was so pissed off, I almost picked up the phone and let him have it.

It was then that I realized what I was doing. Getting myself all worked up over something that really, I saw coming a year ago. I'm not one bit surprised by this.

So what's my deal? Am I angry for Adrian or am I angry for me? I'm guess a little bit of both. But taking the time to realize, and not react, was a huge step for me and one that I am very proud of.

I calmed down, rationalized that this latest act of his doesn't affect our lives at all, it's just more of the same.

And furthermore, I think it's great that Levi is willing to support and love one of his children; it's the least that he can do, right?

Next month, it will be a year since Levi has seen our son. He came to New York last October for court and spent about an hour with us. Of his three-week visit. This year, Levi has been in New York twice — that I know of — and hasn't bothered to visit with Adrian once.

I used to partially believe him when he claimed it was the distance (I'm on the East Coast and Levi's on the West) that kept him from Adrian; or rather, I preferred to believe that. But now, it's obvious that it is Levi that is keeping Levi away from Adrian.

He has never bought him a toy, a T-shirt, a diaper. He has never called to ask how he is. Didn't come to see Adrian when he was in the hospital. He didn't send him so much as a birthday card last year, and I can't imagine that he'll send him one this year.

Everywhere I go, I am constantly reminded of fathers. The boy on his dad's shoulders, the little girl playing in the pool squealing "Daddy," the billboard that I see every day on my way to work that asks, "Have you been a father today?"

Lucky for us, my son has a lot of positive male role models in his life. Most importantly, my uncle has really stepped up and filled both the grandfather and father role with Adrian. Because of this, I am sure that Adrian will be OK, despite Levi's behavior.

However, what really concerns me is how absolutely normal this type of behavior is. This men-abandoning-their-children phenomenon. My story, Adrian's story, is shocking, yet, nobody is shocked by iy. There are a half a dozen stories just like mine, living on my street alone.

People say that relationships require compromise. Well, punch line and drum roll please. How's this for ironic: Being divorced requires compromise as well.

That was one of the most challenging adjustments I had to make.

Divorce means that everyone has to make some sort of sacrifice: There won't be enough money, room, or time. When there are children involved, it's hard not to go a little nuts every day.

There's a constant reminder of adjustments that don't seem to rack up points in your favor. In fact, everybody feels pissed.

The kids are back from Fire Island. I've meditated and therapized myself throughout the summer. I'm calm, at peace, and ready to cultivate an attitude of gratitude.

Can you hear the tinkle of ancient Tibetan bells?

Amazing how easy it is to feel calm on a retreat, or at a health spa, or in the simple act of meditation. But taking this thoughtful way of life back to the real world, when everyone's trying to get out the door for school, is another thing.

And when it gets to compromise, it's very hard to cultivate a sense of peace. Why can't we blame someone else, or feel sorry for ourselves?

But chasing thoughts in that direction is bound to lead to an attitude explosion that does more damage than good.

So, after every mountaintop experience, I prepare myself for the inevitable adjustment back into the real world. My goal is to breathe myself into a state of acceptance.

I am truly as happy as a clam in my kitchen, where the air is thick with smoke as I whip up my favorite recipes. Feeding the kids is one of my simplest and most direct acts of love.

Except what happens when one of the kids is a no-show? When the cell phone plan doesn't work, and a child chooses to bunk down at Dad's house?

Should moms just accept the fact that teens roam around, and be thankful when they turn up at the dinner table three nights a week?