The Accidental Nun: The Back-Story to the Founding of the Weed-Nuns

By Christine Meeusen

The story of the accidental nun takes the reader on a journey with a business analyst and mother of three, passing through a financially and emotionally devastating divorce, and re-locating with her three children a few times before landing in California. As she walks through the dark tunnel of experience first-hand what it is like to be a 'throw-away' person in America, the idea of a Sisterhood forms. The author takes her outrage at the system, her sadness over the unmendable status of relations with her children's father, her disappointment with her own birth family, and uses the pain and anger of all that to fuel the re-birth of a Beguine movement and a new-age Sisterhood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543990867

Book preview

EPILOGUE

PRELUDE 1988

Gary was pushing the cart down the aisle of the Kroger on Memorial Drive in the Atlanta suburb of Stone Mountain, Georgia, and I was walking by his side, speaking softly. I read that brochure about the condo in the mountains we’re going to this weekend, I said. It says that in order to participate in this, you have to be married. Gary nodded, and reached for a couple of cans of soup.

So?

So, we’re not married! I exclaimed, in a loud whisper.

You want to get married before we go? he asked quickly.

I hit him on the arm and said, Be serious. Then I spotted the cookie aisle. Gary followed. I pulled a bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies off the shelf and set it in the shopping cart. Gary took them out, studied the packaging and said, You know, you only get five cookies in here, and you pay one dollar and sixty-nine cents. That’s more than thirty cents a cookie. If you get these, he said as he reached for a big package of vanilla sandwich cookies, These are the same price, see? One dollar sixty-nine, but you get, what, like fifty cookies.

Gary, I’m glad you’re so good at math. But the thing is, I don’t want those vanilla sandwich cookies, I want these, and plucked the bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies out of his hand before continuing. Someday, when I’m barefoot and pregnant and we have six kids running around and are dirt poor, then I’ll buy those. But right now, I am going to eat the good cookies. I set the bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies back into the cart.

So, I said, following him, what do we have to do there? I mean, what if they figure out that we’re not married?

Christine, it will be fine. The marketing department makes a profile of people who are most likely to buy a cabin or a time-share in the mountains, and those people are generally married, over thirty-five, and so forth. Then they say, ‘Come stay with us free’ and while you are there, you get a two-hour sales pitch. Whatever mailing list I’m on sent the invitation to ‘Mister and Missus,’ so you are ‘Missus’ this weekend.

Gary went on to inspect the meat. I said, I don’t want to be a Missus. That’s the last role I would pick. Gary looked at me with amusement and said, What do you want to be, then?

I don’t know yet. I answered honestly. By the time we’d finished our grocery shopping and were in his truck, I had hatched an idea. We should do a fantasy. We’ve never done that.

What are you talking about? Gary asked. On the drive home, I gave him some racy examples of games people play.

If Gary was surprised, fascinated, or appalled, he showed none of it. He listened attentively, and when I was done, said, So, you want me to take you to a strange town, dress you like a prostitute, drop you off in the red-light district, and then pick you up as if I am a client?

No! I responded quickly, that was just one idea!

Neither said another word about the matter until we were in bed. Gary was relaxing and watching the news. I had switched jobs soon after I and Gary began dating and was swamped with my newest venture, heading a product development group for an international transaction processing company. Tonight, like every night, I was reading through a stack of papers I had strewn around the bed, making notes and comments on specifications.

Suddenly I looked up from my papers and said to Gary, A hitch-hiker! Gary rolled over and tried to pull me to him, crushing and upsetting my papers. I complained and started to clean them up, but he rolled right over everything again and put me flat on my back, looking straight into my eyes. You shouldn’t bring your work into bed. What did you say about hitchhikers?"

Hitch-hiker, singular, I corrected. I missed the hitch-hiking era completely. By the time I was eighteen, there were so many dead hitchhikers in this country that I never considered getting in a car with a stranger. It’s something I always wanted to do. So, I think, Saturday morning, when we are leaving for the mountains, I should be hitchhiking, and you should pick me up.

Gary kissed me and said, If you want to start your trip to the mountains with a walk, that’s fine with me.

I smiled. No, you don’t get it, when you pick me up, I’m going to be someone else. And you can be whoever you wish to be, too.

Who will you be? he asked.

I haven’t decided. I replied.

When I called my sister the following Tuesday evening, I couldn’t decide if I was more in love with Gary because he would see any film I wanted to see, even if it was subtitled, or because he could and would play. I was so tickled by Gary’s playfulness, and so surprised, that my sister got all the details.

First, Shari, you should know that your big sister is an idiot. Shari laughed. Really, I continued, "I saw Gary pulling out of the gas station parking lot about two blocks from where I was walking. And it was a busy road. I picked it out on purpose. And so, when I knew Gary was about to pull out, I stuck out my thumb. Immediately, this man in a blue sedan pulled over.

Just like that! He even kind of screeched his brakes. He reached over the passenger seat, rolled down the window, and I’m horrified. But then, just like I was talking to the Maître d’ at the Ritz Carlton, I said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I’m waiting for someone.’ And the guy gave me this disgusted snort and drove away. Shari was laughing out loud.

Then Gary pulled up, thank God. And that’s when it really got interesting. I hadn’t given a lot of thought to who I was going to be this weekend. In fact, I came dangerously close to having to call off our weekend because of work. I explained the call I got that morning from Julie, one of her Product Managers. I told Julie, No problem, go back to bed, I’ll go in and handle it. But when I hung up, Gary was standing behind me.

Call her back and tell her you aren’t canceling your weekend plans he said, and it was then that I and Gary had our first argument.

Later, when I climbed into his pick-up truck, I was shaken from two things: the argument with Gary that had happened less than a half hour before, and the fact that a stranger almost picked me up. I decided as I buckled my seat belt that I was going to be a person without a history.

Someone young, someone stupid, and someone with a totally warped perspective on life. Well, not that the last would be so different. I expected nothing creative from Gary – especially since I knew he must still be miffed that I almost cancelled our weekend.

My name is Sally.

My name is Hank. Pleased to meet you, Sally, and he took a hand-off of the wheel to shake my hand (Sally’s hand).

Where you headed? He asked, turning his eyes back to the road. I don’t care, anywhere, nowhere. I shrugged.

How old are you? Hank asked, scrutinizing me.

Nineteen, said Sally. Then I put my eyes down and said, Seventeen, actually, but I have an ID that says I’m nineteen. I wondered if Gary would pull over and tell me to get out because I was jailbait.

I’m heading to just north of Chattanooga, and if you like, I’ll take you as far as I’m going, he offered.

That would be …, I hesitated for effect and then added, groovy! grinning at my own ridiculous vocabulary. I want to get as far away from here as I can.

Who or what are you running from?

Sally answered his direct question by explaining that she was running from everyone who was trying to own her, her parents, her boyfriend, her older brother. She said, Mom has her valium, her martinis, and her boyfriends. Dad has his business, his business, and his mistresses – in that order, and Thomas, my brother, has law school. I’m just an embarrassment. I want to get away.

We were both quiet. Then Sally said, Where’s your wife? and Hank looked at her in surprise.

How did you know I was married?

I can tell, replied Sally. All the nice ones are.

My wife, said Hank, in her infinite wisdom, decided to work this weekend instead of joining me on a get-away to a beautiful cabin in the mountains. She loves her work, you see. Who wouldn’t? She gets to spend the weekend in the company of three, or four, or eight men who adore her, so why would she want to be with just one? Besides, she feels she is personally responsible for the success of that ten million dollar-a-year enterprise and will never let anything go wrong.

I was delighted that Gary would take their real-life argument from this morning and build that anger into this fantasy. This was so creative! I absolutely loved it, and him. For a moment, I could neither breathe nor speak.

Gary grinned at me and continued. Which do you think it is? he asked her. Do you think my wife is compelled to work all the time because (a) She needs all that attention from the men she works with, (b) she really wants to be a corporate megastar, or, (c) maybe she doesn’t really love me? Hank took his eyes off the road long enough to give a searching look to Sally. Sally smiled and said, D, none of the above.

What, then?’ he pursued, seriously. I offered, E, you married a fool, and with that Sally sidled up to Hank and he took his right arm off the wheel to put it around her. I looked straight ahead and thought, Here I am having an affair with a strange man, but he’s not strange, he’s my Gary."

By the time we arrived at the cabin, we were firmly entrenched in our new personalities and extremely disappointed to learn that we were a half hour too early for check-in. No amount of persuasion with the desk clerk could get the cabin ready earlier either. When the screen door to the reception center banged behind Hank, he grabbed Sally, pulled her to the side of the building and pushed her up against it. He kissed her, long and hard, with his whole body pressed against hers. When he withdrew, he said, I don’t want to wait a half hour. There’s a forest right over there and I suggest… And though Sally maybe would have, some of Christine re-emerged. I pushed softly against his chest and said, If it’s all the same to you, I’ll forego the pine needles in my bottom. Let’s just go have a beer and wait the half hour?

Back in the truck, Hank said, Come here, and Sally moved right over. He swung the truck into the driveway of a restaurant and bar. It seemed populated, a good sign, according to Hank. He ordered two beers and we sat and drank in silence. During the short drive over, Hank had put his arm around Sally, ran his hands along until he found her breast, and pinched her nipple. I pretended to ignore it at the time but was still tingling as I sipped the beer.

Sitting next to each other on bar stools, drinking their beers, thighs slightly touching each other, neither spoke. I thought, I bet all these people think we’ve been married forever and have nothing to say to each other.

Less than twenty minutes later, Sally had barely tossed her backpack onto the bed, when Hank pushed her down next to it. We stayed in the bedroom and played until seven-thirty that evening, when Hank could hear my stomach growling. We remained in character throughout dinner, more sex, and then breakfast. For twenty-four hours, we were not Gary and Christine, but ‘Hank’ and ‘Sally", and I felt like it was the most fun I had since I was a child. If I was not already deeply in love with Gary, this weekend pushed me over the edge.

In the truck on the way back home, Gary said, You make a much better hitchhiker than a wife. I grinned and cuddled up closer to him. I’m so sorry about that part.

Don’t be. It was fun. Gary slid his arm around me.

It was three questions, wasn’t it? And we failed all three, I said wistfully.

It wasn’t pass/fail, said Gary, Except when it comes to the wife letting her husband talk, then you failed.

I began to review, in detail. Question number one was, ‘how many vacations you take in a year?’ I said ‘three’ and you said ’two.’ Then when he didn’t know what to do, you barked ‘TWO’ and that’s what he wrote. Question number two was, ‘how many weeks of vacation you take in a year?’ I said ‘five’ and you said ‘three’ but that time he just wrote ‘three’. And the final question was, ‘which do you prefer? -- the mountains or the ocean?’ I believe I said ‘ocean’ while you said ’mountains,’ but now I don’t remember. Maybe we answered them wrong in reverse. That poor guy, he thought he had the couple from hell.

You know, I, I found it totally unbelievable that you were still answering when you were getting them all wrong. Gary said teasingly.

How do you know you weren’t getting them wrong? I asked, with a cocky smile.

I was the husband; I was invited, and it was my life they were interrogating. I squirmed around and kissed him on the cheek saying, And you were a very convincing husband, especially when you told me to please shut up so that we could proceed with the interview. That poor man thought you were really angry with me.

How do you know I wasn’t? asked Gary.

Oh, puh-lease, I answered.

PART I – KENTUCKY

Chapter 1 – Boxes

THE BOXES. I SAT ON THE FLOOR NEXT TO THEM AND rolled a joint. Took two hits for courage, and I opened the nearest one.

Marijuana paraphernalia - stuff I’d been missing for months. A plastic joint-maker that I bought in Amsterdam. A picture of me smoking weed with friends. A package of rolling papers. Gary had hidden it here, probably, to prove I was an unfit mother for our children. I took it all out and stored it in my medicine box.

Suddenly, I remembered a trip we took to England, later in our stay in Europe, when the marriage was already disintegrating and we were living in separate bedrooms. We were taking our car across the Chunnel to England, in search of Canterbury and the Sherwood Forest. I worked up until the moment we left and even had some work to attend to while we were on vacation (a very un-European thing to do - working on vacation). I had asked Gary to clean out the ashtray, because there might be roaches therein, and I thought he had taken care of it.

When we were about to pass security to get on the barge, I flipped open the ashtray and saw that it was never emptied. There was cigarette butts and some roaches.

I had a moment of panic but didn’t want to upset the children. I said in a calm whisper, I thought you were going to clean this out?

Out of nowhere, it seemed to me, I got an ear-full of contempt. Well, if you get arrested, it’s your problem.

I was confused. Why would he do that? Why would he say that? If I get arrested, your trip will be ruined and your children will be motherless, I replied in surprise.

No court would want to give kids to a pot smoking mother, anyway, he hissed. That set the blood in my veins to boiling.

I took a few deep breaths before I responded. The anger made each word came out in sharp punctuation. "If you ever try to take my children from me, you will lose. You will lose, and I will take the children far, far away from you," my voice was a harsh, steel, whisper, as there were listening children’s ears in the back seat.

He didn’t answer. There were no dogs at the entrance to the port in France where we were pulling into the cargo carrier that would bring our car across the channel, below the water in a deep, dark, tunnel. The security guards looked at us, looked at the three kids in the back seat, and waved us on board. As I recall the rest of that trip, I was damn grateful for those roaches in the ashtray.

I lit a roach from the nearby ashtray on the floor and forced my thoughts away from England, over the ocean, and into the bedroom in Kentucky where I sat with my boxes.

There were a million pieces of paper in those two boxes, I was certain. Very few file folders, very few statements, but lots of receipts, clues, hand-written notes. I knew I would have to catalog the contents and start a spreadsheet to dump the data into. I felt sorry for women going through divorces who had no skills for this kind of thing. I had spent years and years in business, working on hard, ugly, difficult projects, and many of them required analysis of big boxes of data. I wasn’t scared of the project. I knew how to start and I had a vision of what I would be handing my attorney when the task was done.

I organized by paper size, to begin with. Pulled out the folders. Stacked the receipts. Examined the pieces casually, as I sorted.

Christmas Letter 1998

Dear Friends and Family,

We moved to Holland! Gary and I got a contract, starting December 1st, to work in Amsterdam for a year. The family made the decision to go on the 6th of November and we were gone by the 29th. In between that time, Gary and I made a trip over to find a house. It really happened that quickly.

We stayed for three weeks at the Hotel Sofitel in the heart of Amsterdam, on a main street called Nieuwezijds Voorburgwal, very close to Dam Square. The weather is cold like Chicago this time of year but the people don’t let it deter them. Neither do our children, it seems. The other day, as we all stood on a ridge of land with canals behind us and the North Sea in front of us - all muffled up and mittened and double-layered, shivering from the winds - Alex looked up at me and asked in earnest, Can we go for a swim? Bless his little heart.

The houses here are all tilted and quirky, like something out of a children’s fairytale. We found us a lovely space in a quiet neighborhood in Amstelveen, just south of Amsterdam. The house was built in the 1930’s and is a traditional row house, with common walls on either side. It is narrow and small, with rooms stacked on three floors above. It has all modern conveniences and has been remodeled to make it feel spacious, even though it is compact.

This year, the last of our bottles, diapers, bibs and potty chairs dissipated from our lives. Now begins the ‘chauffeur and homework’ years. The boys started T-ball (stateside), and soccer and swimming.

Special thanks to Gary’s family for helping us blast out of the U.S. in such a hurry, who continue to support us from abroad, and to Mother Meeusen for making the trip with us to help us get settled. And to all of those in our soul circle, we wish you a merry Christmas and a very special new year to come.

Love,

Christine, Gary and the three little Meeusen-Kemphaus kinderen

Chapter 2 – Accidental Death Insurance

MY HEART MUST HAVE KNOWN BEFORE MY BRAIN knew, because it started pounding out of my chest before I had even touched the paper. Yellowed and rumpled, it stared back at me from the top of the pile. With the sound of my own heart-beat pounding in my ears, I stood up and walked out the room and down-stairs. I had my ashtray, package of cigarettes and lighter firm in hand.

The floor creaked under my feet – the new house was all hardwood floors, high ceilings and massive windows that looked over six other brand-new houses on a hill that had, only two years earlier, served as a home to native Kentucky horses. It had always been wild land for the horses, before the subdivision was built.

It was cold out, but there was a promise of warmth and sunshine in the air. Flinging the door open I went to the wooden patio table and sat on one of the benches. As the cool Kentucky breeze hit my face I found her number in the contact list and pushed ‘call’. Soon, Laurie’s voice was at the other end of the line, and only as I spoke to her, only as the words and thoughts formed, did I slowly begin to comprehend what I had just discovered.

You’re not going to believe this, I said. I started examining the contents of the boxes this morning. And I just found two accidental death insurance policies -- each for one million dollars, taken out in my name. By Gary. One dated just before we went to Portugal in March of 2001. The other just before we went to England to visit the Cliffs of Dover in July of 2003.

I paused to let the information sink in, but Laurie isn’t a slow thinker. Oh - My – God, she said.

I wonder if there’s more. I said. This is just the beginning. This is just the first pieces of paper I could make heads or tails of … I took a deep breath, and asked, Am I in a nightmare, or what?

Do you think he was planning something? The shock in Laurie’s voice calmed me a little.

I guess I should count my blessings that I never went near a precipice without having a kid by my side or in my arms.

Why on earth would he save the evidence?

I don’t know. But I just started and I bet I will either find more of these, or, even if I don’t … I wonder if he took out accidental death insurance on me anywhere we went with cliffs and steep ledges. Holy Shit! Our very last vacation was Greece, and … I paused, still in shock. This explains so much. I thought, and actually whispered out loud.

Laurie started giggling. It annoyed me. What’s so damn funny?

Who would have thought he had it in him? She asked. Mild-mannered, southern gentleman with his frayed t-shirts -- Gary. Plotting the murder of his own wife.

Yeah, what a fine way for a woman to learn her husband has grown a pair. What happened in Greece?

Oh, it’s too painful. Oh Laurie, I can’t talk about it.

Laurie, once her interest is peaked in a subject, bites on like a hound-dog and doesn’t let go. This was one of those times.

Get yourself a glass of wine, you need to calm your nerves. It’s 10:45 in the morning! I can’t drink in the morning!

Yes, you can. You don’t pick the kids up until 3. You should have a glass of wine, smoke that medicine you like, and take a nap before they come home. You have time.

I was already heading to the liquor cabinet. Laurie didn’t really drink, except a glass of wine now and then. Nor did she smoke anything; they were jocks, the whole family. But her telling me to medicate made me feel comforted; knowing that my friend realized the importance of what I just found.

Tell me about Greece, she prodded.

Christmas Letter 1999

The family happily announced ‘wij blijven’, which translates to ‘we are staying’! Our contract ended on November 30th, but we have picked up two others since and intend to continue consulting. So now, instead of flying in and out of Chicago, Dallas, and Atlanta, we are seeing the insides of airports at Frankfurt, Copenhagen, Stockholm and London. As airports go, they are all alike, except you don’t have to do currency conversions every time you land in a US airport. Alas, that too will go away soon, as the continent turns to Euro.

On November 30th, we celebrated our one-year anniversary in the Netherlands. Our first impression of Holland and the Dutch turned out to be the most compelling reason for us to remain in Europe for another year. That is – Holland is a very kid-friendly country.

Children are welcome in all restaurants and fussed over like they are the long lost relative of the Queen. From travel agencies to restaurants and offices and yogurt parlors, there is generally a play corner on the facility - and absent that, there is an attitude of people that welcomes the little ones, with runny noses, muddy feet and all. The schools bend over backward to ensure the emotional well-being of children. In this case, St.Josef’s has taken it upon themselves to provide an English-speaking Dutch tutor for Walter and Alex. The boys have two or three private lessons per week, giving them much-needed assistance in speaking this strange, new language.

We are impressed with the ability of the Dutch to recognize what is important and what is not. Sometimes, you see young children come to school in their pajamas. Or with paint on the face. Or with a costume on. And the other parents and teachers simply overlook it.

Everyone knows that on this particular morning, that particular parent lost the battle of the dressing and with a shrug, they move on to more important things, like ‘education’. Did you know each class starts tending a plot of land at 9 years old, and they learn to plant and sow as well as read and write.

Polder Perfect for Biking

Holland has bike paths border to border and along endless miles of canal. By mid-March, we acquired a family pack of bikes: one for Mom, one for Dad, one each for the boy (with training wheels, their first two-wheelers!), and a bike-seat for Meg that attached to both our bikes.

Soccer (nee; voetbal!)

The boys started soccer in the Fall and the facilities are impressive! The fields at St. Martinus are so prim and pristine, that during the first practice, Gary couldn’t get Alex to pay attention to the game, as he was obsessing over the feel of the grass. There is also an elevated clubhouse from which the parents can view all three playing fields from the comfort of a tavern with multiple fireplaces. However, we learned early on that good Dutch parents hang out at the edge of the field, in the rain and share the misery with their kids, but it’s just the idea that the clubhouse is there, you know?

The Nanny Search and Learning the Language

After reality set in and we realized we weren’t going to find a suitable Dutch nanny, we settled for ‘suitable’ and waved the criteria for speaking Dutch fluently (there were literally no Dutch girls applying, and the two we did manage to get in for an interview said they don’t do housework). The two nannies we did find, spoke broken English and broken Dutch. Lydia, from the Philippines and Alicia, from Poland. For those first nine months, our home was filled with broken English. It took us a full year to begin to communicate at a very basic level - toilet, ausjublieft (please)?

Our mission for year 2000 is to be able to read the newspapers and understand the talk show hosts. Only then, we believe, can we really appreciate this country - and our heritage! God bless all of you this holiday season and keep you safe and happy through the year.

Chapter 3 – Remembering Greece

I HAD MY WINE, I HAD MY CIGARETTES, I HAD THE sunshine on my face in the cool Kentucky morning. And I was still processing the fact that there was a distinct possibility that my husband had plotted murder against me.

Greece was our last vacation in Europe, I began. Gosh, that was only fifteen months ago and it seems like years already. The place we stayed in was a dump. One kitchen with three cots for the children, and one bedroom with two beds that were only slightly sturdier than cots …"

How long were you there for? Laurie interrupted.

Oh, I don’t know. I guess it was seven days on Poros, and then three or four days in Athens before we came back to Amsterdam.

Go on, she prodded.

The kitchen looked like it was installed in 1920 and never maintained or repaired since. Screws were loose, so that cupboard doors fell off when opened. Seriously - when Gary grabbed one of the handles to open the cupboard it literally fell off its hinges, and he was standing with the whole thing loose in his hand. Laurie giggled, and had it been any other time, I would also have.

The toilet leaked and the bathroom floor was always wet. I continued. The shower head didn’t stay in its holder, so the person showering was obligated to hold the sprayer with one hand, and wash with the other. Laurie laughed again. I could sense her enjoyment of the picture. She traveled a lot with her children and understood the obstacles. She did not, however, have a husband-child to contend with, and I guess that’s the part that fascinated her.

It was a dump. Gary complained about it from the minute we landed at the port in Athens. When the tour guide that met us was holding a sign that said ‘Meeusen Family’ … Laurie said Oh, no!", understanding immediately that to avoid this aggravation I should have put the reservations in the family name, in his name, ‘Kemphaus’. Since I never adopted his name, officially, when I made the reservations, they used my name.

It would be nice if women weren’t treated like criminals for sometimes forgetting to use the man’s name.

He fumed about that all the way to the island of Poros, I admitted.

When we got to our dilapidated lodgings, Gary started cursing about the money spent and how we had been ‘taken’. For those first few days, I did what I could to be the sunshine opposite of dour Gary. But by the third day, the day we were exploring Hydra, I had had enough. I couldn’t swallow his shit anymore, so I just blew up. Right there, in front of about eighty tourists." Laurie was quiet at the other end; it seemed she was holding her breath to let me finish.

You see, we weren’t docked at port for more than a few minutes, when the children made a bee-line for the tourist shops. Naturally, they all wanted to buy something. I caught up to Gary and, smiling, said, ‘What would you like to do?’ But my smile was lost on Gary. He grimaced at me and said, I wanted to go walk around the island, exploring, but you already sent the kids shopping," while waving his arm in disgust at the children, then turning away from them, as if to indicate he had enough.

It was too much for me! I didn’t care that this was the original dating place of Jackie Kennedy and Aristotle Onassis; I didn’t care that the island was so subdued and protected that they had no motorized vehicles, only donkeys to carry people. I just didn’t care. My anger bubbled up and I just let it.

That’s it! I shouted and threw the backpack of children’s things at Gary’s feet, causing him to stop and turn and take notice. I am sick and tired of catching shit for everything the kids do! I did not send them shopping, you asshole! They just got off the boat, saw the shops and ran there! That’s what they always do! And I’m tired of being scolded because they order food and don’t eat it. I’m tired of hearing that each cola cost two dollars and fifty cents, so I should weigh the decision carefully before I order for the children. I’m tired of being blamed because they like to collect garbage! I’m tired of it all! In fact, I’m so tired …

I paused to look around and realized that we had, regrettably, attracted a lot of attention. But it was too late; I had to finish. I am done! I declared. "I am not going to be Mommy this afternoon. I want to be the girlfriend! I want to be a single woman with no children and I want you to have to deal with them and show me a good time. That’s what I want. I need a break. They’re your brats. You deal with them, dah-ling, I’m going shopping!’ And then I left him with the kids and explored the island and the shops on my own, catching up with them just before the boat was leaving." Laurie giggled on the other end of the line.

"That night, we had a whopper of a fight. And because the quarters were so close, the children heard it all.

This isn’t good enough for me anymore’, I told him. ‘I can’t live like this anymore, Gary. I used to think I couldn’t break up this family, but now I can’t see how I can keep living with someone who doesn’t love me. Oh, Laurie, I was so sad.

"He told me to go to sleep, that I was just tired. Then I hit him in the gut with a pillow, hard, and got on my feet because I was spitting mad. I said, ‘You fucker. You stupid, selfish fucker. Do you know who gets hurt if we break up our family? Do you know who suffers? Do you know which people in this family become the victims?’ I picked up the pillow and swung it again, but this time Gary grabbed it from me, pulling me off balance for an instant. I straightened up, determined to finish my sentence. I pointed dramatically to the door leading to the children and said, ‘Those three children out there -- that’s who! Those three that you say you love! But yet, you can’t even try to make this marriage work! You won’t even try! You - selfish - bastard!’ This time I took a swing with my fist - seriously, Laurie, I was going to punch him in the face!

Look what I’ve become."

Laurie helped out saying, You’re a warrioress, defending and protecting your children’s best interests … tell me the rest. Did you punch him?

"I tried. The room was very dark and when Gary moved to avoid my swing, my wrist made contact with the side of his head. I went to the bathroom, I had a golf ball sized lump on my wrist. While the cold water was running, I heard the children whispering.

I think Daddy hurt Mommy, said Meg.

No, I think Mommy got hurt trying to hurt Daddy, said Walter, always getting every detail right.

Are we the victims? asked Alex.

And I heard Walter say Of course.

I stopped telling the story to my Canadian confidant. My voice choked up as I spoke of the children. Laurie knew and just let there be silence for a moment, for the children. When I could speak again, I continued. "I let the cold water run on my wrist for a few more minutes, amazed at the huge welt that had sprouted there so quickly, just by the vein. I had to force my breathing to be normal, force myself to keep a grip, force myself to tell the children … to lie to the children.

‘Walter is right. I took a swing at Daddy, but it was dark, so I hurt myself.’ I said. I had a cold, wet, hand-towel around it so the kids couldn’t see the welt.

‘Are you Ok, Mommy?’ Meg asked.

‘Yes, honey. Mommy and Daddy just had a fight. Actually, two today. You guys missed a doozey on Hydra.’ ‘No, we didn’t,’ Walter said immediately. ‘We just decided to stay by the shops and pretend we didn’t know you.’" I paused. Swallowed another lump in my throat, pushed away another tear.

Oh, I’m so sorry. said Laurie, the empathy in her voice so genuine.

I continued. OK, so that’s what I remember about Greece. Until this morning, when I found these accidental death insurance policies. And then, I remembered something else.

What? asked Laurie, eagerly.

The rest of the story. The most important part. And here is where there is another lesson for women: If your husband suddenly does something really nice, like really out of character - BEWARE!

What did he do? Tell me?

"He woke me early the next