Yours, Mine and Ours 

My ex and I never did the communal divvying up of the stuff as a conscious event. Instead, I remember packing up stuff of his and handing it off - “Here, you should get the cast iron enamel frying pan, since it came from your aunt. And here’s that great framed picture your dad gave us.”

Instead, we played hot potato with our possessions, in a ‘whoever has it last is stuck with it’ kind of way. Which explains how I inherited the basement full of computer carcasses, drawers full of no-longer-wearable t-shirts, and books neither one of us remembered buying - much less reading, when it came time to clear out the house post-sale.

I do my best to have that philosophy carry over to holiday gift giving - and hey! Since the kids get a metric buttload of Christmas gifts from my ex’s girlfriend and her extended family, well - doesn’t that mean those gifts should all stay at Dad’s house?

Uh, no. So the laser room alarms that created force fields and massive squabbling - well, they came back to my house. Along with the 1000-piece beading kit, the barrel of foam stickers, and the robot construction kit.

But it could be worse, I guess. The dog that I’m allergic to and the kids adore? Firmly, unquestionably his. The collection of 70’s rock CDs he’s so addicted to (and yours truly, far less so)? They’re gone, gone, gone.

Now - if I could just get him to haul that old easy chair that’s currently residing on the parking strip (in true white trash fashion) away from the house as well.

Oh, wait - he’s lending me his truck so I can haul it to the dump this weekend. Think I can get him to handle it instead as payback for the massive hauling out of computer carcasses back in the day?

Nope, me neither…