D-Day and 100 Divorce Perks. June 30, 2010

Today has been affectionately dubbed “D-Day” by my family and friends (or “Independence Day” by my friend Sarah).  One year ago today my divorce became final.  One year ago today I became a single parent (though admittedly, with a fairly actively involved co-parent).  One year ago today I became single.

The past year has been a roller coaster, and I’ve tried to handle it with as much strength and grace as I could.  It’s been painful, but it’s also been enlightening. I can’t say I’m glad it happened, because I loved my husband and was happy in my marriage.  I was devoted to making it work.  I can say, however, that today I am also happy in my divorce.  I am fine.  In fact, I think I am better than fine.  Most days, I feel I am exactly where I am supposed to be in this life.  I am happy with who and where I am, and I am grateful for the innumerable blessings that surround me.

To celebrate that, I’ve comprised a list of 100 Perks of My Divorce.  (I probably could also come up with 100 downsides to this whole scene, but I’m choosing not to roll that way.)  So here, in no particular order, are 100 reasons how and why my divorce has been a positive change in my life over the past year:

1.  Spur-of-the-moment weekend getaways.

2.  Acapulco, baby!

3.  An abundance of “me” time.

4.  Not having to answer to anyone.

5.  First kisses.

6.  Occasionally being completely responsibility- and obligation-free.

7.  Spiritual exploration and growth.

8.  Becoming a runner. (Here, too.)

9.  LONG bubble baths, guilt-free.

10.  Becoming a blogger.

11.  Always being able to watch what I want to watch on TV.

12.  Rediscovering the importance of my girlfriends and how much I truly enjoy their company.

13.  Finding in the blogosphere a community of brilliant and hilarious women out there writing about the aspects of life I find most interesting and reveling in the connections.

14.  Cancun, baby!

15.  Taking responsibility for my own happiness.

16.  Fabulous dinner parties with entire groups of new people (thanks, Charles–when’s the next one?).

17.  Becoming a Warrior.

18.  Going to more concerts (U2, Elvis Costello, KISS, Robert Earl Keen, The English Beat, Kelly Willis, Bon Jovi, Bruce Robison, etc.) in the past year than I went to during my entire marriage.

19.  Realizing the truth of “Pain is inevitable.  Suffering is optional.”

20.  Having time to read for pleasure.

21.  Discovering the depths of my strength.

22.  Getting to sleep in every other weekend.

23.  Meeting new people and making new friends.

24.  Realizing that I was exhausted in my marriage, and recognizing that I am no longer weary.

25.  Day-long dates.

26.  Returning to work in a way that still allows me to be a hands-on mom.

27.  Thursdays.

28.  Having more sister time.

29.  Never listening to snoring while I’m trying to sleep.

30.  Being able to go see first-run movies in the theater … without having to get a babysitter.

31.  Never having someone else drink the last cup of coffee in the pot.

32.  Having time to miss my kids so that I am always overjoyed to see them.

33.  Spending time with someone who hasn’t already heard all of my stories.

34.  Spending time with someone whose stories I haven’t already heard.

35.  Dating in the age of texting (SO much easier!).

36.  Losing weight (nothing like the Divorce Diet to lose those last 10 pounds, even if they came back eventually).

37.  Guilt-free flirting.

38.  Not having to run anyone’s errands but my own.

39.  Living without The Ex’s ever-present cynicism.

40.  Finding out who my true friends are, and moving on from the ones who aren’t.

41.  Girls’ nights.

42.  Girls’ weekends.

43.  Still having plenty of room in the bed and getting a good night’s sleep even when little ones crawl in with me.

44.  Eating family dinner early enough to get the kids bathed, calmed and bedded at a decent hour.

45.  Summer trips to Nova Scotia.

46.  Getting to keep all of “our” friends.

47.  Being able to eat salads every night for dinner if I want.

48.  Realizing that revenge is beneath me.

49.  Finding, and appreciating, balance.

50.  Always controlling the remote.

51.  Not having to pretend to be interested in watching sports.

52.  Along those lines, not having to feign support for the hoodlums also known as the FSU Seminoles.

53.  Doing laundry for 4, rather than 5.

54.  Smaller grocery bills.

55.  Not having to cook a full-on grown-up meal each night.

56. Going to bed as early, or staying up as late, as I want to.

57.  Not needing to justify my daily activities to anyone (when I was married and a SAHM, there was always the feeling that at day’s end, I needed to confirm that I’d been busy each day).

58.  Justifying having more regular child-care.

59.  Doubling my closet space.

60.  Finding the perfect excuse to clean out every closet and drawer and get rid of a lot of old memories.

61.  Not having to argue with anyone about how money gets spent.

62.  Never being aggravated because I’m doing chores and The Ex is sitting on his ass drinking a beer and reading a book.

63.  Knowing the Truth and no longer living a lie.

64.  Seeing The Ex’s true colors—better now than later.

65.  Being granted a “Do-Over” with my life at age 38.

66.  Realizing that being single isn’t something to fear.

67.  Rediscovering the joy and satisfaction of writing.

68.  Never reaching for leftovers in the fridge for dinner and realizing that someone else ate them for a midnight snack.

69.  Never having someone else drink the last Diet Coke.

70.  Not having anyone squeeze the toothpaste tube from the middle.

71.  Feeling the fabulous stomach butterflies when you discovery chemistry with a new someone.

72.  Knowing that I haven’t done anything to lose the respect of my children.

73.  Being able to be a shoulder to lean on for other friends going through divorces after mine.

74.  Being the one to provide the stable, unchanging home for my children.

75.  Eating sushi as often as I want (The Ex wasn’t a fan).

76.  Socializing somewhere other than my own living room sofa.

77.  Never leaving a party before I am ready to go.

78.  Learning that the lows never last, because everything changes.

79.  Ceasing to be embarrassed by saying, “I’m divorced.”

80.  Participating in a Fantasy Dating League.

81.  Facing things about myself that I need to improve or do differently in my next relationship.

82.  Realizing that all I really need in order to be content in life is for my children to be happy and healthy.

83.  Being able to realize and admit all the things I didn’t like about The Ex, and being happy not to have to deal with them anymore.

84.  Realizing that no way, no how, under any circumstances, no matter how hard I tried to justify it, would I ever be able to have an affair with a married man (it’s good to know your limits).

85.  Finding my babysitter Morgan, who is truly a loving and positive educational and moral influence on my children.

86.  Being able to enjoy indulgences—massages, pedicures, facials, etc.—without having to justify the time and expense to anyone but myself.

87.  Becoming a homeowner … BY MYSELF.

88.  Family vacations with my family, without worrying about whether The Ex is enjoying himself.

89.  Getting to hear, repeatedly, that The Ex is an idiot.

90.  Going to Austin for Willie Nelson’s 4th of July picnic and maybe/mostlikely/veryprobably scoring backstage passes to hang with The Man himself.

91.  Getting bangs (the requisite haircut necessitated by a bad breakup).

92.  Justifying new clothes shopping (married mommy wardrobe does NOT work for single mommy).

93.  Surviving, and occasionally thriving.

94.  Doing things, whether it be writing, exercising, traveling, exploring, etc. solely FOR ME.

95.  Never again having to spend time with certain in-laws.

96.  Being a recipient of parents’ generosity, and not having to share.

97.  When they are with me, getting to be the sole recipient of my children’s love and attention and desire for closeness.

98.  Realizing that I need other people, and being ok with that, and coming to terms with the fact that I cannot (and don’t really want to) do this life alone.

99.  Treating myself to a blingy Divorce Ring (more on that to come) and putting my former engagement ring to good use.

100.  ME, living life my way, on my terms, as fully as I possibly can, taking nothing for granted.

Without my divorce, I wouldn’t have had any of these things, and they’re all good things.  Important things.  Things of substance (well, mostly).  I am grateful for where I am now and for who surrounds me.  Life is good.  Different, for sure, but just as good as it was before.  It’s been a helluva journey from June 30th last year to June 30th this year and I’m looking forward to seeing what the coming year’s ride brings.

Putting a Face on Failure. June 29, 2010

I met The Girlfriend today.

Under the terms of our Decree, she hasn’t been allowed to be around the kids for this first year after our divorce.  The Ex has mostly adhered to that provision.  Also under the Decree, The Ex and I are obligated to offer up a meeting with any significant other who will be sharing overnights with the kids.  Tomorrow marks one year post-divorce and The Ex is now allowed to have the kids interact with The Girlfriend.  On that very first day of meeting … they will be leaving for a weeklong vacation together.  Go figure.  Avery has expressed concern about going from zero to sixty all at once with The Girlfriend, to which The Ex has apparently replied, “You can get used to her on the airplane.”  Grrr.

In any event, the meeting.  Starbucks, this morning.  The Ex insisted on being present.  Lots of awkward fun for everyone.

I was civil.  I told her that I would not tolerate her trying to come between me and my children, or between the children and their father.  I essentially told her that if she wants to see Crazy Ex-Wife come out to play for the first time, harming my children physically or emotionally is the quickest way to get there.  I told her that The Ex has tried very hard this past year to stay fully involved in the kids’ lives, and that I hoped she would try to facilitate that relationship and not hamper it.  I told her that although I realized it was outside my control, my preference would be that she not attend every ball game, swim meet, birthday party and school function unless the kids specifically invited her.  I asked her, out of curiosity, if she felt any regret for what she had done or if she was sorry (she doesn’t and she wasn’t, for those of you keeping score at home).  But that was it.

I didn’t yell.  I didn’t attack.  I didn’t criticize.  I didn’t aim to hurt.  I didn’t tell her I think she is a homewrecking whore.  I didn’t tell her she’s an idiot for thinking that a man who cheats on his pregnant wife won’t eventually cheat on her, too.  I just tried to calmly discuss my expectations of her role in my kids’ lives.

I don’t know if that makes me really strong or really weak.  It felt a little of both.  The Girlfriend and The Ex have seemingly gotten off scot-free for what they’ve done, and that bugs me.  There should be some retribution.  Some downside to lying and cheating and betraying and scarring the lives of children.  At a minimum, some shame.  There is none apparent.

I had never met her before, even though she’s been a thorn in my side for a long time.  I looked at her today and I tasted failure.  She is young and blond and pretty.  She is smug.  Two and a half years ago she saw something she wanted—my husband—and she took it.  She arrived at a weak time in our lives, when work was hard and money was tough, when I was pregnant and The Ex and I were sweating the addition of a new person to our family, when 40 was on the horizon and The Ex was getting restless.  She swooped in with her youth and a body unmarked by time or babies, with her adoration and her nonexistent expectations of him.  She provided the alternative for The Ex to a life that had begun weighing too heavily.  She gave him the opportunity to live a life of half-responsibility.  She wanted and she offered and she took and she won, even if the prize is no longer anything I want.

A small part of me doesn’t fault her.  She was young (still not yet 30) and she fell in love, so she justified her actions.  She is not a mother—she has never learned selflessness.  She has no concept of her needs and wants coming second behind a child’s.

But I am a mother.  For my children’s sake, I will not seek revenge and I will hope that they have a positive relationship with her.  I will hope that she brings additional love into their lives, because they deserve as much love as their little hearts can hold.  I will be happy if they like her, because the alternative would be so much worse for them.  I will keep my mouth shut as much as I am able.  I will let them live the lives they wrestled out of others’ hands and I will let the chips fall where they may.  I will.

I hope that makes me classy, but I can’t help feeling like it’s a little wussy, too.  Success or failure?  I can’t yet tell.

Beach, Bridges and Being One Year Out. June 27, 2010

The vacationing family returns….  We had a fantastic time at the beach.  A few tarballs, a couple of hours of oily water, one full day of rain.  Otherwise, a wonderful week of family and fun.

We’ve gone to Gulf Shores at least once a year for several years now.  Last year, shortly after the divorce was final, I took the kids there for a week and quickly realized my miscalculation.  Being there in our “family” place, where memories of past vacations shadowed every activity, didn’t make for the most relaxing or happiest of getaways.  We all tried really hard, but it was just a sad week.  The kids missed their dad and felt his absence; they wanted him there to do the things they had always done.  I missed him, too, and seeing vacationing families everywhere I turned was like rubbing salt in the wound.  My family looked different, and I wanted it to look the same.

What a difference a year makes!

This year, I was perfectly fine with the way my family looked.  The kids talked to their dad each night but never missed him or said they wished he were there with us.  They laughed and played and together we created new memories and new traditions.  No one was sad.  They, like I, have adjusted.  This is our new normal and our new normal is great.

As always, Amelia charmed the pants off of everyone.  She was her usual happy, easy-going self.  My parents, her siblings, my sister, our babysitter and me (her lucky, lucky mama) just fell more hopelessly in love with her every day.  This year, for the first time, she was fearless at the beach.  She dug in the sand and felt the pull of the tide and loved the ocean and the pool and the seashells.  We slapped a pair of floaties on that girl and she braved the waves with the best of ‘em.

Owen bonded with my dad in a way he hadn’t done before.  They had long, long talks on the balcony and down on the beach.  They interviewed each other and Owen asked Pop things like, “What was your favorite toy when you were 4?” “Who was your best friend in second grade?” “What was your favorite DVD when you were 5? … ok then, VHS? … You mean you only had movies in the movie theater?!”   At the end of each talk, Owen would tell my dad, “You know, we really should do this again sometime.”  Owen announced that since Pop was allergic to cheese, so was he.  They became buddies, and their new connection just filled me to bursting with happiness and gratitude.

Avery and Owen were little surfer kids, sans surfboards.  They rode and jumped waves for hours on end, following my safety instructions on undertow and shoreline position.

They swam impromptu in their clothes at sunset.  They went apeshit crazy (as per usual) at The Hangout and Lulu’s.

We buried each other in the sand.   We tried unsuccessfully to fly a crappy kite.  We played football on the beach.  We ate wayyyyyyy too much fried seafood.

On the (very very long and very very frustrating 11+ hour) drive home, as we crossed from Mississippi into Louisiana, I experienced an odd moment of clarity.  We were driving along I20 and as we crossed the fantastic Vicksburg Bridge, I felt overwhelmingly that everything was just right.

I love this bridge; I always have.  I love the fact that it spans the Mighty Mississippi of history and legend and literature.  I love that it’s a cantilever bridge and flies the American flag on top.  I love that the state line exists in limbo out there over the water in the center of the bridge, and that you cross from one place of terra firma to another while suspended over a river that flows, always.  I love that the New Vicksburg Bridge runs four lanes of inter- and intra-state traffic right next to the Old Vicksburg Bridge running a single still-functioning railroad lane.  I love that while their architecture looks so very much alike, their age and color stand in stark contrast to one another.  I love how the new coexists alongside the old, the past alongside the present … both good, both useful, both serving their purpose, both beautiful.

It made me think about the changes of the past year and of how the kids and I have progressed from sad to happy, from empty to full, from fractured to whole.  From old to new, just like the bridges … both valid ways of getting across the river, but different in appearance and means of travel.  Crossing that bridge made me feel peaceful and strong and forward-looking.  This week brings a lot of changes and a final set of anniversaries.  I’m ready.

Beach-Bound and Down. June 18, 2010

The kids and I leave at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow to head for the beach.  (Don’t anybody bother trying to rob me while I’m gone—4 dogs and a burly housesitter will be here protecting the homestead.)  We’re going to Gulf Shores, our regular beach destination, and hoping not to encounter an abundance of oil-slick when we get there.

Avery and I got beach-ready Wednesday with a girls’ afternoon … wacky pedicures and a haircut (side-bangs, all the rage!) for her.  Her cute digits:

My not-so-cute digits with cute palm trees:

I still have to pack everyone’s clothes, all the baby gear, toys and games and snacks for the car trip (damn you, overpriced airfare!!), DVDs a’plenty, transportable billable work for me, etc. etc., and then figure out how to wedge it and all of us in the car.  There will be very little sleep tonight.

Still, I am itching to get out of town.  I’m taking my fabulous sitter Morgan with us, and I’m determined to work out each day, take some long head-clearing walks on the beach, bill a few hours, enjoy my parents and my children, and just try to revel in a little change of scenery.  If I don’t post much over the next week, it’ll mean I’ve successfully turned off the outside world for awhile.  Y’all hang in.

Fantasy Sports for Girls … Let the Dating Season Begin! June 15, 2010

I have seriously weighed my damn self  (and probably all of you) down with the maudlin divorce stuff the past few days, so today, a lighter look.  Drum roll, please …….

I have signed on to participate in a Fantasy Sports for Girls League.  Translation:  it’s a Fantasy Dating League.  Kinda like Fantasy Football, but with dating men.

Um … HA!

Except it’s no joke.  It’s for real and I’ve signed up.  The draft is done and the season is well underway, although it’s not nearly as prostitutional (yuh-huh … I’m making it a word) as it sounds.  In fact, it’s pretty darn clever.  I won’t reveal who is participating or which friend brought me into the fold, because such reveals could: (A) potentially divulge confidences; and (B) unfairly ruin the players’ averages.

Here’s the deal:  Each girl in the league drafts her fantasy “team”—a list of five male names.  There can be no name duplicates across teams.  Every time another woman in the league has a date with someone whose name appears on my team, I get a point.  If I have a date with a man whose name appears on another girl’s team, she gets a point.  It’s not a dating contest, as no one is awarded points for the dates they themselves go on.  The league player with the most points at the end of the summer wins and gets a happy hour thrown in her honor (which will be an interesting turn of events if I win, since the majority of the league is out of state; but hey, I have free weekends and frequent flyer miles and I can’t think of a more worthy way to spend either).  A “date” consists of a league player and a male counterpart meeting and engaging in a fun activity of their choosing.  The simple “date” test … if it requires an outfit, it qualifies as a date.  Once a week, players submit to the league commissioner a list of their dates from the past seven days, along with an optional quote from the evening.  Dates and quotes are posted on a private blog and so far, have been hilarious.

I’m in it to win it.  So, if your name is Wes, Alex, Jack, Neil, or Noah, GO DATE MY FRIENDS!

Things Done Wrong. June 13, 2010

After what may have seemed to be a little tooting of my own horn in the last post (which wasn’t really the point of the exercise, but whatever), it’s now confession time.  I’ve done some things right, but I’ve also done plenty of things wrong in this divorce game … things of which I am not proud.

On occasion, I have been petty and nasty, said truly vicious things to The Ex in really lame and misguided attempts to hurt him 1/1000th of the amount he’s hurt me, and done my level best to remind him that this destruction we navigate over and around every day was ALL HIS FAULT.  I’ve done these things because I fucking hate his guts (sorry for the F-bomb, Mom).  Such is life.  I, like everyone else, have good days and bad days and because these days my bad days are The Ex’s doing, I think it’s only fair that he gets some of the blowback.

What’s not fair?  What I really wish I could call a Do-Over on?  Those things I’ve done wrong in front of my children.  NONE of this is their fault, and although I feel I do a pretty decent job of keeping that viewpoint at the forefront, I fail sometimes.  I’m not particularly fond of failure, but I am fond of ‘fessing up and trying to learn from my mistakes.  So here, in no particular order, are the ways I’ve handled the divorce poorly.  I could explain the surrounding circumstances or try to justify my actions, but I won’t.  I just should have tried harder.

Things Done Wrong.

• After The Ex inexplicably told the kids, 4 days after our divorce was final, that he was dating The Girlfriend and that he had started liking The Girlfriend while we were still married, and that Mommy didn’t like The Girlfriend because Mommy thought The Girlfriend was a reason for the divorce, I told the kids about their father’s infidelity.  I didn’t set out to tell them; I just answered the questions they understandably had after the conversation with their dad.  But answering the questions ended up telling the whole story.  The result is that at least partially by my hand, my children are now well-versed in the concepts of cheating and infidelity and lying and betrayal … and I really wish they weren’t.

• I have argued with The Ex in front of the children … about The Girlfriend, about promises broken, about legal wranglings that shouldn’t have been discussed in front of the kids.  It hasn’t happened often, and I think I could count those extreme circumstances on one hand, but it has happened.  And the kids have seen and heard and asked us to stop.  And that breaks my heart and fills me with shame.

• I have participated in really, really nasty email exchanges with The Ex.  Ones that I’d probably cringe to re-read.  They’re out there, in the ether or on The Ex’s hard drive, and they could one day be shown to my children.  I live in fear that my kids will ever, ever see such an angry hateful side of me.

• I’ve sent two emails to The Girlfriend.  The first, sent immediately after our Divorce Decree was signed and immediately after The Ex finally confessed to the cheating and bullshit and the lie of the life I’d lived for the 18 months prior.  The second, after The Ex continued to defy our Decree and have her around the kids (which he was prohibited from doing for a year).  I emailed her and I feel like an idiot for doing so; she never responded and I never expected her to.  Those emails represented a loss of control for me—a step down from the high road—and I regret both occasions.

• I’ve told people what happened in our marriage.  I don’t offer it up unbidden, but I don’t shy away from the truth if people ask.  Some people don’t care, but many, many do … and maybe it’d be better for the kids if I didn’t contribute to people thinking their father was an asshole.

• I’ve told the kids that the divorce was not what I wanted, that I fought against it.  I wanted them to know that I wasn’t the one that turned their world upside down, but maybe I should’ve kept that from them—it’s essentially blaming their father.

• I’ve told the kids I hope they won’t grow up to do the things The Ex and The Girlfriend have done.  I’ve told them my version of right and wrong, and that I would be disappointed if they made the same choices they’ve seen The Ex and The Girlfriend make.  Again, sideways blame and judgment that they really should be allowed to place or make on their own time and on their own terms.

• I’ve made no secret about my dislike of The Girlfriend.  I don’t expound upon my true opinion of her, but I’ve noticed I am unable to deep from rolling my eyes or making a face when her name is mentioned.  I’m aware it’s childish, but I can’t seem to stop the facial expressions … they seem to be Pavlovian.  Say her name, I grimace or sneer.  Perhaps some Botox would help.

That’s it.  There may be more, but this is my confession and here is where my guilt lies.  The bulk of these things happened almost a year ago, and the frequency of the instances has certainly lessened with time.  But … I still struggle with trying not to repeat these mistakes, and with not letting my anger and offense rule the way I behave in front of my children (and how I behave out of their eyesight and earshot, as well).  Keep on keeping on, right?  Hopefully they will forgive ….

Things Done Right. June 11, 2010

Divorce and Single- or Co-Parenting is a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of thing, I’ve found (especially, as in my case, where the whole thing arises quite unexpectedly).  Being thrust into a new world where none of the old rules apply, you are faced with daily decisions about exactly how it’s all going to work and what the dynamics will be.  I’m guessing that divorce is never easy, even if the only people involved are the two marrieds.  When there are children involved, however, every day brings new situations that must be addressed—decisions that hugely impact how their little lives are shaped and how their little hearts are affected.

It’s not something you spend any time thinking about when you are married, because you think it’s never going to be relevant.  And then one day, it suddenly is relevant, and you just muddle through each new scenario and conflict the best you can.  Lately, I’ve realized that I (or in all fairness, The Ex and I) have done some things right in this divorce process.  Some things I’m proud of.  Everyone’s situation is different, but as I approach the one-year mark (GAH–more posts on that to come), I think that these things make a positive difference in the way the divorce affects my kids.  And by extension, a positive difference in the way it affects me:

Things Done Right

• I’ve let The Ex see the kids whenever he wants to.  Even if it’s “my” night—when he misses them and calls and asks to come visit them, I say yes.  And he does the same in return.  Knowing that I can almost always get their hugs and kisses and spend a little quality time with them, even on a noncustodial day, helps me deal with the separation and reduces my anger at The Ex for “taking them away” from me.  I think it also helps the kids know that both of their parents are always welcome in each of their two homes—and I’m guessing that’s an important thing for them to feel.

• We’ve been flexible with switching custodial nights when necessary.  Whether it’s work-related trips or out-of-town family visiting or the occasional social event, so far we’ve been good about cooperating with each other on rearranging custodial nights when necessary.  I’m extremely conscious of not granting him “extra” nights, because I don’t yet trust him not to run down to the courthouse and argue for more custodial time or less child support, but we trade nights or rearrange the schedule on occasion.  Similarly, this summer when we’ll each be taking the kids on vacations for extended periods of time, we’ve worked it so that the non-vacationing parent gets an extra night or two on each end of the vacation, to try to bookend those stretches where we won’t see the kids for longer-than-normal times.  I don’t question his “I have to travel for work” stories and he doesn’t question me on what I’m doing and where I’m going, etc.  Somehow there’s just been a tacit agreement that we won’t abuse the privilege, but if one of us asks for a switch and the other one is able to comply, we do.

• I’ve avoided revenge.  I’ve wanted it.  BADLY.  I’m pretty sure I could have had him reprimanded (or fired) at work for sleeping with a subordinate.  I could have humiliated them both, personally and professionally.  The list of things I could  have done to The Ex or The Girlfriend is long and deviantly destructive.  I have no doubt that at least momentarily, hurting them would have felt So.Good.  And yet I’ve done nothing, and I won’t.  Revenge is a slippery slope and there is no service in it for my kids.

• I’ve kept The Ex informed of all school functions, major events, sports practices, doctors’ visits, etc.  We exchange daily emails about their schedules.  I have tried to keep him included and involved in their lives—not because I want him there (it would be SO much easier for me if he weren’t), but because they want him there.

• We’ve attended sports games, school events, birthday parties together.  We arrive separately.  Most often we don’t sit together.  We don’t smile and chit-chat.  But we are there and we interact civilly, both with the children and with each other.  We trade off with the kids—you take this one to the bathroom, I’ll go chase that one; I have a bag of goldfish for her, did you bring any water?  Look at her, look at him—that was a great play, we need to practice that skill.  At the end, we stand together to greet the kids.  We praise and congratulate together.  We help each other get the kids strapped into the car of whomever they’re leaving with.  We kiss the kids and say goodbye and go our separate ways.

• We spent Christmas morning together.  Santa made one stop, to my house, and The Ex came over at the break of dawn on Christmas morning and we did Christmas together.  Awkward?  Hell, yes.  But awkward for us; not for the children.  For them, Christmas was as close to “normal” as we could make it, and they loved it.  I don’t know if this will continue—right now I can’t say I will be able to welcome The Girlfriend into my home if The Ex wants to bring her next Christmas.  We’ll see.

• I regularly and repeatedly tell the kids that The Ex loves them, even when his actions make the kids question otherwise.  It’s my go-to response when I can’t answer the “why did he do that” and the “why does it have to be that way” questions.  I know it is true—it is the only thing I know about him anymore, but I want them to know it, too, so I tell them again and again.

• I have allowed him more time with Amelia than I am legally required to.  Under our Decree, her custodial times don’t line up squarely with the other kids’ until she turns three.  But … she is his child, too, and I don’t want her relationship with The Ex to be different than that of Avery’s and Owen’s.  Once I was convinced that Amelia handled the transition well and that she enjoyed being at his house with her siblings, I stopped exercising the right to keep her with me on nights when The Ex has custodial possession.

• I have not overreacted to or blamed him (aloud) for bumped heads, dog bites, scraped knees, etc. that happened during his custodial periods, even though they happen a lot more on his watch than they do on mine.

• We have been civil (during the periods of stability, even verging on friendly) when exchanging the kids.  We talk to them and about them, and we try to coordinate on everything.

• I have not taken him to court every time he technically violated our Divorce Decree, even though I have been righteously pissed off when he has done so.

• I have not complained or criticized (aloud) when The Ex is late to pick up the kids.  And he is ALWAYS late to pick up the kids.

• I try not to harp on his parenting style when I am not around.  I will mention my concerns about their junk food eating habits, their lack of consistent bedtime, their too-much-tv watching, their excessive video-game-playing while at his house as I learn of these things.  But I will mention them once.  I don’t get to dictate these parenting decisions of his, and that is HARD.  But I have to let it go.  I turn my focus to teaching the kids why some choices are healthier than others, and hope that eventually they will self-regulate where Th Ex does not.

In short, I think we are co-parenting.  From separate households and from separate lives, but we are co-parenting.  Or at least, we are trying to.  It’s unbelievably difficult, and at times feels unbelievably unfair, but it feels like the “right” way to do things.

Next up:  Things Done Wrong.

Mom is Mom. June 9, 2010

I’ve written before (here, for starters) about feeling threatened by the Mommy vs. Daddy and the Mommy vs. The Girlfriend dynamic.  I am the rule enforcer, I am the lesson teacher, I am the one who says no, I am the one who makes decisions for their own good.  Simply put, I am the one who is less fun.  I know that and I resent it, but I’m also fairly certain that it’s just the way it must be.

Many of you have commented and reassured me that it’s ok; that my children will get it.  That whether your parents were divorced or whether you grew up in a family whose parents remained married, if your mother was the one who did the hard parenting, you understood it and you accepted it and you loved in spite of it and eventually you even appreciated it.  That Mom was Mom.  I’ve been trusting you on that.

One of Avery’s end of the year projects for second grade was an autobiography … “The World According to Avery:”

One of the entries in the autobiography is an essay entitled, “Families are Fantastic,” in which Avery introduces and describes the members of her family.  Her perspectives on Owen and Amelia are sweet and funny, but it is her description of The Ex and of me that makes me catch my breath … and then breathe a little sigh of relief.

“Dad is the best he lets us do anything we want, he can also get a good laugh out of us.”

“Last but not least, Mom.  Mom is awesome.  She’s silly, sweet, caring, loving, and lots more.”

I’m ok with not being the fun one as long as they see me like this.  I’m Mom.  Mom is Mom.  And “Mom is awesome.”

Sandwich Moments. June 8, 2010

So much of the time, single life with three kids is just hectic, harried management—doling out meals, cleaning, refereeing, answering questions, handling crises, entertaining, distracting.  An invasion orchestration of seemingly epic proportions—getting them dressed and shoed and bathroomed and loaded and strapped and then reversing the process upon arrival at whatever destination.  But every once in awhile we have those clarifying moments … those precious, perfect moments sandwiched in between the blurred periods of chaos where time seems to slow down and a bubble of calm descends.

Last night, sandwiched in between the dinner/football practice/swim team practice/witching hour and the crying/fighting bedtime/I’m-not-tired-sleep-with-me/meltdown, we found those perfect moments.  I hadn’t been with my kids for four nights and I’d missed them.  Avery and Amelia were lying in Amelia’s bed and giggling and pretending to go to sleep.  Owen wanted me to read him a book but then decided he wanted to read the book.  And he did.  For the first time, he read a book on his own.  We sat on his bed with his head on my shoulder and his little finger moving from word to word in “Go Dog, Go” and he READ.  He sounded out words and struggled with the tough ones (one, two, around, again) and I praised and he beamed.  After about 15 pages of hard work, I asked if he wanted to stop.  “No, mama.  I like working on this.  Let’s keep reading.”  So we did.

Later, when Amelia began the meltdown and I needed to go con her into sleep, Avery took over the reading assistance.  And Owen read for his sister and she helped him sound out words and he was proud of himself and she was suitably impressed and they looked like this:

And my heart swelled.

Later still, after Amelia was (temporarily) asleep and I crawled into the first of three beds I would sleep in before the night was through, Owen lay next to me.  Just before he drifted off, he reached for my hand.  He held it briefly and rubbed its back and then withdrew … just making sure I was there.  I whispered, “I love you” and he said, “I love you, too, mama.”  I told him, “It was fun reading with you tonight,” and he answered, “Yeah, it really was.  Goodnight, mama.”

And I fell asleep with a smile, grateful for the sandwich moments that remind me how blessed I am to have these loves in my life.

What Divorce Looks Like. June 5, 2010

This is what divorce looks like to Owen:

That’s our house, with Mommy inside and Daddy ringing the front doorbell in his suit.

This is what divorce looks like to Avery:

Lots and lots and lots of papers.  Stacks of papers everywhere.  Not just divorce papers, but my work papers and my piles of Things To Do papers and their school papers and my neverending stacks of papers I just don’t have time to get to anymore.  The new life of disorganization.

A few months ago when some of the anticipated (by me, anyway) emotional fallout of the divorce seemed to be escalating for Avery and Owen, The Ex and I started talking about sending the kids to therapy.  He was against it; I was on the fence but felt like they needed something.  They seemed to be dealing with the divorce well enough on the surface, but they had reached a point where they just seemed … stressed.  There wasn’t any major red-alarm-bell-ringing-OMG-the-divorce-has-scarred-them-for-life type event that occurred, but they seemed more agitated by the situation than usual.  I noticed them trying to play The Ex and me against each other, and the stories they’d tell about their time at the other parent’s house seemed exaggerated and calculated to provoke a strong response in whichever parent’s buttons they were pushing at the time.  I wanted them to talk to someone impartial, in case there were things they wanted or needed to say but were afraid to say at home.

I asked their elementary school counselor for recommendations of local child therapists, and while I began researching the names she provided, she offered to meet with the kids and talk with them.  As it turns out, that’s as far as we ever went.  I’ve probably said this before, but I love our school district and I LOVE our elementary school.  The teachers and administrators know the kids and truly operate with their best interests at heart.  I may have drunk the Kool-Aid, but I am regularly amazed by the degree to which they are invested in helping the children succeed and thrive.  Beautifully, this unexpected untapped resource that was right under my nose provided a pressure valve release for my children.  They started meeting with the school counselor periodically—sometimes once a week, sometimes once every other week—and writing and drawing and talking their way through a workbook that dealt with parental separation and divorce.  Avery and Owen loved those visits.  They felt special with the one-on-one time, and I think they realized that what they’re going through is extremely common (even if it’s not something they see in their friends’ lives and families).  They talked to me about every counselor session, and when they repeated what had been discussed I was gifted a sideways glimpse into the things they needed to, but didn’t, discuss with me directly.

Those drawings above provided one of those glimpses.  It’s tough for me to understand how this feels for them.  My own parents have been married for 42 years and I can’t begin to imagine how a 7-year-old or a 5-year-old views the splintering of his or her family.  Those drawings break my heart for so many reasons, but I am utterly grateful that someone was able to ask them the right questions and then talk with them about their answers.

Daddy’s going to keep ringing the doorbell to pick up the kids and Mommy’s going to keep drowning under piles of papers—that’s just the way it is now.  But most of the time lately Avery and Owen seem better.  And less stressed.  And more accepting.  And more like their normal kid selves.  And more than anything else in the world, I hope and pray that continues.  Because if they’re ok, I’m ok … no matter what ok looks like.