On Co-Parenting

A friend of mine was recently divorced.  They divided the things acquired over years of marriage between the two of them and went their separate ways.  They do not have children.  They could, quite possibly, never see each other again.

The father of my children and I are divorced.  We divided almost everything from 15 years of marriage between the two us. But because of our children, we cannot go our separate ways.  We see each other at least once a week and communicate via email regularly.  Early in the divorce I wished we could go our separate ways and never see each other again.  I had to remind myself often that I divorced my ex-husband.  My children did not divorce their father. And I hoped their father believed the same.  I have made every decision involving them with this in mind, determined to make the fracture in their lives as painless and small as possible.

I cannot say that anything about divorce, from a child's perspective, is small.  Their time is split between two parents, to homes, two families.  They have two of everything; two toothbrushes, two wardrobes, two bedrooms stocked with toys. This also results in two trips to Disney, two visits from Santa, two birthday cakes.  This sounds like a pretty good deal.  I am still aware of the possibility that these doubled items and events may or may not make up for not having the opportunity to hear both parents sing happy birthday at the same time.  I hope it is.

There have been several times when their father and I did not agree when it came to making decisions for the kids.  Those times have become less frequent as he and I have improved our ability to communicate with each other, both in expressing our thoughts and in really hearing what the other is trying to say.  "Assume best intentions" is one of the other things I repeat to myself often.  As my children's parents become more adept at co-parenting, they grow even happier and more confident.  I know that even though we aren't parenting the way we thought we would when we brought our children into this world, we are doing it right.

I've heard some parents say that since their divorce, they are now single parents.  I know this may truly be the case for some, but not most.  I remember parenting before divorce.  That was the time I felt like I was a single parent.  Now?  I raise my children with my husband and I co-parent with my children's father and his wife. My children now have four parents who love them beyond measure. When co-parenting is done right, when divorced parents prioritize their children and set aside their personal differences, leaving the past in the past, the kids benefit.  I see this every day with my kids.

My children are not surviving divorce, they are thriving.

Apple Trees

Gnarled, twisted fingers reaching out from a hunched trunk. Cold, withered, weathered despite the abundant sunshine. Missing a snowy blanket to keep them warm. They wait for spring leaves and blossoms. We wait with them.

The only words left at the end of a busy day.

Long day.
Longer days ahead.
Words elude me.
Time to go to bed.

Spoiled By Modern Conveniences

I had some other ideas about today's slice of life but they were all set aside during the 20 minutes I spent trying to order my son's birthday present on-line.  I'm really excited about what I have created for him and I know it will mean a lot to him, this keepsake gift for his 13th birthday.  The website from which I was ordering obviously did not understand the importance of my purchase since it "could not find the page you're looking for" the four times I clicked "complete order."

Once again, I am slave to technology, to every question answered, every wish granted at the click of a button.  Last minute shopping?  Thank goodness for Amazon Prime 2-day shipping.  No more room for photo albums (and who wants to spend time peeling back cellophane from sticky pages or sliding photographs into plastic sleeves)? Thank you Shutterfly, Wal-mart.com, and Amazon Prime photo storage.  iCloud? I'm still working on trusting you with my precious memories.

Tonight's technological glitch was a gentle (okay, maybe not so gentle) reminder that it's okay if I don't get what I want as soon as I click the button.  My son's birthday will still take place.  We will still make him a birthday cake (which reminds me, I have to stop at the store tomorrow afternoon), and he will still be surrounded by his family to be showered with love, for we are all so grateful that he was born and that he grows, happy and healthy.

This evening I asked my soon-to-be-teenager what he'd like for his birthday (if you haven't noticed yet, I'm kind of a last-minute kind of girl).  His response further affirmed what I believe; that time with family and friends is more valuable than any material item.  He said, "Time with Bobby."  My heart melted.  Of all the things he could have requested as a gift for his birthday, he asked for time with his step-father, my husband, all to himself. This boy, my boy, at almost 13 years old, has got it figured out.   

Past Tense is Too Hard, Present Tense Doesn't FIt

It's hard to write about my mother.  I noticed in yesterday's post, Singing, that I referred to my mother in the past tense, not just the memories of my childhood, but her.  It hurt my heart.  I struggled to choose the right wording because my mother is alive and still with us, but she is not the same.

My mother survived brain cancer.  She made a decision, shortly after her diagnosis, that she would live to meet her first grandson, with whom I was pregnant at the time of her diagnosis.  She has since met her grandson, two granddaughters, a step-grandson and two step-granddaughters.  This Sunday she will join us to celebrate my son's 13th birthday.  Every day we remember what we faced losing all those years ago.

But, my mom is different now.  Her cancer treatment has changed her. While I am grateful every day that I can stop by my parents' house and say hello, I miss the days when I could call her up to ask her advice about a struggling student, or the challenges of keeping up with the rapid-fire educational initiatives that fill a teachers' plate these days, or the trials of motherhood.  It's just not the same.  I'm okay with that because I am fortunate to still have my mother with me.  I just don't know how to write about her.

Singing

A song I couldn't resist singing at the top of my lungs played on the radio during my drive home this afternoon.  I felt the bubble of laughter in my throat as I belted the lyrics to "I Want You to Want Me."  Unexpectedly, a phone call silenced the music, leaving my voice as the only sound to fill my car.  The bubble escaped in my reply to my husbands, "whatcha doin'?"

Later in the evening, as I drove to the fire department to say good night to my husband, who is on shift tonight, another irresistible melody, "I Will Always Love You" inspired me to once again burst into song.  I smiled great big at the memory of another time I put my heart and soul into singing this song; to my husband during one of our drives to town.

I remember a time the first time I realized I had stopped singing.  I was almost a year beyond the end of my first marriage, driving up the road to my house with my pre-school-aged daughter buckled in the back seat.  I caught her dimpled smile in my rearview mirror and the words to "You Are My Sunshine" cleared the cobwebs from my vocal cords.  She sang along with me.  I wondered how long it had been since I had last sung a song.  Sure, I'd listened to music every day in the car on the way from here to there and back.  But singing?  That hadn't happened in...Months? Certainly not years?

For most of my children's lives I have sung to them.  I sing them awake in the morning, I sing my daughter to sleep at night, I have sung to both of them during bath time, we sing in the car.  For some unknown amount of time, I stopped singing.  Why?  The stress of daily life? The end of an unhappy marriage?  Yep.  So, when singing returned to me I was surprised at how foreign it felt but also how easily it came back.

My mother sang all the time when I was a child.  She had a song for everything; when I wanted a new toy--"We Can't Always Get What We Want", when I was pouting over being teased or tormented by my brother--"Nobody Loves Me, Everybody Hates Me, Guess I'll Go Eat Worms." I also remember sitting on her bed while she folded laundry-- "Oh Jolly Playmate" and "You Are My Sunshine" and all kinds of other songs from generations before me that she had sung with her mother.  The fact that my mother sang so often is reassuring and comforting to me.  I think it means she was happy, even when balancing the roles of mother, wife and teacher.  Contentment is a song and she knows many.

At the unhappiest time of my life, I did not sing.  Prior to, and since that time, I sing often.  Some of my favorite moments are when my husband and I are in the truck with our four children all singing Disney songs--"Zipadeedoodah," "Hakuna Matata," "Spoonful of Sugar" and the latest from my step-daughter, "It's a Jolly Holiday with Heather."  We also sing our family favorite--"Home." I wake my 7-year-old daughter with "It's Time to Rise and Shine" and she is smiling before her eyes open.  For my almost-13-year-old? "Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning."

Singing = Happiness.  May there be a song in every day and may we always be able to hear it, enjoy it and let ourselves sing it.

Reflections on this Writing Challenge

I've shared my writing every day for 10 days now.  This is post #11 for the Slice of Life Writing Challenge.  I can't say that my writing has improved.  I can say that my writing life has evolved.  I look at things differently, see things differently, and find myself mentally rehearsing how I would write about something I observe or experience.  It has been unintentional growth. Instead, a product of writing every day.  I know that at some point in my day, I will jot my thoughts or relive a moment, a slice of my life.  I am now trying to figure out how to facilitate this growth for my students.  I can't make them want it.

I have learned that in order to really write, I have to put myself out there.  This is something I struggle with, mostly because of the platform on which I am sharing my writing.  I am very aware that my audience consists of people I do not know personally and the people who are part of my stories deserve the respect of my reservation in sharing.  This writing challenge has allowed me to reflect on what is appropriate to share on the internet and what is not.

I have also learned that the comments posted by my audience are surprisingly rewarding.  To know that someone has connected to something I've written is reassuring and replenishes my motivation to write.  Comments from readers make my audience known and makes the internet venue more intimate, and less intimidating.

I am grateful for this challenge, and that it feels less challenging as the days pass.  I can see myself continuing to write, but I can also see myself saying, "I just don't have time to write today." and then letting day after day pass until it has been weeks since my last entry and my writing motivation goes cold.  I wonder if, after another 10 days of writing everyday, the likelihood of that happening will become less. My hope is that this window of opportunity will open a door to a community of writers with whom I can share my writing life and be a part of theirs so that writing can continue to be more than a slice of my life.