What a weekend. I feel like I've been dragged behind a cop car on a high speed chase.
I wrote about the kids' reaction to their daddy time, but I suppose I didn't say much about my reaction to their reaction. Here's where I should insert an audio clip of me screaming like a mental patient. I won't. Don't wanna blow anyone's speakers.
We all define ourselves in one way or another. The definitions are fluid over time, but at some point, for those of us who are mothers, we become someone's mama. When that happens, all the other definitions sort of cease to carry any significant weight. At least that's what happened to me. I am a lot of things, but I am their mother foremost. It's who I am. I think a mother is like slice of pizza. She's the base, the foundation, onto which everything, mushrooms, dreams, pepperoni, aspirations, gets placed. I love pizza.
So, when those sweet little brats came home and happily announced that they didn't want to live in this house anymore but instead preferred the house with the bunkbeds, perhaps you can understand my wrath. Sure, they are kids. And lets face it, what four or six year olds do you know that wouldn't be impressed by a few car loads (mini sized carloads!) of new toys and someone lavishing attention upon them who, frankly, never even wiped their butts before? Damn, someone buys me a coffee and I'm thrilled, so imagine what was happening in their heads...
So where do we go from here? Let them have their bunkbeds and new toys and the attention. I have a sneaking suspicion, and a few of you have assured me of this as well (yes, thanks Ty and thanks Fumbling) that this will all fade. What they had this weekend was a Disney-esque Christmas extravaganza. A honeymoon, if you will. Honeymoons don't last and eventually, you have to go home. Shit, sometimes honeymoons aren't so honey-moony.
My mom is concerned. About whether I can handle them leaving me on alternate weekends. If I can handle not being able to know what's happening. If I can not tuck them in at night. I explained that these things aren't easy, that this is only just the beginning, that I'm scared and angry and anxious and pissed off and mad... but what's the alternative? Change my mind? Ha! That's a good one. No, this is the way it's going to be. Life is a highway, and I have to keep on driving. I have to drive on cruise control all night long and love those kids like no one's business. Even when they're asking for someone I know is playing golf for an audience.
Mom also said that I needed to find strength. "Find strength wherever you can, find the strength to get you through this," she said. I know just where to find my strength. There's a surplus of strength waiting for me and hugs and kisses and a shoulder to cry on and get all boogery, too. There's love and devotion and belief in that place. He's driving too. We're driving together and not stopping until we get there.
Thanks, Blue.
I firmly believe it's only a matter of time until STBE shows his true fatherly colors. You know, someone will forget to tie his shoes and there will be all sorts of yelling in foreign languages. Or daddy time will interfere with guitar practice or skinny jeans-shopping and this new doting father routine will be out the window. This was new and it was exciting. But it won't last.
ReplyDeleteAnd if I'm wrong and he keeps this routine going...you can always fight fire with fire. He gets bunk beds and you get a trampoline...and a pool...and some ponies. Hell...buy them a car and let them drive it on the driveway.
We have an ex in our lives whom we refer to as Disney for the same reasons you gave above. She disappeared from the kids' lives for over 13 years so she could be a teenager again and pursue her own selfish ambitions.
ReplyDeleteNow that they're mostly raised (the youngest are 17) and certainly less needy, she's back as their "rich" friend with cell phones, shopping trips, ridiculously extravagant allowances and everything else that impresses 17-year-olds.
I'll be the first to admit that some days are harder to deal with than others, but at the end of the day, WE are the ones who are down in the trenches with them day in and day out. WE are the ones who have always been here for them. WE are the ones they call when they are hurt or need something. WE are the ones they know they can count on.
Your kids might be temporarily blinded by bunk beds and toys, but just keep loving them, keeping them safe, and being a stable force in their lives, and they won't forget it--no matter now many disneyesque things your ex may throw in their path.
Sue, Thank you for the reassurance. The trenches stink. But that's where I want to be with them. I'm the one who is there day in and day out. What's terrible is that I feel guilty disciplining them, like I don;t want to give them any other reasons to want to go to "the other house". They'll get more love from me as opposed to shopping sprees, but they'll also have to learn that I have rules. I realize what the typical 5 year old would choose: shopping and no rules, but i'm not a situational parent, so they had better get used to it. Besides, I'm the one they call at night, the one they want when they're hurt or sad.
ReplyDeleteI just hope that Mother nature looks after her own.
Anonymous, We both know that I can out shop him. Not to mention all those that love my kids who will happily hit the stores if need be. Nah, we're not gonna go that route. Although you gave me a good idea for a Christmas present with that trampoline.
ReplyDeleteA better recourse will be when Blue is coaching little league and football, showing them how to spackle and teaching them to be boys, not skinny jean wearing pansies... but I digress. Ah, yes. That will be the day. You must come over. Just so you can be there for the fun of disclosure. Goodness knows how much STBE loves you. Bring your video camera. And a net, to catch his eyes when they pop.
Karma. Watch that boomerang fly.