Four years later… It’s been four years, six months, and 13 days since my ex first told me he was leaving. Four years, six months, and six days since he actually moved out.
Don’t read that and think I am still mourning him. Let me assure you, I am not. I cannot imagine being with him now, and most of the time I don’t see him even when we are in the same area. It is a strange ability that I will discuss at a later time.
But there is something about that four years time frame that can still cause me to tear up, that causes me to think in shock of how I can still hurt, still be taken off guard; that’s what I want to talk about tonight.
For four years now, I have watched my children, whom I love more than life, pile into a car every other weekend and drive away with a stranger. To a strange house. In a strange city. With a strange woman, teaching my boys skewed and ungodly ideas.
Many times, I have come to accept this. I have no choice. I, like too many abandoned spouses, have to hand over my children because the courts talk of father’s rights and use euphemisms about what is “best for the children” while ignoring the fact that what is best for the children is a parent to greet them when they come home from school, someone to cheer them on in games and concerts and talent competitions, a loving adult to help with homework and read bedtime stories, and meaningful financial support.
Do I dare mention that what is best for children, if we are to be truly honest, is that two parents find a way to work out their differences and stay together? That what is best for children is a two parent family?
No, that would be politically incorrect.
Few want to hear that YOU make yourself happy or that you should stay in a marriage because it is not all about you and marriage is best for the children.
Children are resilient, but the question isn’t, “Are they resilient?”
It is, “Should they have to be?”
Getting back to my point, tonight I watched my kids excitedly go to spend the weekend with their father and his wealthy girlfriend. Every trip to their house is like a trip to Disney World, a world I cannot compete with, and tonight I was taken off guard by my own sadness. My heart clenched, my eyes filled up, and I just want to lay down and cry.
I miss them.
There I said it. They have been gone for a sum total of about 15 minutes give or take a few, and already I miss them.
I miss their loud sloppiness. I miss their arguing, their roughhousing, their underwear left on the bathroom floor. I miss the toilet seat that is constantly left up. I miss that I am glad when they even remember to put the toilet seat up. I miss that, more often than not, somebody “misses” and pees on the floor. I miss that after they shower the amount of men’s body wash they use makes my house smell like a $2 brothel (Just to clarify, that’s an expression. I’ve never actually been in a brothel 🙂 ) I miss their stupid jokes and their smelly socks. I miss that I am often caught in an viscous and impromptu game of smelly sock dodgeball and used as both target and shield.
I miss that George made the family turtle bean burritos dinner last night and that those beans were just kicking in. I miss the farting competition that will soon take place and the fact that we all know…George will win, and everyone’s eyes will water and stomachs will clench. I miss that the boys will soon be yelling and throwing things at each other accusing each other of being the biggest “stink butt.”
And then it occurs to me… They have a 90 minute ride to get to their father’s house.
God Forgive Me! I feel a slow and evil grin spread over my face.
Yes, I miss them more than they will ever know, but turtle bean burritos for dinner last night! I swear it was not done on purpose, but what more could a single mom ask for than a less than patient ex-husband trapped in a car for 90 long minutes in temperatures too cold for open windows with five loudly yelling, nauseous, competing, smelly, FARTING boys?
Yep, I miss them (very much!) but I will savor my imaginings and meet a friend tonight. We will laugh over what I hope is a torturous trip to my ex’s house and I will beg the good Lord for understanding and forgiveness if our enjoyment is truly wrong. I will have to think about that.
I wonder though whether the Good Father made beans for just such moments! I love my God!!! 😀