I’m divorced, so every summer, my four sons—ages ranging from toddlers to preteens— It takes about two hours to go to their dad’s house. Gone for about two weeks, it was the most continuous time they had with their dad all year. they also Also spent time with extended family and grandparents. That extended family used to be my family, too—they stood shoulder to shoulder with me in the kitchen as we tossed potato salad, turned ground chuck into burgers, and yes, well, gossiped sometimes. Now that the potato salad was made without me I can only assume the gossip might have been About me.
To be clear, I’m not making this up out of thin air. When my sons get home, after our initial pleasant greetings, they have a hard time looking me in the eye. They were often angry with me and sad for me. “Grandpa doesn’t like you,” one of my sons told me one year. “Grandma said you have to let us do our own laundry,” another son added. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there with a cold smile on my face, trying to appear neutral.
This is not unusual for my kids I’m sorry to tell you to hear negative things about me from their father. To be honest, I’ve been in this situation once or twice. But it made it all the more difficult, having my kids away from me for a long time, surrounded by people I didn’t get along with. It feels like an eternity of opportunity to continue telling the story of what life is like for our little family for the rest of the year—so far away, so different.
On one hand, I don’t like where my kids are. They knew we were happy, but it was a completely different story when my ex-husband’s family criticized us. They try to figure out whether two worlds can exist, neither one wrong.
This isn’t just a review, though. Our approach is so different. Bedtime was changed from 9pm to 7pm because they were told “In this house we like structure.” No sunscreen because it was considered a fad. Everything seemed to come back to me and what I was doing wrong at home. I chose the wrong spoon at breakfast; I taught them the wrong way to wash their hair.
Their father’s family isn’t the only culprit here. I’ve caught my own family. They rolled their eyes or laughed at his family. If I were there I would put a stop to it, but I really want to put a stop to it forever in every way. I see my kids get moody or look embarrassed when these comments come up. The teasing might make us feel better in that moment, but it certainly doesn’t do anything for the people we love most – my boys.
I see them seeing themselves differently. I don’t want this to be their story, because really, that’s not how it should be. They didn’t get divorced, we got divorced.
When I said it out loud, I realized I believed this. I realized that our lives were taking away from them in ways they never expected. Maybe they feel like the people my sons are becoming have nothing to do with them. Maybe they missed them and they were trying to find a way for them to be part of their lives and not just visitors from another house that their father’s family didn’t really understand.
I remember making potato salad and burgers with people I once loved. I remember them as they really were, not as someone who said unreasonable things to me. I tell my kids how much I loved going to their grandma’s cabin when they were babies. Remind us that we are all connected and we all always love them.
We play a game and they tell me three new things they did when they left and I tell them mine. We think about what to make for dinner. Maybe order pizza.
We breathe, breathe, breathe. We succeeded.
Jane McGuire is a contributing writer for Romper and Scary Mommy. She lives in Canada with her four boys and teaches life writing workshops where someone cries in every class. When she’s not traveling as much, she tries to organize pie parties and outdoor karaoke with her neighbors. She will sing Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” at least once, but she’s open to requests.
