My children are once again going through a time of turbulence. Once again through no fault or choice of their own. Once again caused by the capricious inability of the adults in their lives to get their shit together.
Their dad and his partner (wife? girlfriend? I have no idea and as far as I can tell, neither do they) are splitting up after 2 1/2 years together. This weekend has been a shit show. Fights and crying and recrimination.
It was my solo weekend. I had planned a very pleasant Saturday - going to the waxing salon, going to the blood donation place, heading up to the mountains for a solo night in a cheap hotel before a solo morning of skiing, followed by a non-solo evening of fun.
But then Saturday morning I ended up at Bonfils with a needle in my left arm while with my right arm I held the phone as both children and adults called me crying, asking me to solve their problems.
The children I can handle. I will always help them solve their problems.
I have lost patience with the adults.
The past couple of years have been hard on the children. And I have tried to hold my tongue as fallout from events and patterns in the other household spilled into mine. They view me as the safe haven. They trust me with everything. They walk into my house and I can almost feel the tension leave their bodies.
But if I say too much, I'll get dismissed as the bitchy ex-wife, the know-it-all, the one who can't mind her fucking business.
It's a diplomatic high-wire act.
Yesterday I cut the wire. When I came off the mountain from skiing to find multiple texts from my children and voicemail messages of them sobbing hysterically, I was done. I called her and told her that having my children calling me crying - or worse, running away to my house when they're supposed to be with dad -- was not acceptable or sustainable. That she and their dad needed to grow up and figure out how to create a harmonious household that didn't leave my children anxious and in tears.
"I don't want to hear about how you think their behavior is disrespectful. Find a way to earn their respect. They are manifestly miserable in your household, and you need to fix it. You are the adult. They did not choose to live with you, and they hate it, and you need to either figure out a way to make them not hate it, or you need to not live with them anymore." I raised my voice. I know that what I said was harsh and that I said it harshly. But it needed to be said.
She chose option B.
To be clear, this had been a long time coming. They're not breaking up because I yelled at her. I don't have that kind of power or influence.
And quite honestly, it's not what I wanted. A happy, stable household is good for the children. Now things are in disarray again. I worry about them. Zeke in particular seems fragile and exhausted. It makes my heart hurt.
Last night, on my non-solo evening of fun, we were out watching a light-hearted, funny musical about dating. It was charming and hilarious. But there was one song in which the male protagonist described his relationship with his mother, who died when he was young. She didn't have a lot of time for him because she worked a busy, high-powered job, and then she died of a heart condition. In the song, the mother is singing to her son that he was always foremost in her heart, even though she didn't show it. It's his imagining of his mother's love letter to him from the grave.
True to form, I started to cry. Stuff like that always makes me cry now. Don't even get me started on the new Proctor & Gamble "Thank you, Mom" ad in honor of the Olympics.
Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the weight of the responsibility I feel to be their constant. Not that parents ever really get a break, but my need to overtly step in as the protector feels particularly heavy right now. And maybe what's hardest is the knowledge that I can't really protect them from much of anything.
Life is hard. They're getting the lesson early.
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