Learning to share

Here’s the thing about having to share your kids with a whole other household: sometimes it’s kinda sucky.

I try mightily to be fair and to always put my kids’ best interest first.

Selfishly, it’s nice that I get my kids all but 4 days out of a month.  I don’t care for sharing them.  

Yes, it’s nice to get a break, but most of the time all I ever want is, like, a two hour break.  After that, I miss them terribly.

Unselfishly, I don’t really know that 4 days a month is enough for Silas.  He misses his dad all the time.  He asks about his dad nearly every day.  He makes a point to let me know multiple times in a week that he loves his dad.  Basically, we have a lot of dialogue about his dad.

So, when I arrive to the meet-up spot to pick up the kids after Michael's weekend is over and am handed only one child, I am not surprised to hear, “Si wants to know if he can stay another night.”

The law says I don’t have to let him go.  I have the right to tell him to get in my car and take him home.  

Some parents who are in this situation find it best to just stick to the court ordered schedule and never deviate.  I have been advised by a few people to do that.  I understand that the logic is that it cuts down on having arguments with the other parent.  It keeps the kids on a consistent schedule and allows them to know what to expect.  And if that is what works for your family, I say, do that.

However, I find that I cannot do that to my son.  I know I'm taking the risk of winding up making things sticky between Michael and me.  And I know that kids need consistency.  But they also need both of their parents, and, frankly, the law isn't particularly in tune to the specific needs of every child on every day/week/month.  And so the reality is that the choice falls to me.

In this instance, instead of telling Silas to get in the car, I go over and ask, “you want to spend another night with daddy?” And his big brown eyes moon up at me and he says “yes.”  And I give him a kiss and tell him I love him and miss him and will see him tomorrow. 

And I get back into my car and deflate because I’ve spent the last several hours staring at my phone waiting for the call or text from Michael saying he is ready to meet.  Waiting for my house to be full of noise and chaos once more.

When I tucked Gavin in last night, seeing Si’s empty bed mixed all together with the pregnant crazy, and I cried.  I missed him.  I wanted to tuck him in and give him a hug and tell him I love him.

And then this morning was just all wrong because he wasn’t there driving me nuts taking too long to get dressed and then asking me to turn up some country song on the radio in the car and then singing it at the top of his lungs.

But I try to remember that when you love someone with the fierce love of a child, being told you cannot spend just one more night with them when there is no good reason is just cruel.  And that Michael probably spends a lot of nights missing the kids and wanting to give them hugs and tuck them in.  

And so this is the part of being a split household that is sucky.  Trying to do what is best for the kids and trying to decide what exactly that is on any given day.  Stick strictly to the schedule?  Deviate?  Okay, but how often?  On school nights?  Just special occasions?

It’s still, oddly, the best thing I could have done for my children.  There is no doubt in my mind.

But damn these waters get hard to navigate sometimes.  Trying to always do the exact thing that is right for them.  

And what I've decided is that I have to go with my gut.  If my instincts tell me that they need the deviation, they need that extra time, I go with that.  If my instincts tell me that it's best to get them back on schedule, I go with that.  And I pray.  A lot.  I pray that we're getting it right and doing everything we can to raise them to be good people.  It's all I know how to do.

For now, he got his extra night.  I survived.  And the countdown to day’s end is on.

I can’t wait to have my little four year old back home driving me nuts where he belongs.