Tag Archives: visitation

Going Away to School — and Staying There!

the common app

My oldest is going through the college application process.  It’s stressful.   I’m not sure whether he’ll get his first choice, I’m not sure how it will all work out with financial aid/scholarships, etc., but that is my stress.  I want him to concentrate only on getting in somewhere, somehow we’ll figure out the rest.   He and I agree on one thing.  The goal is for him to go to a residential college and live on campus, preferably hours or even a plane ride away.   I know there are many different ways to get a college education, from living on campus to strictly online.  And I know it’s a personal and family and financial decision.   But I want my son, and then later my daughters, to go away.  It’s largely because of the divorce.

For years the children have had to navigate a visitation schedule on top of all of their many activities.   I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:  The cute little visitation schedule that divorced families create when the kids are little turns to a burden when those same kids hit middle school and beyond, especially if the kids are involved in sports or other school activities.  You can divide time all you want, put at some point there are many other demands on those same hours.  You think you can’t split the baby?   Try splitting a teen.  When kids get older, parents are no longer in control of their time, other people and institutions set your kids’ schedule, and let me tell you, they don’t care about the custody order.  But for us, when something pops up on the calendar, our first thought for years has been, “Wait, is that a Daddy day?”   The schedule has given the children an added stress that’s frankly getting really old.

Also, though I was able to keep the kids in the same schools, we had to move to a neighborhood that carries a bit of a stigma (understatement).   It’s safe;  it’s just not very nice.   The kids had no choice in this.  I barely had a choice, except  as a compromise to keep them in the same school.   It was an obvious compromise, just like so many things in our daily lives, occasioned by the divorce.  My Ex-Husband has remarried, and I’m assuming happily remarried, but for the kids that carries with it an obligation to meet and mingle with an entirely new extended family.   It’s not that there is anything wrong with the new people, it’s just yet another community that the kids are unfamiliar with, did not choose to join, and to which they have no connection.  It’s an addition to already divided time.

Wait, where are we going now?”  is something my kids have to deal with a lot.

Animal House

So yes, fly, fly away, little bird.  Go and study and stay in one place.

I support my son trying to get into a school where he would have to live on campus, one that is not close to home, where he will not have the ability or expectation to come home on weekends.  I want him, for the first time in his life since childhood, to live and STAY in a community of his choosing and not commute between two or more worlds.   I want him to make friends and have the ability to hang out with them whenever he wants, without regard to his parents’ schedules.

Right now, my kids are  living in a very artificial world.   Usually, for two parent families or single parent families when the other parent is not in the picture,  a teen is not required to spend Saturday night with his or her parents and siblings.   Normally, a kid is not required to travel to another house for a three-hour dinner on a school night unless they have a valid, acceptable excuse not to go.   In our house there are days that my kids leave the house at 7:00 am and do not return until after 8:30 pm on a school night and then start their homework.   Don’t get me wrong,  family time is great. Having dinner together is important, but as kids get older on which days that happens and how much time it takes should naturally change, without getting lawyers involved.  The way it is now?  Not natural.

And as my son ages out of the required visitation schedule, I do not want him to be anywhere nearby where he’ll either feel pressure to continue to honor the visitations or guilt when he doesn’t.   Imagine if he was living at home while his younger siblings still went on the visits.  His not going would be a statement.  His choosing to go would be a statement.   I don’t want him to have to make statements anymore.  I just want him to study and grow as an adult and connect with family because he wants to, not because he’s required to, or is afraid of the fallout if he doesn’t.   I want him to be able to make plans for consecutive weekends.  (Gasp!)  And I don’t want him to need a ride or a car or permission or explanation.   I want him to manage his own schedule without regard to the custody order entered into when he was elementary school.  And I don’t want him to have to adapt to new people, extended families,  and sketchy neighborhoods that were the choices of his parents– not him.    It’ll be the first time he’ll be on an even playing field with fellow students of similar abilities.  He’ll actually live where he fits in and won’t have to commute elsewhere to put time in different communities.   I  want him free from being defined by his neighborhood, his parents’ marital status, or an old court visitation order.

I want him to be somewhere where no one is expected (or required) to spend time with either parent.

My son is troubled.  He’s a complicated, quiet young man.  He’s anxious to go away.   He understands the difficulties of the home situation more than he talks about and he plays the game.  He picks and chooses when to approach his dad about a change in the schedule, knowing that asking too often will make his dad angry and might draw a “no” when he really needs a “yes.”     My ex-husband is sometimes less open to the kids choosing to spend time elsewhere unless it is a sanctioned school activity.  He takes it personally.   In response to the boy’s request to go to an end of the season sports party (they’d won states — yay!) on a “Dad Day” my ex-husband texted me, and said,

 “He’s going to have to miss things to spend time with me.  The kids need to know that.”  

Well, no more.    I want the boy to  live in a community of his choosing, day and night, a community  that reflects his interests, his abilities and his personality.   And one that values his time.     Of course I’ll miss him and  I’ll look forward to him coming home on holidays and some breaks, but I think it would be a breath of fresh air if, for the first time, when Mom or Dad want to see him, we will have to carry our behinds to him, on his schedule, that is,  if he’s available.

Just Me With . . . a little birdie planning to leave the nest —   or should I say “nests.”

 All of this reminds me of when I went away to college many moons ago, and  my ex-husband, then boyfriend, still scheduled my time with him.   See, The Night I Became Cinderella.

“Why Did You Get Divorced?” The Dreaded Question

Recently a fellow tweeter had lamented about  having been asked the question, “Why did you get divorced?”  It truly annoyed  her, being asked such a personal question.  I came up with some snappy comebacks but admitted that I am rarely asked.   I’m not sure why this is so, but I live in a small suburb and it was big gossip for a while, and I think most people my ex-husband and I know already have heard some version of why so there is no need to ask.

Just the other day, though, while I was getting some cold cuts at the grocery store that I stop by two or four  or five times a week,  the counter person, a woman maybe in her 60’s started chatting away.   By the way, I hate guessing ages, so much depends on factors other than the number– hard living, for example, can make a person appear older, she very well could have been younger.   I see this woman regularly, she knows my kids and she’s commented on the twin thing and always has a kind comment or pleasantry.

On this store visit, I only had one kid with me.   In our house we call that — pretending to be an only child — but I digress . . .    The Deli Lady, whom I’ll call Marla, saw us and immediately gave a loud and sweet hello, like we were old friends.  Nice lady.   Then she remarked that she saw my “hubby” with the kids a few days ago, that he must have been giving me a break.  I may have shuddered a bit, feeling the ick.

This remark was icky and  irksome to me for many reasons.  First, he’s not my husband,  no, he most definitely is not my husband.  I have papers and forcibly  spent $35,000 and counting in the process of making him  not my husband.  Second, the cutesy term of endearment “hubby” is antithetical to this man to whom I am decidedly not endeared and I no longer see as “cute.”  Third,  my “hubby’  wasn’t giving me a break, he was seeing his children pursuant to a court custody order and  he was shopping at “my” store — most likely  picking up food to take home to his new wife  for her to prepare and serve to my kids.  So, no, my hubby didn’t have the kids to give me a break.  See Weekends Off.

Understanding that these are my issues and not hers, I was going to just let it slide, as I often do with people I don’t see often, but she continued to talk, asking where I was when he had the children.  Considering that I see this woman a few times of week, that she knew me by name and was trying to learn the kids names, I might as well stop the happy marriage train.

“Well, he’s actually my Ex-Husband,”  I offered.

“What?  He’s your Ex? You’re Divorced? ”  She said, shocked, truly shocked.   Leaving me to wonder, had he allowed her to think we were still together?

At this moment, I wished I’d said nothing.  The one kid I had with me was the one who had the most lingering hostile reaction to the divorce, and didn’t like to hear about it or talk about it.  I sometimes refer to this kid as The Angry Child, i.e. She Wants To Break Me, but she’s been so much better these days.  She really has.  As luck would have it, as I turned to see if she was listening, she’d flitted off,  probably to find her favorite snack to throw into the cart.

Good, I thought, I can get this conversation over with.

Marla, was shocked, still,  by my revelation.

“Divorced? . . . . Why?”

And there is was.  The question I am rarely asked.   I thought of my Twitter friend, and wished I could channel her support in my head.  But, I was In Real Life (IRL if you only have 140 Twitter characters) and I didn’t even have my phone out. Plus, Marla was waiting for an answer.  She wasn’t even slicing my meat.  She was waiting.

The Million Dollar Question

I think I kind of stammered and shrugged my shoulders, rolled my eyes,  and said, “Well, you know.”   I understand that this is not a definitive answer.  But I thought my body language and facial expression would have been enough to change the subject.

But Marla apparently needed a real answer, in real life, right then and there.

She asked again.

“Why did you get divorced?”

Now all the snappy comebacks I’d joked about had left the building like Elvis.  I had nothing.  Actually, my snappy comebacks were mostly to put the other person on the defensive.  I figured it they can ask me something personal I should come back with something just as personal, like,

“Well it’s a long painful story.  How much did you make last year? And are you having regular sex?”

But I didn’t want to be rude to Marla.  And I couldn’t even come up with, “I don’t want to talk about it.”    It was a deer in headlights situation, for sure.

Marla is good people.   I like the banter I have with her and many of the people I see in stores while carrying out mundane tasks.   Marla is funny, friendly and compliments my kids.  This makes her royalty in my book.  I didn’t want to insult her or put her on the defensive.   And, unlike my snobby ex- neighbor, see  Holiday Party post, she wasn’t judging me because I am divorced.  Marla was  genuinely surprised, really surprised.

So, I finally answered, leaning close to the counter, “Well, he was a bit of a player.”

This isn’t exactly true.  There weren’t a lot of other women, to my knowledge, but you know, there were more than there are supposed to be, you know  . . . when you’re MARRIED!    Still,  I figured this shorthand answer would do the trick  and end the topic of conversation before my kid got back.

But it didn’t.

It actually opened an opportunity for her to share  her own personal life which included two husbands and four children and the proclamation that she will never marry again, which, had we been in a coffee shop or at a bar would have been good girl talk.  But we were on opposite sides of a deli counter in a grocery store in my hometown, and where, apparently, my Ex-Husband still shops — while on his visits with the children.

I added with another shrug while I perused the meats that, “Yeah, well, he’s remarried now, so . . .”   I don’t know why, but I thought that information would help end the conversation.

But it didn’t.

Marla shared more about her life.  I found out about her ex-husband’s new ex-wives, and how one of them told her what he’d said about her,  and how his other children are no good, etc.   Then, the conversation turned back to me, as I hoped it wouldn’t, but feared it would.

“Divorced? Really?  And you’re so pretty . . .  and smart . . .”   Now, I’m not trying to blow my own horn here or provide self-gratuitous comments, but Marla went on to compliment me very highly, noting that I am slim (not the healthiest comment for me to hear, see  Confessions of a Skinny Mom  and Angela Jolie  posts) and she thinks I’m  brilliant, which, considering our only interaction is at the meat counter — I find to be very astute — heh heh heh.   I took her compliments in kind, though a little embarrassed, being at the deli counter and all.  But, hell, it’s nice to be appreciated.

While finally cutting my meat,  Marla added, “Leaving a girl like you. . . . I don’t understand it.”    And she just shook her head.  “I just don’t get that.  You are something.  I think you’re great.”  And she smiled, looked me up and down,  and shook her head again.

Now this tugs at my insecurities.

In my tortured mind Marla is thinking,  “There must be something wrong with her that I can’t see.”

My damaged self asks: Is Marla  trying to figure out what dark secret or hidden insufficiency I must have which  caused my husband and father of my beautiful children  to leave me?  Is that what everybody thinks —  that  there must be something wrong with  me that they can’t see?

I wanted to scream, “I’M GOOD IN BED — HONEST!!!”   But that didn’t seem appropriate.

So there it is, my problem.  And it truly is my problem.  Not Marla’s and not my Ex-Husband’s —- and I’m working on it.  I need to slow down and control those ill-informed, overly chatty  people  — not the ones in the grocery store —  the ones in my head.

It’s simple, really.  I don’t like being asked why I divorced  because it’s personal and I don’t like to talk about it unless I bring it up.  But more than that, I don’t like being asked because of all the time I spent crying on the kitchen floor Amy Winehouse style wondering why I wasn’t enough for him.  

Truth is.,  he was done.  It really doesn’t matter why now, and it shouldn’t matter to my lunch meat friend.  After a excruciatingly painful period in my life, I’m done analyzing why and I’m done, too.  Unless I have brought it up and I am in a place mentally and physically where it is appropriate to talk about it, my final answer actually is, “Well, you know, whatever.”

(In my head I’ll say it’s because he’s an asshole.   I’m not a saint.)

My daughter eventually flitted back with her cheese sticks and Marla had the good sense to change the topic, asking my daughter if she helps me out at home, which,  I pointed out,  she does not do nearly enough, prompting a devilish smile from my girl.  A smile, not a denial, mind you.  That kid is lucky she’s cute . . .  but I digress.

Just Me With . . .  American Cheese,  ham off the bone, Southern fried chicken breast and some discomfort and insecurity . . .  sliced thin.

Special thanks to  @CRobbieLV for inspiring this and sharing her experiences with  — The Dreaded “Why?”

Postscript:  See Good Fortune and the Dreaded Question,  Part II

For the best responses to finding out about my break up see, “When I Needed A Helping Hand”   and “Riding With My Boss” and “Six Days of Separation