Truly. I thought that I’d finally fully lost my marbles, as I sat having Sunday brunch with my kids and their dad. On his weekend. Yeah. Insane is the thing that made sense to me.
He’d texted me early in the morning. The kids and I are going to (insert name of our favorite brunch restaurant here) and wondered if you’d like to join us. I considered ignoring the text. I considered replying no thank you, see you at 4pm when you bring the kids home. Instead, I said yes. In that moment, my reasoning on saying yes, was mostly my wanting to see my kids….and wanting french toast. They do make some amazing french toast.
After brunch I took myself to a movie, then went to the grocery store and went home to do laundry. (I lead a very exciting life, yo.)
It wasn’t until I got home and said on Facebook that I’d gone to brunch with my ex and saw some of the responses, that I started thinking about what I’d really done. Not that I was insane, although I still fully support this theory. No, it was the, I just did something for my kids, that I’ve wanted for 25 years and will never get. I acted like an adult. Logan acted like an adult. We put aside our issues and hurt feeling, for our kids. For an hour and a half, we sat in a restaurant. Together. With our kids.
I have two pictures of my parents together. One from their wedding (people, always hire a wedding photographer, serious) and the other is a real shitty picture of me with them, when I was about two years old. That’s it. They were married eleven years (yes, I see the similarities, trust me) and those are the only two pictures. To be fair, there are tons of pictures of my first few years of life. Tons with my mom, some with my dad, boxes of me doing exciting things like spitting up. No others of them together. If I close my eyes and think really hard, I remember them together. Only in a few memories though. Honestly? I’m not sure those are real, they may be memories I made up. Most of my memories of childhood, even from the time they were together, is with one of them. I’ve separated them in my mind. Life with mom, life with dad. No crossovers.
At my wedding they sat at separate tables. At my graduation they sat rows apart. Nothing they’ve ever said about each other, in my life time, has been nice. Nothing.
I think that if it weren’t for my step-mom this would be different. She’s an evil-hose-beast. However, I have no way of knowing for sure.
I’ll be 30 years old in April and I’ve long since given up hope of my parents every acting like they once loved each other. My only proof is a picture of them cutting their wedding cake. Her in a violet colored dress, him with long hippie hair. It’s the way they are touching each others hands; the way he is smiling at her; the way her eyes are sparkling. My proof, that once, thirty-seven years ago, they did love each other.
I don’t want that for my kids. As much as it pains me to be around Logan right now, especially after last week being what it was, I will continue to on occasion, still do things with him. Small doses, yes. Because I’m hurt and I’ve not figured out how not to love him. But I’ll do thingsĀ anyway. Because my kids are worth it.
I don’t want Bailey to have to close her eyes and think hard to find a memory with us both in it. She, at five years old, is the exact age I was when my parents divorced. I don’t want Morgan to wonder which of us to invite to dinner with her first love or in her first home one day. Or to wonder where to have to seat us at her wedding, because she knows we won’t speak at all, if placed at the same table. I don’t want Harrison to ever have to wonder if we loved each other when he was born, to wonder if we ever were happy together.
Maybe I’m insane, maybe I’m deluding myself. However, I have this hope that I can save my kids a tiny bit of the drama I’ve lived through. We’ll see.
Yesterday though? I choose to put aside my feelings for an hour and a half. For them.






