I'll admit my journaling gets a little hit and miss at this point. I was officially a single mom. I would compare that first week of becoming a single mom to the first week of having your first baby. You have no idea what you're doing, but you're shell-shocked and operating on pure adrenaline, so you're getting by. I apologize if my words aren't as well organized from this point forward.
For the first few days after Jon moved out, he would drive back to Raymond in the evenings to see the kids and help with bedtime. After nearly a week of this I asked him to please stop, as this really wasn't sustainable and the kids needed to begin getting used to our new normal. Usually after he'd leave I'd spend another hour with my oldest girls. They would tearfully ask me why things had to be this way, why I couldn't forgive their dad, and why did dad break promises that made him have to leave. I chose to elaborate a little to our oldest, Sheriff, asking her what she knew about the promises you make when you marry someone. When you're married, should you kiss other people? Should you fall in love with other people? She answered with a stern "No!" To which I explained that these were things that her dad had done. After a pause, she asked again, "But can't you forgive him? I know he's sorry and he wouldn't do it again!" And then I broke her heart a little more, telling her how I had forgiven him once before when she was a newborn baby.
These conversations killed me. How do you balance protecting the innocence of childhood and helping your kids make sense of what's happening? Why their world as they know it has broken into a place of despair and confusion? I honestly won't know if I handled things right until my kids are grown and look back on this time in their childhood. But if you're wondering what I did, it's this: I cried openly with them, I let them know how sad and hurt I was too; I acknowledged that I wished things were different too; and, despite not knowing what the true outcome would be yet, I made a conscious effort to never say anything that would give them the idea that mom and dad might get back together. And after a time of acknowledging our pain and grieving together those nights, I did my best to swing the conversation to something positive. What do you want to try? If you could do anything, what would it be?
Which is how my kids ended up doing the most random, and admittedly expensive, extra-curricular activities that spring. Logan and Gibb did rock climbing (and Zuzu too, ha, we paid drop-in for her and she got to pretend she was in the class). Sheriff did horse riding. My parents often told me I was too soft of a mother, that I let my kids get away with too much. Little did they know, separating from Jon made me even softer. If I couldn't give my kids a home with a mother and father who stayed together, I would do everything in my power to give them anything else I could.
Shortly after Jon moved out, it was Zuzu's birthday. By now, I had been pregnant long enough to share the news with the kids. I decided to do this by giving Zuzu a shirt that said "Big Sister" for her birthday. Unfortunately, I made the rookie mistake of putting the t-shirt in the same bag as her real, toy present. When she opened it, she literally grabbed the shirt and threw it over her shoulder. We had to stop her from digging the toy out of the bag and redirect her attention to the shirt. Even the older kids who could read were too preoccupied with seeing what was in the bag. After showing the kids what the shirt said, it still took them awhile to really grasp what we were trying to say. Eventually Logan caught on and the kids got what we were saying. "You're having a baby?!" It was the most underwhelming pregnancy announcement ever.
Worth mentioning is the fact that Jon was still a (semi-) welcome guest at my parents house. Zuzu's birthday festivities happened at my mom and dad's. Jon sat at the table with us for dinner. In fact, I'm pretty sure he shared a Sunday dinner or two with us as well after he moved out. I owe my parents, especially my mom, a debt of gratitude for allowing this. From the very get-go all of my decisions have revolved around "what is best for my kids?" And that answer has always been helping facilitate a relationship with their dad and striving to have "normal" family time despite our "less-than-normal" circumstances. I realize now that what I asked of my family, to choose peace for the sake of my kids, was an incredibly big thing to demand. Although I may have been cut the deepest, they too were aching to see someone they loved be hurt. Yet I demanded that they ignore their pain and be around Jon for my kid's sake. I'm sorry I asked so much. But I'm so, so grateful you complied.
And then one week had passed. I had survived one whole week of being a single mom. Of working part-time, running a home, caring for kids, all the single mom things. And truth be told, it was the easiest week of the entire year. I mean no harm or offense in saying this, but it literally felt like I had one less kid to take care of. And I realize that I am partially to blame for that. Over the 10+ years of our marriage, I had become the type of partner that looks after their spouse like a child. Instead of asking for help, I had rationalized why Jon was too busy or couldn't do something as well as me, so I should just do it myself. Jon didn't just become this person, I helped him, heck, I might have even pushed him to it. And that's not healthy for a relationship. But in my defense, there had been times in the past that I tried to communicate grievances or hardships and Jon would just shut down. I had been conditioned to grin and bear it, because trying to talk through things was never worth the trouble and inevitable silent treatment.
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