Things that break your heart . . .

Broken heart number one:

Okay, the scene:  I'm at my desk, reading.  The boys are in the playroom, play-acting a scene from the beginning of Peter Pan. . . then it all stops and gets quiet. 

Z:  Why do Michael and John and Wendy have a father living with them?

J:  I don't know.  We don't have a father.

Z:  No, we don't.

OMG, what do I say?  How do I make that better?  When I heard that, it was just quiet.  Both J and Z's voices when they said it were quiet, too.  Sad, but matter-of-fact.  My heart stopped for a moment.

I used to be the ever-positive one, even when it killed me.  I vowed early on not to "bash" N in front of the boys.  If they have a negative view of him, it's because they have decided for themselves what they think or believe.  I still try, though it gets harder the older they get.  I was going to interrupt and explain to them that they do have a dad, he just doesn't live with us.  It is a delicate subject. . . I have said before that "he's not part of our family" . . . which sounds wrong, but it's not too far from the truth.  I give him updates and tell him stories when he calls, but he's not part of our family.  The older they get, though, the harder it is.  Really.  They understand a lot more than they did years ago.  We separated when I was pregnant with Z, and he walked away from them in January of 2007.  Getting close to 3 1/2 years.  So they don't know him.  But it's sad.  Typical family is a mom, dad, and kids.  And they've never really had that.  No words can really fix it.

But I didn't have to try.  After just a few seconds of quiet, they went right back to playing and singing about happy thoughts and flying to Neverland.

Since it was that easy to get over and go back to their game, I guess it doesn't matter too much.  I'm doing my job . . . or they don't really miss having a dad . . .  or Peter Pan and Captain Hook really were more important in that moment than not having a dad. 

Broken heart number two:

I think every mom has heard it . . . but it still hurts.  Maybe it hurts me more because I'm doing this all by myself . . . or because I know a little bit of the psychology behind it.  They lash out at me because they know I'm here.  I'm always here, no matter what they say or how they treat me.

So, what is it?

I hate you!

Yeah.  It hurts.  And I never know just how to handle it.  I try to brush it off, especially when I know that they're mad.  When they're in trouble, I really try not to show that I care, and stick to the punishment.  It's hard to stick to a timeout, though, when a part of me wants to cry, and another part of me just wants to hug him and tell him that no matter what, I will always love him.   It doesn't matter whether it's J or Z.  It hurts either way.  I also know that they don't really mean it. . . .  But it sucks anyway.  Every time.


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That's all for now.  It's time to get out of here.
Time for peace and quiet, and some good weather!