An Unwedding Ceremony

My ex and I have started the formal proceedings to divorce. At this point we’ve been living apart for 20 months, so it’s just paperwork and separating our finances. The emotional stuff was all processed long ago, and after years of struggle together, we’re on better terms apart. He texted me yesterday to tell me how his dog is doing. I bought him a Christmas present last week. We are friendly, with boundaries.

I’ve explained to the kids what’s going on, because I don’t lie to my kids, and they wanted to know where I was going when I left them with a babysitter to head to our first mediation appointment. My 7-year-old confided that she was worried her living arrangement would change again once the divorce was final. I explained that she’d still spend the same amount of time between her dad and me, that her two homes would remain unchanged, that everything would look and feel the same to her. We’ve already worked out the custody schedule. We’re just making it legal now. After all of the explanations, her fears were put to rest. Now she wants to know if either her dad or I ever remarry, will she get to be a flower girl? She’s a romantic at heart. Who loves any excuse to wear a fancy new dress. My 6-year-old hasn’t had any questions, and seems bored by the lengthy discussions on the topic that her sister wants to have.

Tonight we were watching a TV show, and there was a wedding ceremony in it. The girls sat down in front of the TV to oooh and aaah over the pretty dresses and flowers and music as the wedding party marched down the aisle. When it came to the exchange of vows, they both looked at me and asked if all weddings were so boring.

“It’s just a lot of talking,” the 7-year-old said. I told her she was right. But that there is a big party afterward.

After the big ceremony-ending kiss, the 6-year-old perked up. “What happens when you get divorced again?” she asked.

“Paperwork!” her sister told her.

She thought about this for a minute, then said, “I think there should be an unwedding ceremony when you get divorced. Where the woman wears black instead of white, and instead of talking about how much you love each other, you talk about why you don’t want to be together anymore.” We all had a good laugh, expanding on the notion. You could ceremoniously give the rings back. Instead of getting wedding gifts, your friends could even help the two of you divvy up what you already have. And then, of course, you’d all have a big party. 

She’s a funny old soul child, my little 6-year-old cherub. She’s a dreamer, who seems to be off in her own world most of the time, until you find out she was listening the whole time, and understood everything, no matter what code you were speaking in. It's the same way I was as a child, which is probably why I love this little streak of hers, even if it means I never get to have any secrets let alone private conversations. I also feel like when she finally gets inspired to share her insights, she's usually right.

I personally like the idea of an unwedding ceremony. Divorce has such negative connotations, creates so much tension not just between the couple, but around the friends and family they share, everyone wondering what it all means, how it will all turn out, whether they have to choose sides. Maybe it’s a perfect idea: gathering all of our friends and family together, explaining ourselves to them en masse, then letting it all go and celebrating the new phase in our lives with a big party. And I bet my 7-year-old would even get to wear that fancy new dress she’s been dreaming of.

Flying Solo, Together

The past year has been a steady string of firsts, none of them easy. Twelve months ago, this very week, my husband and I broached the idea of separating. It was the first time we'd discussed the idea in a calm, non-threatening way, not as hurtful words hurled to inflict pain during a fight, but as a means to end the hurting that had become a solid part of our relationship. It wasn't what I wanted, giving up on our marriage, pulling our childrens' lives in half like the clean snap of a wishbone. But it was the right thing to do. We had long talks about how to part as friends, how to set aside our anger and sadness, and focus fully on making the transition as easy as possible for our girls. We looked together for a place for my husband to move into, went to Ikea as a family to pick out furniture for his new apartment. For the first few months we called it "our house" and "our apartment" when talking to the kids, so they wouldn't hear the division, the finality, of mommy and daddy having different homes.

The kids adjusted surprisingly well. Their dad and I had been leading fairly separate lives for a while, between him traveling regularly for work, and me ducking out to a hotel for a night of recovery and writing time when he came back into town. While they were with me they continued to have the same home routine, school routine, and play dates as always. We took our time getting them used to the apartment, to sharing a room for the first time, to being without me in a new place. The apartment came with new bunk beds and a pool, two things the girls were very excited about. As soon as the warmer weather hit, they started heading over there regularly to swim with their dad, and we worked up to them spending the night there on Fridays.

It was a big change for me, being home without them, but after the initial shock of quiet, I learned to appreciate the down time. I had precious pockets of alone time to simply sit and breathe, something I hadn't had much of in years. I started going out with friends, especially other single moms, to unwind during my Friday nights off. Our new version of family fell into a rhythm that lasted through summer and into this school year.

The girls are both thriving this year, blowing me away with their reading and math skills, blossoming into confident little chatterboxes with a constant bubble of friends around them at all times. And a surprising number of their friends also have parents who are no longer together, which has helped this all feel less drastic for them. They compare notes with their friends on which toys they keep at mom's and dad's places, who takes them out to eat the most, which ones have pools to offer summer fun.

A year into it, we're still figuring out certain details. When dealing with small kids, flexibility is key. But one thing I'm most proud of is that our kids' family has not been shattered. They have a lot of love around them, on all sides. And their dad and I have kept our promise to stay friends, to stay kind, and to not put the kids in the middle of our issues. When we have family gatherings at my house, he's invited. Last Christmas we all headed back east to visit his family together. Next month his sister is accompanying the girls and me on a Hawaii trip. I feel very strongly that the girls must not lose any of their family connections as a result of the failings of their parents' marriage. It's a strange new world, this single motherhood gig balanced with a determination to keep the whole extended family in the picture. But I think we're pulling it off.

Getaways

The hubby and I took a two-day getaway to Las Vegas (the furthest I’ve traveled kid-free since String Bean was born), while brave grandma stayed with the girls. She says they did fine, kept the basic routine with some added elements, like a checklist written in big bold caps, that the girls got to check off as they completed each item (eat breakfast, get dressed, brush teeth, go potty, etc.). The girls apparently loved the list concept, and were not just cooperative, but eager to get through each step just so they could use a colored marker to check off the big empty box before the item.

We came home from the airport during naps (which the girls, miraculously, took, all three days for their grandma, after weeks of non-napping for me). When String Bean woke up, she first wanted to know if we’d brought her a present from our trip, and then (while wearing the new necklace she’d scored), she wanted to cuddle on my lap for the next two days solid. It’s how it always is with her when I go away, whether for an evening, a night, or a weekend. She is happy to see me when I get back, and reluctant to let me out of her sight for a few days. She gets tearful if I try to sneak off to the bathroom without telling her where I’m going, is moody at the next school drop off, calls me back into her room frequently after putting her to bed with silly questions and concerns, just to make sure I’m still there.

When I got Peanut up from her nap after being gone for two days, she smiled at seeing me and said, “Grandma said you were coming home.” I picked her up in a big hug, gave her a kiss, and she immediately said, “Put me down,” and was off and running to find Grandma, her big sister, her new doll house. Peanut’s behavior is pretty much exactly the same with me whether I’ve been gone or not.

I guess it’s a nice combination, one higher-maintenance and clingier child who makes me feel endlessly needed, but can also wear me down with her demands, and one easy-going less affectionate child who doesn’t make me feel like the center of her universe, but never taxes my reserves when I’m running low after a couple of late nights. I do look forward to the day when I can take an overnight break for myself and not feel like I have to make it up to String Bean afterward. But I also know that when that day comes, I’ll miss being the most important person in her world, just a little.