In a culture that insists that marriage is the glue that holds families together, my ex and I discovered that breaking up was the most rebellious choice we could make. Seven years post-split and we are the happiest we’ve ever been. But this wasn’t always the case. The cracks that formed in our marriage were tiny, but they grew into crevasses. Every night, we would tuck our girls into bed, tip toe out of their rooms and meet in the living room. Each of us taking up space on separate couches until the glare of the television put us to sleep. Every night looked eerily similar until the expanse grew so vast that I could hardly recognize him - let alone myself - as we stood on the proverbial cliff. We didn’t shout at each other, we didn’t have flings on the side - we simply grew to dislike each other. Imagine hearing the garage door, and feeling a knot form in your gut as your mind whispers: it’s showtime. I played my part to keep the peace. Until one morning, I was washing dishes at my kitchen sink and looked over at my kids, playing quietly in the living room. My daughter stopped playing and looked over at me from across the room. When my eyes locked with hers she said, so sweetly: “Smile, mommy.” We exchanged smiles before she continued playing with her sister and I felt the walls fall away, leaving me exposed. I thought I was doing a good job of showing her happy mom, happy wife, but she saw me. She saw me. Nervously I started paying attention to how I felt - now that I had a captive audience. I was disheartened every day. My mood lifted temporarily as we took a trip to DisneyWorld Park in California. A place I was sure to re-capture our family joy. Arriving home meant returning to our rehearsed roles and the sad reality caught up with me again. It wasn’t my children: they were the lights of my life. I fantasized about a life where their dad and I could skip the painful breakup and go straight to co parenting å la the Paltrow/Martin scenario. The road seemed impossible from where I stood. Despite this I was naive to the collective pain that divorce would cause. I wrote to an advice columnist about my struggles and to my surprise (and horror) she published my letter. My questions - “When do I know it’s time to give up and leave? I don’t want to regret it. Will my kids adapt and thrive?” Her advice was to seek couples counseling, which we did before marriage - only to have painfully unsuccessful sessions. Her response to my last question - “Cooperative joint parenting is essential to adjusted happy children.”.So we kept that at the forefront of our decisions, and never shifted focus from our most important roles as parents to our daughters. After all, they didn’t choose this. They were born into our lives. If I could wave a magic wand, I’d go back to my twenties and move in with my then-boyfriend, now ex-husband, and keenly observe how we lived as partners under one roof. Does he like to entertain as much as I do? Is he a homebody? What will the division of chores look like in our home? And, some deep discussions on parenting. Who would be responsible for project managing the family and the kids’ activities? If one of us was the primary parent, would the other provide unequivocal support when we want to take time for ourselves? (Extended trips to the grocery stores don’t count.) But, a magic wand I did not have nor the crash course in choosing a suitable partner. And I say this knowing full well that I could have been better. I can’t speak for him, but I know in my heart that we both wish we had stepped up while we were still in romantic love with one another. Today our arguments amount to who’s hoarding all of the Sistema lunch boxes and thermoses. After a hefty cooling off period and hundreds of hours of soul-searching, we are indeed friends. And we behave in ways that some parents may find unconventional. For example: ● When he drops off the girls, he will on occasion hand me a coffee or a Coke Zero. If I’m sick, he’ll ask if there’s anything he can get me. I was out of pads once, and in a moment of panic I texted him for help. An hour later, I found a Shoppers Drug Mart bag on my doorstep, with sanitary napkins the size of small pillows inside, and two full sized Snickers bars. ● Our shared access schedule has so many transitions that there are not more than two full days without seeing our kids. A family law attorney/friend laughed when she saw it and asked: “Can you send it to me? I think it might work for some of my clients.” ● On Christmas Eve, he drops the girls off after having spent the day with his family and we tuck them in together. After bedtime, we watch The Godfather (Part 1) and happily wrap each gift going into their stockings (according to him, Santa wraps gifts). He fills my stocking, and I fill his. And if he doesn’t fall asleep on the couch, he returns the following morning to open presents as a family. ● We travel together at least once a year. Last fall he called me out of the blue: “I want to take the girls to Amsterdam with my niece and some of her friends.Want to come?” And while spending several consecutive days in a row together can feel a bit odd at times, he’s pretty funny. So that helps. ● Big birthday parties for our kids are standard practice. The first few years were a little awkward for our friends and family. But for the sake of my kids they still get birthdays surrounded by everyone they love. I’ll host more people than my townhouse can accommodate for what is inevitably a loud, fun and memorable party. ● We enjoy spending time with each other’s families. Perhaps even more so now that the element of obligation has virtually disappeared. Last week I delivered something to my ex-mother-in-law and she invited me in to look at some old photos. I picked up a baby photo of my ex sitting in front of his grandparents’ colourful 80’s Christmas tree. “Look Mary,” I said. “It’s the baby boy I never had.” She laughed, “Oh you had him alright, and you gave him back to me!” Humour helps! ● I confide in him sometimes, because at the end of the day, he feels like home. The other night my father said to me, “Wouldn’t it be nice if you’d been this good together when you were married?” Where’s that magic wand again? Our divorce changed us for the better. We are working hard to create a healthy, loving interaction in two separate homes. We choose harmony over tradition. We continue nurturing our family bond - a connection that might just rival Gwyneth and Chris’s idea of the ultimate parenting example.
.png&w=3840&q=75)
.jpg&w=3840&q=75)