It’s Friday. I’ve been waiting for this day for two weeks. It’s my visitation weekend again. I’ve cleaned the house, stocked the fridge, and picked up some favorite food. I always leave a few hours early to run errands. At least that’s what I tell myself and others but the truth is I just can’t wait here at home. I’m too happy and excited. I love my weekends with two of my daughters.
I get impatient because they are never ready when I get to the house. I sit in the car. If I’m really antsy I play with their dog Buddy. I’m not welcome in the house but Buddy loves me. He runs for his toy when he sees it’s me and we play toss for a few minutes. The girls head out with backpacks, Ipods and phones.
We hug quickly and climb in to the car. Immediately the chatter starts……they fill me in on boys, friends, classes, the latest injustice done to them by sibling, parent or friend. I fill them in with happenings on the farm, the latest crazy cat story or what Mo (one of our dogs ) is up to now. It doesn’t really matter what we are talking about. We are together. My usually fragmented self begins to feel whole again.
We pull into the driveway amidst the hoopla of dogs and cats welcoming their girls with unbridled exuberance. We walk in the house stumbling over the wriggling piles of fur. Bags are dropped by the door, shoes kicked off in the kitchen and coats are thrown on the couch as both of them look for Brent. He is usually still sleeping (he works nights) but neither they nor he cares. They crawl over the bed to cuddle and talk. This ends all too soon because both of their phones are vibrating with unread texts. My usually clean quiet house has exploded with family noise and clutter.
I lay in my husband’s arms as we listen to the bustle. They are checking out the fridge, the cookie jar, the freezer. “Mom, can we make doughnuts tomorrow?” Sure. “Mom, will you make your homemade macaroni and cheese?” Okay. They get into an argument about whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher. My husband laughs and says as I jump up to referee, “Mom, are you happy?” Yes, I am. My girls are home and I get to be Mom for a few days. Happy doesn’t begin to explain it. I live for these four days a month.
But they are getting older. Both are in Junior High at the moment. Sports, choir, friends birthdays and other activities have all begun creeping in like thieves in the night to steal my oh, so precious time. And it will only get worse when dates and jobs start up. I know. I’ve already lost some of their older siblings to the all encompassing grasp of high school.
The rule has been to clear all activities with me by Wednesday or no go. There have been some touchy times but we’ve stuck to our ground pretty well. However, it gets to be more and more of a problem due to everyone’s apparent lack of ability to plan ahead. I find that VERY frustrating.
It was bound to happen and this past Friday night it did. I did all my usual preparations, left the house early, did my errands and pulled into the driveway exactly at 6pm. The girls came out and told me of some very important (to them) activities that had cropped up at the last moment. I could see how much they wanted to participate in these activities so I said yes. I gave them permission to skip visitation that week.
I used to think that nothing could feel worse than taking them home at the end of the weekend. I was wrong. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?
I get impatient because they are never ready when I get to the house. I sit in the car. If I’m really antsy I play with their dog Buddy. I’m not welcome in the house but Buddy loves me. He runs for his toy when he sees it’s me and we play toss for a few minutes. The girls head out with backpacks, Ipods and phones.
We hug quickly and climb in to the car. Immediately the chatter starts……they fill me in on boys, friends, classes, the latest injustice done to them by sibling, parent or friend. I fill them in with happenings on the farm, the latest crazy cat story or what Mo (one of our dogs ) is up to now. It doesn’t really matter what we are talking about. We are together. My usually fragmented self begins to feel whole again.
We pull into the driveway amidst the hoopla of dogs and cats welcoming their girls with unbridled exuberance. We walk in the house stumbling over the wriggling piles of fur. Bags are dropped by the door, shoes kicked off in the kitchen and coats are thrown on the couch as both of them look for Brent. He is usually still sleeping (he works nights) but neither they nor he cares. They crawl over the bed to cuddle and talk. This ends all too soon because both of their phones are vibrating with unread texts. My usually clean quiet house has exploded with family noise and clutter.
I lay in my husband’s arms as we listen to the bustle. They are checking out the fridge, the cookie jar, the freezer. “Mom, can we make doughnuts tomorrow?” Sure. “Mom, will you make your homemade macaroni and cheese?” Okay. They get into an argument about whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher. My husband laughs and says as I jump up to referee, “Mom, are you happy?” Yes, I am. My girls are home and I get to be Mom for a few days. Happy doesn’t begin to explain it. I live for these four days a month.
But they are getting older. Both are in Junior High at the moment. Sports, choir, friends birthdays and other activities have all begun creeping in like thieves in the night to steal my oh, so precious time. And it will only get worse when dates and jobs start up. I know. I’ve already lost some of their older siblings to the all encompassing grasp of high school.
The rule has been to clear all activities with me by Wednesday or no go. There have been some touchy times but we’ve stuck to our ground pretty well. However, it gets to be more and more of a problem due to everyone’s apparent lack of ability to plan ahead. I find that VERY frustrating.
It was bound to happen and this past Friday night it did. I did all my usual preparations, left the house early, did my errands and pulled into the driveway exactly at 6pm. The girls came out and told me of some very important (to them) activities that had cropped up at the last moment. I could see how much they wanted to participate in these activities so I said yes. I gave them permission to skip visitation that week.
I used to think that nothing could feel worse than taking them home at the end of the weekend. I was wrong. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?
This sounds too good to be true. I remember going to visit my dad on certain occasions after my parent's divorce, and it never turned out this great.
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