The macaroni noodles made that squishing sound while I mixed in the foil packet of primary yellow “cheese.” It’s what the two little guys requested for breakfast this morning.
The 9 year old sheepishly asked, “do you think you could make mac & cheese for us?”
“Now?” I replied as I shuffled around the kitchen, trying to make coffee.
“Yeah….??”
“Ok. Do we have it to make? Sure.”
“Yay! Thank you!” the two of them shouted as they danced back into their dad’s bedroom to watch YouTube.
I looked down into the pot, squish squish squish, turning the spoon, and thought, “I used to make them pancakes and bacon wrapped egg muffins on the weekends.”
I looked up and around and remembered how I used to spend Saturday mornings in my light-filled and beautifully curated home, Joshua Radin and Ray LaMontagne and Jack Johnson on shuffle, puppies and babies running and wobbling amok.
Now, I rarely see them on Saturday mornings. When I do, it’s in my ex’s house, their home, and a place I sleep a few days a week while he’s out. I don’t try to make this space mine when I’m here. I’m just a visitor. I never know what’s in the pantry to cook when I arrive.
We didn’t intentionally set out to “nest” for 3 years, but it’s worked well enough for us so far. Scott travels nearly every week for work, so I am with the kids Mon/Tues-Thurs/Fri, and back at my apartment on the weekends.
The plan was to be in my own space by now- one big enough to make a home for my babies when I have them. The plan was to upsize when I could afford it. Then the rent went up $600+/month and stayed that way. I now pay more for my 1 bedroom apartment than I would have for a 4 bedroom house back in 2020.
Letting myself slip between the sliding doors of realities is treacherous. If I stay too long thinking about the reality I planned to be living right now, I can get stuck there for days. Depression lives there, and it creeps up on me with it’s shame tendrils, trapping me.
So I try not to linger for long on the thoughts of my very own home with space for all of them to make their own, too. I try not to think about the ease of meal prepping and menu planning and cooking for them when I know what I have to work with, and where all the things are to cook with. I try not to think about how cozy I could make a space for all of us.
There are tradeoffs for everything. Everything worth fighting for is at the cost of something worth sacrificing.
I don’t get to make them slow weekend meals in a sunlit home I’ve thoughtfully filled with soft blankets and cozy rugs and bright art. Not yet, at least.
I do get to model for them what healing looks like. They get to see me, in real time, re-parenting myself. In the kitchen of the their home that is not mine, they get to see me get flustered when one starts yelling at the other, and then they get to see me pause and breathe and make a different choice than I would have in the past.
And that has to count. That has to be at least as good as pancakes and bacon wrapped egg muffins.
I feel this so deeply in my soul. I'm five years post-divorce and still get caught in the in-between of what life was (what I took away from them, my depression says) and where I want us to be (seems like a pipe dream at this point). I still live there every day. I don't know how long I will punish myself for leaving, for altering their lives forever, but I've got to hope I'll forgive myself at some point along my own healing journey. I regret some of my actions, things I said and did when I left (I'll be the first to admit I should've handled myself better) but I won't let myself regret leaving. I was a shell of a person and we can't live like that. Am I whole now? No, but I'm building myself up and I will get there. I, too, used to make pancakes every weekend and I rarely do now. It's one of the things that was sacrificed for my mental bandwidth. Some days it's there, some days it isn't. I guess being able to realize when it isn't is one of the ways of taking care of myself.
Anyway. Lots of rambling, I'm sorry. All of this to say, I am right there with you. Right there.
Love to you and your beautiful soul. <3
Beautiful post, it makes me think about gratitude. Not focusing on the time and place but just being with your family and feeling at peace. Something I will think about today as my kids destroy the house (like they always do).