You Signed Up for This
Category: Life

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Several weeks ago, my ex-husband and I were engaged in a conversation about visitation schedules with the kids. I made a promise to myself when this divorce started that I would rarely, if ever, write about the details of this divorce—why, who did what, who is doing what wrong at the moment, stupid stuff he does, stupid stuff I do. I don't see what purpose it would serve, other than to leave a record of unhappiness and bitterness for my daughters to read one day. The only reason I bring this up is because this particular conversation has been running through my mind for the past 12 or so hours.

I asked him why he didn't ever want the kids overnight. Often, it feels like I'm forcing them on him when it comes to overnight stays. He said, "That's two and a half days. It's hard taking care of them for that long."

            "Precisely," I snap back. "I do it all of the time."

            His response?

            "Hey, you signed up for this. It's going to be tough for you, being a single mom and all."

            My response to this gem of wisdom?

            "Why, are you planning on dying any time soon? You are still their parent. We don't have to be married to co-parent."

            And then proceeds to tell me that because "I signed up for this," it's different. If I want to be a single mom so badly—enough so to lose the house we worked so hard for, split retirement accounts, divide possessions, and be embarrassed around our friends and family—then I'll get what I deserve.

            Yes, isn't that every little girl's dream? To grow up, fall in love, have a dream wedding, make a home, and then have beautiful, healthy children---all just to throw it away for the hell of it? Or because being a single mom sounds like so much fun? Give me a break. Rather than focusing on that, he should have been focusing on what it is he's done to me through the years (or not done) that has made a more trying lifestyle more appealing than one with him. Well, we are here because he's never turned the spotlight on himself for further examination. It was, is, and will always be "my choice."

            Funny thing, outside of joint finances, I have felt like a single mom for a very long time. Actually, from day one when our first child was born. Late night cry sessions, feedings, changings, searching for daycares and sitters, caring for sick kiddos, pediatrician visits, hospital stays, clothing, birthday parties and play dates, school functions—I handled all of it. I was our "relationship secretary" so to speak, as I would keep him informed about times, dates, and places for him to decide about whether or not to attend—much like an admin and a CEO. Therefore, when people ask me if it's harder to handle the kids on my own, my honest answer is always no. There are moments it has been harder—an extra set of hands always helps. Shuffling kids to and from activities—it's nice when two people can divide the task. Otherwise, things have remained relatively the same.

            Until last night.

            As fast as I can claim it's not that hard being a single mom, I will also admit (near) defeat at the moment. My daughter and her best friend have planned a Halloween party for months. They were so into this gig that it often felt like we were planning their birthdays instead of a quick holiday gathering. The day was spent making the house look as spooky as possible (these are girls after all….gore has its limits) and we made sure everything was put together for costumes, down to black nail polish and purple hair spray. My daughter's friend and her mom—who happens to be one of my closest friends—arrived mid-afternoon to help set up, plus it was a chance for us to catch up over a beer….then another beer….and so on. It was a fun day.

            Right at 6, the little ghosts and goblins arrived. It almost brought tears to my eyes when I realized that these kids all became friends when they were about 2, going on 3. I remember their first Halloween at their pre-school, as they clung to our legs and timidly tried out carnival-type games for the first time. My how time flies, I realized, as they began chasing each other around the house, sword fighting, wrestling, jumping off of chairs, and such. They were doing anything but clinging to our legs. I call my group of friends "the preschool posse" as that's where we all met and became close. In daycare situations, you usually smile and nod at the other parents during drop off and pick up, but for some reason, our situation was different. We quickly realized we shared an affection for a nice cocktail, good food, and lots of laugh-out-loud humor. All working moms, we have a lot in common. Champagne cocktails, bacon-wrapped scallops, chips and dip, brie, wine—we indulged while the kids played.

            The party officially kicked off with spooky blood-red kool-aid over dry ice and eyeball suckers. Then we went into pin the nose on the jack-o-lantern, a cake walk, dance contest, guessing games, and such. Right about the time we handed out goodie bags, it hit. By it, I mean my youngest daughter's stomach virus—the one she stayed home for on Friday. At first, I thought it was the champagne mixed with cupcake frosting. But nope. I sprinted for my bathroom. Enough said.

            Party is still in progress. It's my house, and I'm the host….. So, I put a cool rag to my face, re-apply lip gloss, and head back out. This is when I realize a few people wanted to hang back to wash dishes and chat. Normally, I'd take them up on the offer, but I had more pressing matters at hand. I insisted they go home and get some rest. Just as I ushered out the last guest, I hear my oldest daughter tell me that her stomach hurts. I knew instantly that she had the bug too. As I was putting my crying pre-schooler to bed (she was furious that we skipped stories and songs….sorry kiddo) I hear a primal scream from the gameroom. I knew that she had gotten sick, but I didn't realize the damage…until I opened the door from Liv's bedroom to find the last thing that Kate ate—chocolate cake—all over the carpet. She's crying and scared so I usher her to her bedroom to clean her up and put her to bed. Then it's my turn. I run to the guest bathroom. Then it's her turn. I hold back her hair and bring the trash can over to her bed. This continues for what seems like forever. I strip her sheets and get her settled in with a cool rag to her head and some water. I settle in next door in the guest room. We had about two more bouts each during the night but we made it through somehow.

            Somewhere in the night—not exactly sure what time as it seems almost endless—I sat up in bed, curled my legs in to my body, rested my head on my knees and cried. It was if the tears were unending—a steady stream of sadness, frustration, guilt, and bitterness that I had been holding back for months. All I could think of was, "You signed up for this."

            Now granted, if he was here there probably wouldn't have been much he would do to help. I've been through this before. He immediately gets nauseous when someone else is in this situation, and nurturing when sick is not his forte'. But I couldn't help but think of one thing he could do, which was to go out and bring back a Sprite. Since I was a kid, drinking Sprite when I have an upset stomach has been an almost magical cure. It just settles everything and helps me (and my stomach) relax. I could not get the vision of a tall, ice cold Sprite out of my head. I was so thirsty, and water helped but sort of made me sick again. I thought about calling a friend, but at that hour, my friends with kids were long in bed….my friends with no kids were probably just leaving the bar somewhere. I thought about calling neighbors, but the sad realization is that my neighbors are "his" friends. I'm friends with them via marriage—which I am no longer a part of—so I really don't think these fine folks would jump at the chance to bring over a Sprite in the middle of the night to help out their buddy's ailing ex-wife. Doubtful.

            I went downstairs to check the pantry and fridge one more time for some lone can or bottle of Sprite, possibly left behind from the last round of sick we experienced. Nothing. I look around and see a house destroyed—dishes everywhere, toy plastic spiders all over the floor, opened and left-behind treat bags, half-eaten apples, smoky red Kool-Aid coming out of my sink, three bags of garbage, wine and champagne glasses scattered about. I thought about my bathroom—the scene of the original crime. I was in such a hurry to return to the party that I didn't exactly clean it up. I felt sick again just thinking of it. I thought about the carpet upstairs and Kate's bedding. I realized that I had little to no sleep, but that in a matter of hours, my youngest will wake up ready for breakfast and eager to play with mom. I could barely turn my head, much less carry her around. The aches, pains, and chills were starting to set in.

            So I stood there, in the middle of my kitchen in the middle of the night, crying. Earlier that evening, one of the mom's asked if I was involved in interior design work and complimented the house and its style. I was blown away. I started looking—really looking—at everything around me that I have poured my heart and soul into making the "perfect" life—the pictures everywhere, the perfect granite to go with the perfect tile and backsplash which complements the perfect bronze fixtures on the sink. The list goes on. I pulled a blanket around my shoulders and walked over to a window, running my hand over the plantation shutter that I spent hours choosing with a designer. I looked outside to the pool, still lit from the party—so serene and inviting. The house was so quiet. I could just hear the familiar ticking of the mantel clock. I sat on the couch and said it out loud…."You signed up for this."

            And then the tears stopped. Yes, I still wanted that Sprite. Yes, I still love my house and everything in it. But what I realized is that he spoke the truth when he said those words. Yes, I did sign up for this….because I didn't have a choice. He didn't give me a choice, even though I gave him opportunity after opportunity to do so. You see, just before I got Kate settled into bed, and just before my second round with "the sick," I called him, as he is out of town on business. I thought about the fact that he'd be angry if I didn't call after the party so he could talk to Kate and sing her goodnight songs. So in the midst of my misery, I found the energy to get the phone, call him and quickly say…."Kate has been throwing up. I am throwing up. We have Liv's virus. It's awful around here but I didn't want you to think I kept Kate from telling you good-night." I had to hang up, as I was getting sick and I could hear Kate getting sick again.

            You would think that he would call back at some point, if nothing else than to check on his daughter. And if not, you would think he'd call first thing in the morning to see how everything turned out. The phone never rang. I had a moment of weakness in the night and called him, wondering if he could think of someone who could just buy a two-liter of Sprite and put it on the front porch—a friend or something. He didn't answer the call and nor did he return the missed call in the morning. I reached him this morning so Kate could talk to him, and he whispers "Yeah…." I ask if he's in a meeting and he says, "No, we're about to tee off." And then I knew. He was busy with golf….his friends…himself.

            I realized that if I was on a business trip out of state and he called to tell me that everyone in the house is sick, the carpet is ruined, and he would do anything in the world for a Sprite, I would do everything in my power to help. I'd call and call….and then call again…to check on everyone.

            So, there you have just one example of many of the differences that brought us to this point. So, yes, I did sign up for this. I signed up to give my daughters a shot and learning about what a healthy relationship is—and isn't. I signed up for taking care of them 100 percent, even if that means I get throw-up on my jeans and have to wash the sheets three times in one night. I signed up for telling my daughter it's OK and not her fault when she sees the stain on the carpet and cries because she feels bad. I signed up for giving my daughter a fun Halloween party and not ruining it by announcing that I'm sick, but instead carrying on with fresh lip gloss and a smile. I signed up for staying home from work—when I'm already behind—to take care of them. I signed up for creating a home that is full of love, laughter, and peace—not tension and anger. Maybe the home we wind up in won't have granite and plantation shutters, but it will be filled with love, laughter, and a Christ-centered focus in everything we do. I signed up for being a healthy, happy mom—which I wasn't before. I signed up for life….for living.

            So now I have a messy house—I'll clean it tonight when I feel better. I have a stain on the carpet—If I can't get it out myself then I'll call a carpet cleaner. Oh, and I also have a Sprite. I bundled up my sick kiddo and enticed the younger one with her own "grown up drink of Sprite" and headed to the nearest drive-thru to get the biggest Sprite on ice they have. Bliss. I feel better already.

            I really do. I feel better already. So glad I signed up for this.