R and A, you save me. You move me. You keep me afloat. You make mundane days into my favorite moments. You’re ten and five. I cry as I write your ages for you’ll never be these again. I want to keep you as you are: wrapped in wonder and joy and so much contagious spunkiness.

It’s just another weekend with no real plans, but it’s my weekend and since we’re together the days unfold as if they were made for us.

Surrounded on all sides by kids and parents on iPads and phones, Rafe and I dare to read a hardcover library book of scary ghost stories for kids while Alba learns, for the first time, to move from one gymnastic ring to the next. I am faster than Rafe at reading so while I wait for him to turn the page I look up just in time to witness her grow more confident and strong right before my eyes.

We return home and they both just want to play with me at the same time, per usual. I come up with the perfect plan to keep them both happy. I stand in the middle of my living room, Rafe guarding his goal on one side and Alba on the other net. I alternate and try to score on both of these couch goalies. We do this for 30 minutes until lunch. They are disappointed and mad when the game ends.

We recover while eating sun butter and fluff sandwiches while watching Bluey, stopping only to laugh together.

Rafe’s friend comes over right after we finish eating. He immediately asks if I can play Taylor Swift. My house becomes a dance party. This friend knows every line to every song. While he may not be aware, Rafe’s being turned into a Swiftie. If you ask him he’ll say he only likes rap, but we know the truth.

The dance party turns into board games and pig piles and jumping on the trampoline full of fall leaves.

Alba’s a bad loser. When she doesn’t win the game we take a photo of us all being angry and then I turn us into emojis.

The exact moment when the parents arrive at my house to pick up Rafe’s friend, I have two boys staring at me with the biggest “please” faces and prayer hands asking for a sleepover. I can’t say no. Also, I didn’t buy the coolest teal pullout couch for nothing.

Alas, the fun was about to stop but it continues. We get take-out. The boys watch Matilda while I get Alba ready for bed. I happen to walk by and hear “When I grow up” and stop myself from bursting into tears.

The line from the song about adults being brave enough to fight the monsters under the bed gets me every time.

I don’t want them to grow up. Not yet. Can’t we just wait a little longer at these ages?

I’m not yet uncool. I know it’s coming but we’re not there. The kids and their friends want me to hang out and play and sing and dance. This will change. It’s just around the corner.

For now this insomniac is awake. The beautiful children are sleeping for they don’t yet know of adult problems. I won’t tell them what’s surely ahead. I’d selfishly like them to stay this innocent and free forever.

M is for matriarchy*
The antidote to patriarchy.

M is for mama.
The gentle ruler of our magical kingdom.

M is for moments of peace.
We’ve been waiting too long for this day.

M is for messes.
We eat on the carpet. We spill food on our clothes. No one says a word. 

M is for music.
We take breaks from mealtimes to dance. It’s Nancy our neighbor with her accordion. It’s the sound of crickets at night when my screen door is open.

M is for magic.
You tell me you’re braver when I hold your hand. It fills my day with hope.

M is for marriage.
I believed it was my one true path to happiness. What a mirage.

M is for mixed emotions.
I cry and laugh everyday.

M is for memoir, five years in the making.

M is for moving on.
It’s hard work, but now I see the path before me that was hidden. 

*Shout out to D for inspiring me to write this blog post.

You don’t have to be jealous of me.
You just have to be better.

Tune in. Slow down. Enter their worlds full of magic and let their stardust fill you up.

The less you can be an adult with them the better. Make a fart joke. Dance. Watch their faces carefully when they find magic in something we’d consider mundane. Laugh at her jokes. Bask in his wisdom.

When they are fighting or crossing a line, ask yourself why. Don’t assume they are flawed. Assume they are tired or hungry or sad or angry.

They won’t remember all details of our divorce. They will instinctively remember the feelings when they are 27, 45, and 80. The emotions will catch them off guard and throw them on a high speed train right back to 10 and 5.

Find the patience even if you’re faking it at first. Sometimes I fake it too, but it always blurs a line and I find the real and true actual joy deep down. Every single time.

When you are tired, ask for help. I’m here. Your family is too. They’d catch a plane in a heartbeat for you.

The truth is that they will carry this unstable time in their bones forever. Make sure you stabilize yourself now.

Start immediately.

My marriage is in a slow and excruciating path to hell.

I am in one of the lowest places of my life.

Yesterday I drove to New Hampshire to have a sleep over with my family. I need lots of breaks from my own house, a home currently dripping with negativity.

When I arrive I am greeted by two homes. One is an in-law apartment where my parents live and the other is my brother and sister-in-law’s home.

I never know which one to go into first so I often wait and see who opens their interior door first. Yesterday it was my mom. She’s peaceful. She is a very good listener. She feeds me a banana, makes me green tea and tells me to relax while she makes me dinner. I am hungry and finally eat a full meal with her by my side. She says she’s trying to fatten me up.

After dinner I join my brother, sister in law and my two nephews. I interrupt their watching of Kung Fu Panda with the chaos that lives in me. They all listen to me and are really with me around the kitchen table while I begin to cry over my divorce.

My nephews listen to me too. And, it’s hard for me to know that they know about the divorce. It makes it more real somehow.

And yet, instinctively they kick into high gear and know exactly what I need in this moment.

They begin sharing with me all of the wierdest and most hilarious photos they’ve taken of their own faces. I quickly realize this is something they do all the time. I feel their could be hundreds. Their phones are full of awkward photos they’ve taken of themselves. And why do they do it? It’s not for social media. It is simply to make themselves and others laugh their asses off. To me, it is an act of resistance against the idea of perfectionism. They are brilliant.

What happens to me for the next 30 minutes is what I now know is actual joy, a feeling I’ve avoided for years thinking I don’t deserve to feel it. As they show me these pictures my face begins to ache. It’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever experience in my life. I ask them to please always and forever text me whenever they take one. 

A part of grieving for me has to be humor because I really did feel at peace after this intense laughter session.

Thanks, J and N. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know.