Category: Doing Divorce

He had a deep love for sleeping in sunshine spots.  You could tell time in our house by his on the nose reminders of meal and treat times. He preferred under-the-chin scratches the best. He adored being Anna’s favorite. For over fifteen years our Oliver a/k/a Ollie a/k/a Ollie Jones has been a steadfast and loving member of our family. By the time any of you read this, I will have said the final goodbye to my beloved Oliver. Oliver’s life lasted longer than my marriage and he was in both my pre and post-divorce households. On days that my

I recall it with precision.  I saved every dollar I earned doing chores for my mom and grandma for the entire summer until I reached the magic number of $20.  That was enough to purchase the Pink and Pretty Barbie my seven-year-old heart coveted. We went to Mervyn’s (a West coast retailer in the 1980’s akin to what Target would become) and I pricked with pride as I took the hot pink box to the cash register.  Tucked inside our family’s turquoise station wagon on the way home, I didn’t take my eyes off Barbie’s blue eyes staring at me

“I feel so guilty,” she told me with true anguish in her voice, “This is so hard.” My daughter was in conflict with her dad over her summer schedule after returning home from college. “I hate being in the middle.” For 12 years I tried to heed the oft-stated warning for divorced parents to keep your children out of the middle. The middle being between me and their dad. On many occasions, I “sucked it up” and conceded on a co-parenting issue to shield my kids from knowing there was conflict between their parents. When we divorced our daughters were

We sat on a bench pointed toward the sea like two women twice our age. I clutched my binoculars in one hand ready to spy anything (or anyone) worth my interest and I tsked the young man out on the coastal rocks by himself. She marveled at the constancy of the ocean waves and how they made our troubles seem small and remote.  We fell into easy silences and I scooched closer to keep her warm.  We have been side by side friends since we were twelve years old. We struggled through puberty and big eighties hair together. We bravely took

Sophia wanted her turn.  We sat at the dinner table going through our days and she was anxious to share.   It was a 7th grade drama – a mild version of mean girls.  Sophia set the scene.  “We were playing a trick on Josie and hiding her book.  I don’t know why.  It’s just a thing.  So I told her I had her book.  I didn’t.  So I don’t know why I said it, but that’s what I told her.”  I could see the snowball forming as she moved through her story.  “Sophia, you are too dumb to have my

When Santa came to visit my house for Christmas in 1984, he gifted me a Fisher-Price Kids Kodak 110 Film blue camera.  It was the second-best Santa gift I ever received next to the “Pretty In Pink” Barbie from 1981. My camera came with a cartridge of eight flashbulbs to use indoors. I fancied myself a photographer while posing my Barbies, my cats, and my favorite Raggedy Ann doll around our backyard.  Soon after the first set of prints were picked up from the film developer, my mom bought me my first scrapbook. I meticulously kept scrapbooks from 1984 to

I stayed in bed because I knew I was supposed to.  I pretended to sleep through the whispered arguments and the clanking of dishes.   I peeked out from under the covers to see her proudly carrying the cookie sheet with her Mother’s Day display.  I successfully feigned waking up rested and delighted to the breakfast prepared in my honor.   How I choked down that very full bowl of soggy Special K, I will never know. My daughters, who were 9 and 7 that year, were trying their very best to make my Mother’s Day memorable.  And they did.  I will

I sucked in every molecule of air in the room when my dad’s doctor confirmed it was prostate cancer.  After weeks of testing, we finally had the clarity that comes with results. Despite anticipating this would be the news, the tears streamed down my face. My dad had been through enough in the last seven months by going through two hematoma surgeries on his brain – didn’t he get a pass for this add-on? In the weeks that followed, I took detailed notes and read the summaries for multiple doctor appointments, my mom supported my dad with everything from his

Both of us baby-faced and needing frequent naps, I could have spent the rest of my days with her head tucked safely under my chin and her little sixteen-pound body warming my heart.  At six months into her life, I was finally getting the hang of things and not congratulating myself nightly that she was still breathing. I was now accustomed to the permanent expansion of my heart. Little did I know then that in seven short years, her father and I would be working through a divorce and my plans for parenting with him would be barely recognizable by the