Category: Doing Divorce

We were at the dinner table and my 12 and 14 year-old daughters were snickering about something their dad did.  I joined in on what I thought was light-hearted fun: I said something negative about their dad.  The conversation and chuckling came to a screeching halt.  “What just happened?” I wondered as a chill crept up my spine. “Mom.  Don’t do that.”  My 14 year-old Anna said sternly.  I felt the sting and shame all within a second.  You may not believe it, but in the 7 ½ years since our divorce, this was the first time I said something

Intentionally Curious Part 3: Co-Parenting Conversations I sat down at my table and took a few deep breaths to calm the nerves or nausea that toiled in my stomach.  I already felt like crying and my former spouse hadn’t even arrived yet.  Maybe I should send a text that I wasn’t feeling well and we would need to reschedule.  No.  That would only delay the inevitable. Here I was, seemingly poised and prepared to have a challenging conversation with my former spouse.  We would be covering topics induced by an impasse reached weeks earlier.  I started in on my self

Parents with Patience Part 2:  A Co-Parenting Conversation Series “Are you going to respond?”  “Please respond.”  “I am not going to bring Billy’s baseball shoes that he needs until you answer my question about the summer parenting dates in 5 months.”  “I need a response.”  “Are you too busy to be a good parent?”  “I am calling my lawyer.” More often than you would think, our lawyers and paralegals are reading text messages, emails, and phone transcripts accounts of between non-cooperating co-parents that ring very similar to this example.  I would say parenting conflict in communication often snowballs, but it

Time to Talk Part 1: A Co-Parenting Conversation Series I can’t remember ever having felt nervous with my former spouse.  Maybe twenty years ago when we met on April 1, 1999.  For my last year of law school, my sister and I moved into a quaint duplex near the state capitol.  He was the boy next door.  Little did I know then that we would be married, have children, and be divorced inside the span of two decades. This day I was nervous.  I arrived at the café early hoping to tame the knots twisting around in my stomach.  Eric

I am not sure which of us was more excited or more nervous.  My daughter was coming to court after school to watch me.  This was the first time in her 14 years that she had taken interest in what her mom does.   After watching me spend atypical evenings and weekends working on what I described as a “big case,” her curiosity was piqued.  She was asking questions about what made cases hard, how the process worked, what I liked about trial. Day three of trial arrived and so did my daughter during the afternoon session.  She observed over 50

I thought it was a misprint.  14 children.  I reread it.  My logical mind struggled.  I convinced myself “that must include grandchildren.”  I was reading the obituary of a beloved Saint Cecilia Elementary teacher – Mrs. Margaret Swanson.  She taught both of my daughters in their first grade years. Mrs. Swanson perfectly struck the near impossible balance of being both strict and sweet.  She cherished her first graders and I have no doubt loved them wholeheartedly.  I recall her showing extra patience with my spunky Sophia. It was during Sophia’s year that Mrs. Swanson received her cancer diagnosis.  That would

I didn’t want to think about it.  Let alone talk about it.  Worse even to write about it.  All of those actions would make it more real.  Several weeks ago, I reluctantly agreed that my former spouse could take our daughters on a trip over the holiday.  The rub is that they will be gone from December 22 through the morning of December 26th.  I will miss all of Christmas with them.  A first. I have preached more times than I can count that holidays are “just days” and can be re-created on a different day.  I have advised repeatedly

I couldn’t wait.  It was likely going to be our own version of a Hallmark Christmas movie.  But this one would be about a mother and her teenage daughters having the most magical Christmas time ever.  No plot twists were allowed that would involve a hardship to overcome.  My daughters and I were off to Chicago for two days to sight-see, shop, and spend time at a German Christmas market. To ante up the expectation, for calendar reasons, this was to be my only weekend with the girls until after Christmas.  This needed to be good. The first night we

I stitched every inch of this holiday advent calendar.  I could spend an equivalent number of hours delighting in it as I did creating it.  However, if I had to pull from the pocket the felt toy from each of the days I would not have my daughters with me in December, the calendar would be only half-filled.  That old familiar frustration of having to share my daughters with their dad during the holidays stings anew. In 7 years of sharing holidays, I confess it has not become as easy as I had hoped.  In fact, for me, it is

My daughter is grumpy.  She keeps complaining that we are having our Thanksgiving in two days – on Saturday.  When I mentioned getting our Christmas tree earlier this year, due to a complicated holiday schedule and adjustments that were made, she nearly game unglued.  Tears, pouting, and teenage angst have been triggered by any discussion around the holidays this year. “Anna,” I said one evening when the tears were welling up in her eyes.  “Don’t you remember you are the one who taught me the lesson that holidays have very little to do with the actual day on which they