Stolen Cell Phone, Part 3

The next morning I placed my cell phone in the middle of the dining room table where it was sure to be seen.

 My kids are pretty good about getting up in the morning and taking care of themselves.  I set up all of Zeke's clothes in the downstairs bathroom, pull him out of the bunk bed with his head covered in "Froggy," and carry him in total darkness.  He hates the light first thing in the morning.  After he's gone, the girls can turn on all the lights.  I want them completely dressed, including shoes, before they sit down to breakfast. And I MAKE breakfast.  Everyday.  Like real food.  Not some pop-tart either.  My kids are mostly vegetarian and I like to send them off with a belly full of protein because I know the rest of the day is nothing but carbs, carbs, carbs.  Once they are settled, I announce:

"You people owe me $50 dollars."

I like to say whacked out crazy things to my kids just to see how they're going to respond.  For some reason, this doesn't get much of a response, so I say it again.

"That's right.  You heard me.  You people owe me $50 dollars."

This time they are looking at me like I am out of my mind.  So I explain.

"Last night.  While you were all acting crazy right before bedtime and I had to spend an extra hour settling you down, someone stole my cell phone right out of the car."

This is why I left my cell phone where they can see it.  Right away, they want to hear the story.  This is what we do at my house.  Mama, tell us the story of how you got fired from that one job.  Mama, tell us the story of how you just filled in the blanks when you were tested in third grade and they tried to put you in the special ed class. (This is a popular story lately, as they are all about to embark on Iowa Exams.) Mama, tell us the story of your first boyfriend, you first girlfriend.  Mama, tell us the story of how you met Ema.  Mama, tell us the story of how you sold all of your belongings in a yard sale.  Tell the story of my birth.  Tell the story of how you ran away from home.

So I told them.  About how I discovered it missing.  How I posted on FB.  How everybody sent text messages to my phone.  They wanted me to read the messages.  This greatly impressed them.  How the thief called me.  How I drove away while they were sleeping and retrieved it.   But then we came back to the issue at hand; I told them I never would have had my cell phone stolen if they had all been behaving ergo they owe me $50.

This brought a howl of protest.  They wanted to know why I would pay such a high reward.  Their personalities show up in their defense.  The Oldest uses critical thinking skills to argue that I am the one who forgot the cell phone out in the car in the first place, so I should pay.  Practical Scarlett says I should never pay a reward to a thief.  Georgia, ever wanting to please each person, lobbies to pay only half.  And Zeke just shrugs, I don't have that kind of money.

"Of course I'm not going to make you pay me.  It's done.  Get your back packs and help me load the car."

For some reason, Scarlett and I ended up on the second floor together again.  I have a giant clear plastic box sitting on the floor below my linen closet.  It is full of everything that should be organized into a medicine cabinet and extra stuff that can probably take up a shelf of the closet too.  Band aids.  Kids' medicine. Make up.  Cotton balls.  Nail polish.  The list goes on.  I'm sitting at the top of the steps, in the same place from the night before when the madness peaked.  Scarlett comes around the same corner.  I stop her and say:

"Look at this box.  Do you know what all this stuff is and why it's still sitting here?"

She shakes her head, "Why don't you just put it away?"

"It's still sitting here because I don't care.  I don't mind it being there.  I step over it.  It's been there since we moved in and someday eventually I'll get around to putting it all away but for now it doesn't bother me.  Look around at the rest of this house.  Now, I want you to imagine Ema living with someone who doesn't care how long a box of junk sits in the middle of the hallway.  And I want you to imagine me living with someone who is always making a big deal about everything being all organized and put away.  I'm not saying this is the only reason we're not together anymore, but I want you to take a look at my house and take a look at her house and understand there were ways I was trying to be when I was with her that were not right for me and all of those problems were there way way way before Amy came along.  Come here."

She came over to me and sat on my lap at the top of the steps.  She leaned on me and sucked her finger.  She's eight years old and she still sucks her finger at my house.  I cannot get her to stop.  She does not suck her finger at Eva's house and I don't know if that means I'm a terrible mother or if it means she knows I don't judge her.  Whatever it is, she won't stop sucking for me.

I wonder:  If we were still together and all living under the same roof, would the finger sucking have stopped altogether a long time ago?  How has the divorce affected our daughter's palette?  In my head, I go on and on with every consequence and scenario.  I spent a lot of time with her parents.  If we were still together, would the kids be spending more time with their grandparents?  How do the kids feel about promises?  Is there ever any way they will ever believe anyone's promise?  I know I wouldn't.

"I want you to know I heard what you said last night and even though I had to send you to bed, I'm thinking about how to explain things to you.  I am the way I am and I am not better than Ema and she is not better than me.  But we're different and our differences made it difficult to stay together.  I'm the one who asked for a divorce first.  We tried for a little bit to work it out.  THEN Amy came along.  I know it seems like we told you about the divorce and Amy was there at the same time,  but stuff happened way before and we weren't telling any five year olds about it. I appreciate how Amy stuck around through what must have been a really hard time for Ema, and I appreciate how she helps us take care of you.  But I want you to know I am sorry that we didn't try harder. We owed it to you to try harder.  I really wish you didn't have to live in different houses but I will try to work as hard as I can to make things easier for you, OK?"

Nearly everyday my kids find a way to remind me how much divorce sucks.  Don't do it, people.  I mean it. Penelope Trunk explains how I view divorce today HERE.  It was really hard work to stay together, but I am here to report that the work grows exponentially once the parents are apart.  I grapple all the time with the long term sadness and trying to figure out if they're going to have a lingering inability to connect to other people.

I don't yet know how this story ends yet.  There isn't some uplifting spiritual message at the end of every blog.  I'm still in the thick of things so I can't yet see how all of my mistakes and regrets are somehow "meant to be" great learning experiences.  Tell it to the kids who live in two houses so therefore have no real home.