Building Two Homes

Shortly after my husband and I split up, my son, then just over three and half years old, wouldn’t get out of bed one afternoon after his nap. This was not like him, to just stay in bed. He’s always been a mellow child, but after naps he usually likes to see what I’m doing. If he is still feeling tired we might read a book or perhaps watch a movie if we don’t have plans. But this day he just stayed in bed. It took me a while to realize that he wasn’t getting up. I was busy unpacking our boxes as we had just moved a week or so previous.

Realizing that something was wrong I went into his room and asked if he was going to get out of bed. He said he was tired and didn’t want to get up. My instincts kicked in, lucky me. Why is it that my instincts lead me astray when I’m talking with people at parties, or my extended family on vacation? I guess I can’t complain as my gut seems to work well for my head when it comes to my son, that matters more and I’ll try to remember that the next time I’m tasting sock at a party.

“I’m tired and don’t want to get up.” He said. I offered a “special treat” our code for candy or cookies, that always motivates. He turned it down. I watched him for a moment, he laid in bed with his big beautiful blue eyes open staring off into nothing, sucking his fingers with his little blue flannel blanket wrapped around his free hand. I did what any sad, depressed, newly separated mom would do when faced with a son who won’t get up after a nap, I got in bed with him. I asked him if he was tired or sad. I guess kids are easier to navigate than grown ups. He told me he was sad, he told me that he wished we didn’t have to live here and that we could go back to Daddy’s house. I wanted to cry. I wanted him to like our new home and I didn’t want him to have to pay the price of our problems. But there it was, that’s how it is. The kids, the innocents, are the ones to pay the bill for our indulgences.

Laying in bed together I held him and we started up at the ceiling for awhile. Then he asked outright if we could move back to Daddy’s house. I reached as deep as I could go, through all of the pain and anger, all of the filters that work so hard to keep him away from these feelings and deeper still into the truth of the matter and I apologized to him. I told him that I was sorry that he had to be so affected by our problems. I told him that we are now a two home family and that he will live with Daddy sometimes and me sometimes. I apologized that we couldn’t work out the things that made us, Mommy and Daddy, sad in any other way and that he was not to blame. I told him that we both loved him deeply, and that the best way for us to all be happy was for Mommy and Daddy to live apart. I reassured him that we are still a family, we’re just a two home family now. He looked over to me and then got out of bed.

He left his bedroom and went to play in the front room. Like a gust of wind his depression had passed. That was two and half years ago and he has never again asked for us to move back to Daddy’s. And this recently past holiday season when his class was asked to draw pictures of their families he drew a line down the center of the box and put me, him and the two cats on one side and his dad, him and their cat on the other. When he showed me his drawing, he proudly exclaimed that “this is our two home family.” I wanted to cry.