Our New Normal

I have a secret. It’s something I’ve been wanting to blog about for the past two months now. However, whenever I attempted to do so, I stop. I haven’t written about this because 1) I fear that it’s too private for me to share, 2) the incidents that happened were still fresh and therefore I was still very emotional about it and 3) I honestly don’t know if my readers would care about this story.

 

But here I am now. Since the incident happened two months ago, I’ve had time to adjust to the situation and have learned a few things. Although I still cry about it sometimes, I now feel strong enough to share the story with you.

 

For those new to this blog, let me give you a short background about my family. We are a blended family of five. I married a year after college to my long time boyfriend. We had two daughters, Zoe and Ziya, who are now 11 and 10 years old, respectively. After being married for almost seven years, we split up (for reasons I’d rather not blog about). We’ve moved on after that and both my ex and I have our own new families now. For the past almost five years, I’ve been with Jon, the one I now call my “hubby”. In 2010, I got pregnant again and we now have a rambunctious two-year-old boy named Ziggy, thus our blended family of five.

Ever since my ex and I first separated, Zoe and Ziya remained with me. Eventually, when Jon and I started living together, they went with me too. The girls remained in constant contact with their dad. They see him as often as possible. We had a good relationship. All was well and our life, though not perfect, was good, until that fateful day two months ago when things changed.

 

You see, my ex and I made an agreement years ago. He missed being with the kids and wanted a chance to really live with them and be a dad to them on a daily basis. So, we agreed that the kids will stay with me until they graduated from grade school and they’ll start living with him and his new family once they start high school. I agreed with that because he had a right to be with the kids. I also want my girls to have a great relationship with him because it would affect how they view and manage their own relationships someday.

 

Two months ago, the girls went to their dad’s big new house during Holy Week for a vacation. They were supposed to come back by Easter Sunday. Instead, they begged me to let them stay not just for the summer but for good. I was shocked to say the least. They said that they missed their dad and wanted to try living with him and his family for a change. They were begging me to let them stay, saying that they’ve already lived with me for years and that now’s the time for me to let them go. Of course, their dad echoed their sentiments. So, eventually, even if I didn’t want to, even if it broke my heart into a million pieces, I let them go.

 

I cried. I cried that day and for a whole week after that. Part of me wanted to put my foot down and say no. I had a right to them too. They weren’t honoring the agreement. I felt so betrayed. My friends kept telling me not to worry, that the kids will eventually miss me and ask to go back. They said the kids were just excited with the new house and that their dad was finally able to give them their own room. They said that the girls were probably just excited with the prospect of being with their stepsisters and half sister. They said I will survive and eventually learn to adjust.

None of their words comforted me. At that time, all I knew was how I felt. I missed them. I missed seeing them everyday. I missed watching them play, eat, sleep or do whatever. I missed their voices. I missed our conversations. I missed our night time ritual of me drinking tea while they drink their milk before bedtime. I missed watching TV with them and talking to them about books or any random thing. I even missed seeing their mess and having to constantly remind them to do their chores.

 

I felt betrayed and rejected. Imagine, they chose him over me. ME – the person who carried them for nine months and gave birth to them, who woke up in the middle of the night to feed them and change their diapers, who even when I was a full-time working mom never missed a single school program, who stayed up late at night helping them with their homework and projects, who always woke up at 4:30 am to prepare their breakfast and pack their lunch, who nursed them back to health whenever they fell ill. They chose him over me. Now, I would only have them at home during weekends. I had been reduced to the role of being the WEEKEND PARENT. That was the most heartbreaking thing to ever happen to me in my whole life.

 

I literally thought I’ll never get over it. For that first week, I cried practically every minute of the day. I hardly had any work done. The only thing that made me feel a bit better is the fact that Ziya sent me several text messages everyday informing me of whatever they were doing. Other than that, I practically acted like a zombie that week.

 

Eventually, things began to get better though. I dived into work and became really busy. Jon told me to focus my attention on him and Ziggy during the week. So, I did. We began going out for breakfast once or twice a week, just the three of us. We’d go out on errands without the girls. Though the girls continued to call and text me, the calls and messages became less as we all fell into our new routine – our new normal.

 

Although I still cry whenever I find myself really thinking about it (like now!), I’ve accepted that this is happening for a reason. The kids never meant to hurt me and they always assure me of that. It wasn’t really a matter of them choosing their dad over me. It was just a matter of them spreading their wings. I just have to trust in the years I’ve painstakingly taught them good values in life. I have to trust in their ability to use those values in everyday situations even without my watchful eye. I just have to learn to let go. How will they learn if I don’t let them fly?

God always has a good reason. I just need to be patient until He reveals why. Instead of crying all day, I’ve decided to embrace my being a weekend parent. After all, just because I only see them on weekends now doesn’t mean I’m only their mother on the weekends. It doesn’t mean I don’t do anything for them during weekdays. In fact, I still remind them to take their bath, brush their teeth, sleep early, etc every single day. I’m still the one they talk to whenever they’re feeling sad or disappointed or if they don’t know how to handle something. In a way, they feel I’m still around although not physically.

 

Besides, compared to those moms who have to work abroad and don’t get to see their kids for months, even years, don’t I have it better?

 

One good thing about this new set up is that every weekend has now become more important for me. I now make more effort into planning what we will do as a family, and as mother and daughters. I make sure that if I have to do something besides spend time with them on a weekend, it has to be worth it, meaning, it’s something that will contribute to the overall improvement of our life. But more importantly, I think this new set up has enabled my girls to also appreciate the things I do for them that nobody in their new home does. That’s good, right?

 

Who knows? One day, they might choose to come back here for good. They might realize that this is where they want to be. But even if they don’t, even if I can only see them on weekends, no matter where they are and no matter what they do, I will always and forever be their mom. No distance or circumstance can ever change that. Nothing and nobody can take that away from me.