An open letter to the boys before they leave on their first-ever trip with their dad.

Dear boys,

As I sit in the floor of my bedroom packing your suitcases for a trip I’ve been on before, but will never go on again, I am excited for you and for me.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m nervous and scared.

I’m worried you will miss me too much because you have expressed this multiple times over the past week.

I’m worried that your dad, although he is a very good dad, might not keep that extra mommy eye on you, and something will happen, and I will have to destroy his world.

I’m worried that we’ve never been apart for more than 4 days and 7 will be far too long.

But like I said, I’m excited.

 

Remembering who I am over the past two years has been an adventure and a quest.

I’ve gotten many glimpses of the girl I used to be, and the woman I hoped to become.

I wish I could have been that in the context of the relationship that created the two of you, but it just wasn’t meant to be.

Still, it’s so incredibly important for you to know that I love my life now.

I get excited by it every single day.

But I remember waking up every day for over a year thinking, “Is this it? Can I do this forever?” And the answer was no.  I needed more.  In a way, I needed it all.  And I’ve never been happier than I am at this moment.

Still, let me be clear: Where I am now doesn’t take anything away from the life I had with or before you.  Your dad and I had a wonderful life for many years.  It was because of that life that the two of you exist.  And neither of us would have ever committed to anything less.  I firmly believe the two of us were put on this planet to find each other and make you. 

But I also believe I’m a better mom now.  A better friend.  A better helper.  A better lover.  A better caretaker.  A better daughter.  I’m just…better.

Sometimes being a wife and a mother is suffocating.  I understand for some it’s not overwhelming.  But I think as parents we can all agree it’s a bit much at times.  I remember when your dad and I had to designate date nights and make a pact not to talk about the two of you.  But no matter how hard we tried, we always ended up in a parenting discussion or discussing what you did that day.  And that’s no way to sustain a marriage.  It’s no way to grow a relationship.  When ALL you have in common is the two souls you love more than anything on the planet, it seems like it should be enough.  But for me, it wasn’t.  I needed more.  I wanted more.  I couldn’t live without more.  Some may call it selfish.  And that’s fine.  We are all free to judge.  We all make offhanded comments and say things we shouldn’t from time to time, but none of us really know what goes on within the walls of a home and a family that isn’t ours. 

I love your being your mom.  I wouldn’t change a thing that led to your existence.  Even the god-awful heartbreak and drama and truly nightmarish events we had to endure during the divorce all led to where we are now.  And I think we are the perfect family of three.  We have our good days, and we have those when we all want to run away.  We have days like today where I’m ecstatic that you’re leaving tomorrow, and I have a whole week to go travel with someone and be carefree, and I have no plans, and I don’t have to worry about camps and snacks, and homework, and bath time, and bedtime, and which night you go to your dad’s house so I have to have the appropriate laundry done, and there is no possible way I will step on a Lego for days and days.  But then, there’s the minutes I realize you will be a thousand miles away and out of my control and I know how many times a day you will need milk or juice or a snack or a hug or when you have had too much of each other and I need to sit between you and tell a stupid story so you will forget why you are mad and we can go back to our ridiculously fun existence.

So basically what I’m saying is: Even though you have gotten on my last nerve 10 times today, and I’m ready for a break, that one, shaky, exhausted nerve is precisely what keeps me going.  There have been some truly not fun times over the last few years, and no matter how terrified and overwhelmed and doubtful I have been, I knew I had to step up because of you.  In a way, you are the bit of strength I always lacked.  You are the weakness I never divulged.  And you are the pieces of me that showed everyone else just how vulnerable I could be.

So thank you for scaring the shit out of me every day.  Thanks for proving that I do care what other people think.  Thanks for showing me that I could love so fiercely.  And that even an extremely selfish only-child could change her world view and be willing to die at any given moment if it meant one more second of happiness or safety for the two of you.

You give my life meaning by showing me my life should mean something.  I hope the two of you live as ferociously as your mother.  And never ever settle. 

Have fun in New York, babies.

Because you are truly the only things I love more than cake.