The Changing of the Kids

Perhaps nothing is more heartbreaking about (a relatively civil) divorce than trading off the kids, sending them from one parent's house to the other's. It's sad for the kids and the parents, and sad for a grammy to see. My little granddaughters live one week with their dad and the next with their mom; they've alternated this way for about two and a half years, and I was here for the first exchange. I just witnessed the most recent, and I can tell it doesn't get better for anybody. This time my ex-husband was here too, and while I don't think he and my son have a lot to talk about most of the time (my ex isn't a big talker), I came inside and left them on the porch. Perhaps his dad can offer some insight that I can't that will ease the transition a little bit.

Overall I believe that if parents can't get along or if there are other big problems in their relationship, it's better for kids to be raised alternately by each parent separately (or only one, if only one is fit). Believing that doesn't help a bit when I see the kids' sadness when they go from one house to another. With my kids it was a little different. First, they were older: sixteen, nine and five. And even though their dad had lived with us up to that point, he wasn't very involved. I'm sure it was still difficult for all of us, but I had full custody and they stayed in the house they'd lived in since they were born. Some of that had to make a positive difference. I do remember that they used to be a bit taciturn when they returned from their dad's house after a weekend. (Since he never came to court, his visitation was limited to what I allowed.) It always made me feel terrible. Even worse were the times their dad said he was coming to visit or take them to his house overnight -- then never showed up. At first I made excuses, then I did my best to comfort them without making excuses or talking trash about their father. It was hard.

Tonight seems especially difficult, maybe because we had a short fun trip out of town; we went from excitement-overload to . . . I don't even know what to call this emotion. And now I find myself once again wanting to comfort my son, this time as he is on the other side of the fence.