The Window

It’s early morning- the first rays of daylight are barely coming through the blackout curtains in the bedroom at my grandparents’ house. My husband is asleep in the bed behind me. I can see my niece and youngest child outside with my mom, and I can’t join them. The familiar feeling of entrapment comes over me- I’m torn between two places, wanting to be with my husband when I’m with my kids or with my kids when I’m with him. So many times, obligations to my children and their schedules have kept me feeling trapped inside, but today it’s the obligation to my husband. Why can’t we get him to come with us? We want him outside with us. There’s a constant refrain of “I want him with us.”

I drove to my grandparents’ house without him for Mother’s Day with my then 16-month-old child when my husband’s friend decided to have his bachelor party that weekend in Orlando. There was no discussion about whether he would go. I was frustrated he wasn’t going to be with me to make me feel celebrated. And I didn’t.

My sister took my child outside on the morning of Mother’s Day so I could try to sleep some more, but I could still hear their voices. My youngest and my niece wouldn’t be born for another year; I lay in bed at my grandparents’ house listening to the Auntie and nephew moment. I felt agitated and too keyed up to sleep. My child scraped his knee, and his Auntie brought him back inside. I was his safe space, and he needed to see me to remember he was okay. It was my second Mother’s Day as a mom. Now the voicemail from my grandmother where she expressed worry about me driving two hours to SC alone on a Friday night is the only place I hear her voice. My Sassy died in March of 2021.

We have two kids, and for nearly 8 years of parenting I have continued to be a safe space for both my kids. The mom preference has never gone away for my 5 year old; he still wants me to do everything when he’s having a hard time. I enjoy taking my kids on outings; getting out of the house makes me feel like a better mom. I take them to the Science Center, every park in Greensboro, children’s museums, shows at the Tanger Center, and the movies. I have always worked part-time since law school. When my kids were in preschool, I had two free days a week to take them on these outings.

I like to have at least one adventure day per weekend now that they are both in elementary school five days a week. My weekly Sprouts lunch dates have turned to early dinners at Sprouts after my youngest goes to his afternoon Little Gym class. I am glad he didn’t quit when he started kindergarten, I wasn’t ready to let go of that weekly connection. I took them to the fair solo a couple weeks ago when my husband went out of town on a guys’ trip with his extended family.

My kids and I struggle with the amount of separation of our family inherent in being in season for a high school soccer coach. We know how much time commitment is involved with attending every practice and game. With our kids’ sports practices, piano lessons, and swim lessons, the boys and I are doing great to make it to a handful of games per season. When we attend, their dad is working so we aren’t interacting much. I have social anxiety and feel the judgment of others as the coach’s wife with two boys who don’t exactly sit still and attentively watch the game. I know when we are in season it will always result in a lot of evenings spent apart and feeling distant from each other. This is our 11th season since he started this job in 2013- I know what to expect, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me or our kids.

This year I asked him to do a 30 Day Connection Challenge with me in August, and I felt like he truly prioritized our relationship by committing to 10 minutes of daily couple time for those 30 days. When we drove to the beach for Labor Day weekend, we listened to our Nemat and Elizabeth playlist for 3.5 hours, and remembered what it felt like to fall in love, get married and decide to have kids. I remembered what it felt like to be the coach’s wife and looked at our calendar to try to figure out when we would attend games this fall.

Last October we went to the last game of the fall season. It was an away game. There were bleachers for the away team, and my then 4-year-old was attempting to throw his body off the top bleacher after about 15 minutes of the game. After the third time of placing him back on the top bleacher, I said we needed to take a walk. We ran into our preacher’s wife whose daughter played on the opposing team. She seemed surprised to see me, and I said my husband coached for the competition. She said she was sure we had seen so many games. I didn’t tell her not really.

We saw approximately 15 minutes of that game. We had to climb the ramp on the far side of the field where we could barely see. I got overwhelmed with my youngest yelling at me and grabbed his leg to hold him in place. He said I hurt him, and I told him I was sorry for grabbing him too roughly. We finally made it back over to the bottom row of bleachers. The opposing team scored a goal. My husband’s team lost the game.

How can I fix this separation? I want him to connect with our kids and to have a strong relationship with them. I can’t do it for him. I see more signs of our oldest being able to find those moments with him. He can push past the hurt of feeling neglected and left out. That doesn’t happen as much with my youngest. This weekend I am taking our 7-year-old on a parent and child weekend at his summer camp. I am looking forward to some 1:1 time with him at a place where I haven’t been able to see him, and I hope the 1:1 time with our 5-year-old will be restorative for my husband and other child. So many times, the boys and I seem to be off to the side, experiencing our lives together with the assumption that he won’t be with us. He likes to complete his home and garden projects on the weekend, and he rarely feels like he can join us on a Saturday outing after morning soccer. It’s gotten to the point that I don’t ask for him to join us just to avoid the rejection.

When first grade ended, we had a great last day of school with our 7-year-old. My husband came with me and my mom to awards day, and we saw our sweetheart get Spanish and High Achievement in Reading Awards. After taking pictures with the school backdrop, my mom had to go back to work. We had a family outing to Biscuitville with just the three of us. We told him how proud we were of him.

The next day I took our youngest to a preschool friend’s birthday party that promised an inflatable waterslide with a bounce house. My husband was staying home with our 7-year-old. Our 5-year-old and I were gone for 3.5 hours due to the friend’s distance from our house, and we had a great time with our preschool family. When we came back into the house our 7-year-old told me his dad had made him lunch and played video games with him, but he was visibly upset. His posture was hunched over, and his lip was pushed out. I squatted down next to him and asked him to tell me what was up. He said they didn’t do anything special like he expected, and we were gone for so long. I talked to both of them about communicating expectations. I thought about how so much of my parenting is noticing and anticipating moods.

On our trip to Disney World, we went to the Magic Kingdom on Monday. My parents were with us, and they took our kids back to the hotel to go night swimming. My husband and I stayed for late night hours to ride my childhood favorite Space Mountain. I was quiet while we were in the 90-minute line because I felt like we were dragging my husband along with us for this trip that was far outside our normal routine. He told me he thought the day had gone better than he expected, and I loved when he surprised me by kissing me in the Photo Pass picture. We got back to the hotel at 11 pm. My parents had taken the boys into their adjoining room, and they were asleep. Nemat and I went to sleep at 1 am.

The next day we were going to Epcot. I was up at 7 am dutifully booking Lightning Lanes. My husband didn’t want to go at the park opening time; he wanted to meet us at our first ride redemption time at 10 am at the Frozen ride. We rode the Skyliner to Epcot. My 7-year-old sat next to me on the bench in the gondola. He was looking out the window over the trees when he said, “Daddy should always be with us, at least on this trip. I know he can’t be with us at home, but can’t he at least be with us all day, every day, on this trip?” His words hit me hard- I realized I felt the same way. Gut punch is an accurate description for the moments my kids say out loud what I am thinking. When they say he doesn’t spend enough time with us he gets defensive and tells me I put these ideas in their heads. They often confirm what I think before I say it. They notice everything.

My role as mediator is an ongoing issue. I’m familiar with families who don’t talk about their feelings because my maternal grandparents always shied away from difficult conversations. I spend a lot of time telling both my husband and 7-year-old what the other one has told me and urging them to talk without me. Two weeks ago we used our feelings wheel to help my 7-year-old label the emotion underlying his anger as disappointment when his dad didn’t want to stay to play at the park after soccer and then wanted to give him constructive criticism in a post-game wrap up. When he talked to his dad both in the car and at home he had only yelled. I asked him to tell his dad what he told me. He didn’t.

Last week I saw a step forward. My husband asked our kids if they wanted to play soccer outside with him. They went out the door. And I sat by the window, peering out through the curtains at the three of them passing the soccer ball to each other on the lawn.