Boys to Men

Agathon reacts to this article with several points, but this paragraph is the one that sticks with me:

The Wife and I are certainly not any kind of 1950s throwback, but in some ways, we parent in fairly traditional ways. And it's obvious to see, as I watch my sons respond to me and to her, that they would not be as happy or as healthy or as balanced with only one of us on the scene. And it's not just because two provides more balance than one. I don't believe that "any two people" is equivalent to "mom and dad." They are distinctly different and complentary energies, and they're both needed. If the two people on hand provide those two distinct energies and points of view, regardless of gender, then okay.

This makes me sad as I survey my own parenting situation. I wonder what kind of men my boys will turn out to be, given their chaotic upbringing. I don't have much hope that the chaos will settle down anytime soon, because their father is suing me for legal and physical custody-- and he wants to move to Phoenix with them in May when my oldest boy finishes his kindergarten school year.

I must find enough energy, emotional strength and money to fight this completely unnecessary battle, and I resent the hell out of that because I'm supposed to be directing all of my energy toward healing. It has only been six or seven weeks since I was working overtime in a rehabilitation hospital to graduate from wheelchair to walker to cane.

I had to learn to walk again. Now I can. That calls for some celebration. Instead, I weep every day with rage and guilt and longing because my boys' father chooses to keep them from visiting me, takes them away from our mutually established child care situation to something unknown to me. I don't know where they spend their days or with whom they spend their nights when The Ex is out working his new territory in Phoenix several nights a week because he won't permit me to speak with his nanny.

When I suggested that the nanny and the boys come to stay at my house for those nights, I guess it smacked of too much reason because he began to insult me and then answered my daily calls with text messages.

A lawyer might advise me not to write about this on my blog, because it may in some way jeopardize my case. But I can't keep it out of here because I've learned that this is the main source of information about my life for my friends.

I've made choices that I believe are best for my children. The fact that they are in the care of their father and his vast support network ought to be reassuring. I should be able to rest easily knowing that they are in good hands while I recover my life and ability to care for them myself. I ought to be able to see them on a regular basis, even for short periods of time.

The cited reasons for not allowing the boys to visit me in hospital or rehab were somewhat valid; those are scary places. But they are a firm reality in our lives, and my boys might ultimately understand what is happening to them if they could see it for themselves.

Maybe that will make them grow up too fast. Maybe some of my friends are correct when they admonish me for being too strict with them. However, I need them to come to me when I call them at the baseball park so that they won't be stolen. I can't run to catch them before they climb over the railing of the balcony. Yes, they have to pull more weight around my house than the average kids of 4 and 6. I can't pick them up when they fall or are in despair or rage and need to be held. They have to come to me and climb into my arms for that maternal comfort.

It's sad, but true. I am a single mother who is very sick, and when my kids are with me, sometimes they are called upon to be little grownups. But they also play outside and read books and draw pictures and make forts and beat each other on the head until they figure out a way to work out disputes. They get to watch an occasional video. They have to make due with the plentitude of old toys instead of getting a new Transformer every other day.

Perhaps there is a case for The Ex to have them. He's healthy. He's their FATHER. He is essential to them. But he's gone a lot. He relies on a number of other people to care for the children. When I call them the tv is on all the time; the other night Big One said, "I'm watching a movie and you're uh, disturbing it." Then he put down the phone. Other conversations reveal details about the newest cool toy from Walmart that Daddy got for them. Little One said his nanny is "nice and mean." He said last week, "When I say mean things I get soap in my mouth and I go to my room." This is the style of parenting that my "wasband" once referred to as Old School.

I hate this situation. It is great, soul-hollowing dismay that I take with my medicines every day, the bitterest pill. My boys need their MOTHER, in whatever shape she is in, because she too is ESSENTIAL. Perhaps a real man would understand that.