Love is Stupid

My youngest daughter took a trip on an airplane to visit her dad last weekend.

I didn't really want her to go. I knew that they would do lots of  fun things that I can't afford to do with her and that he would buy her lots of great stuff that I can't afford to buy her.

And that is exactly what happened.

She jumped in the car at the airport full of stories of his great new condo where she has a bathroom attached to her room. She pulled darling dresses and new books and art supplies out of her suitcase to show me that he had bought her.

"Dad made me breakfast this morning!" she said, reciting the elaborate menu.

"I make you breakfast every day." I wanted to say.

But instead I just said: "That is great, honey. I'm glad you had fun." Even though, I will confess to you: I was not glad at all.

For a while I have been struggling with the fact that my kids don't blame their dad at all for the breakup of our family. They see the struggles that his actions are causing me, but yet they still maintain their relationships with him. They still seem to see him as the funny, carefree dad that he always was for them.

For a long time this made me really mad. But now I am starting to see what it is about.

They don't want to choose sides. They want to believe that he is a father to admire. They want to keep loving him. And I am trying to be O.K. with that.

I am trying to put myself in their shoes. I think of people I love, who sometimes disappoint me and do things I think are wrong and I remember how I keep loving them anyway because I think of it as my job to love them in spite of their shortcomings.

Somewhere along the line, I lost the ability to do that with their dad, probably when I was hurt one too many times.

But they are still doing it. And it isn't fair of me to expect them to give up their relationship with him in order to prove that they love me.

They are loving past the point where it makes sense. And that is one of the funny things about love.

Rightsizing

This is Chuck and Gerry. Yesterday I sold them my dining room set.

In a couple of months I will be moving from this 3,000 square-foot house, where I raised my four kids with my husband, to an 800 square-foot apartment, where I will finish raising the last one by myself.

There are so many things that are hard about that. One of them that is really hard is getting rid of sentimental things.

Many of them are not even being used. They are stored in the attic and the crawl space for when they might have been needed again: The dog cage from our loyal Basset Hound Belle, the wagon we pulled the kids around the neighborhood in every Halloween, the grave stones my second daughter made with her dad to scare the trick-or-treaters.

Many things have proven impossible to part with: The rocking chair where I breast-fed our four children will get drug around with me for many more years, I think. I'd like to someday pass it on to my oldest daughter Abby, who carried her dolls until she was 12 years old and dreams every day of being a mother.

But there are things like the dining room set that have to go. Emptying the drawers yesterday I found some momentos to keep: Place cards made for the Thanksgiving table by my youngest daughter Bridget and the original receipt for the furniture that we found one day when all six of us took a trip to Amish country.

Chuck and Gerry are moving to Texas to be near their son and his grandchildren. For Gerry, it will be the first time she has ever owned a formal dining room set.

She is excited about the family being together at the holidays and eating meals at that beautiful table.

I am trying to remember that the table is going with her, but the memories of our many meals there are staying with me and can never be taken or sold.

I am trying to remember that my life isn't just getting smaller, it is getting more authentic.

I am counting on the fact that one day there will be for me another home, and another special table where I will gather on special days with all the people that I love.