When you’re divorced each parent has to consciously parent, consciously throw themselves into worrying about the welfare of their children. The workaholic dad can’t say the mom raises the kids, I write the check. Or, more rarely, the Pilates-addicted mother cannot leave parenting to Mr. Mom. Nobody wants to be the one the kids incessantly whine about to their shrink.
The other thing that makes us divorceniks such great parents is that we get a break every once in a while. We’re not anchored to our kids 24/7 so when they’re over at the other’s house we get to stay out late, sleep in, or spontaneously decide to catch The Aristocrats at the mall. By the end of the weekend we miss the little ones so much that when we see them again our hearts swell as if we were back in high school and the captain of the girls’ gymnastics team just gave us the biggest smile.
When you’re married with kids it is easy to forget how spontaneous life can be. Everything becomes a mosaic of scheduling, a desperate scramble for babysitters, the intricate and treacherous art of coordinating playdates (“What do you mean you don’t want to see her? Last week she was your best friend!”).
Of course my personal situation is not so neat. The kids live with me full time, their mom lives nearby and sees them every afternoon. My only parental vacations come a week around Christmas when the kids and their mother go back to their grandmother’s in rural Georgia, and then again for a month or so in the summer when the kids go back there again, like Paris and Nicole, to taste the Simple Life. I’m here now in St. Tropez with my girlfriend staying out till three and sleeping in till ten. I feel like I’m twenty again. I hope parents with kids old enough to go to sleepaway camp feel as free I do.
And then, a few weeks from now, we’ll be back together again -- getting up at seven, piling into the car to see what adventures await before September rises on the horizon and the routine begins again. By the time it does I’ll be ready, and even smiling.
