Tag: Fatherhood

Posted in Long Distance Parenting, Motherhood, Non Custodial Mom, Non Custodial Parent, Non-Custodial Dad

Beware the “But Did I Do’s?”

Posted on by cmfalato

Don’t second-guess yourself when visitation is done. You showed up for and spent time with your kid, and that’s enough.

My son isn’t even gone yet. He’s down the hall in the spare bedroom we use as a library, sprawled out on, as he calls it, a comfy couch, with his Nintendo Switch 2 (yes, he saved the $200 for it. Go Joey!).

Yet, here they come anyway, unavoidable as always:

The But Did I Do’s.

The ButDidIDos start as I’m packing my son up to return to his father’s for my fearless co-parent’s half of the Christmas holiday. Our train leaves Boston at the crack of dawn tomorrow. I picked JR up on the previous Monday. He’s been with me a whole 10 days.

I’ve done everything I can to maximize that time. I took off work. Cancelled my reservation at the company Christmas party. Left early the day I did have to work (starving freelance writer and special education advocate in training after all).

We had a long drive from Bergen County, NJ to Boston, MA to talk and listen to music. We played Christmas carols on the radio.

At JR’s request, this was a chill-out vacation. We didn’t do any of the usual things we do: no museums, no bowling, no amusement parks, no hiking, no New England sightseeing. Instead, we decorated the Christmas tree and baked cookies together. We hung out together, built Legos, and watched our favorite movies and TV shows.

The ButDidIDo’s creep around the edges of my mind as I fold jeans, t-shirts, and underwear, consolidating 2 chaotic, overpacked suitcases into a single neat one.

I swat them away impatiently and set to work making room for that single suitcase in front of the bedroom closet, stacking video game sleeves, hanging shirts, and tucking away clothing JR no longer fits into.

Still, they persist:

  • But did I leave him alone too much?
  • But did I pay enough attention to him?
  • But should I have made him play a board game or go bowling?
  • But should I have gotten him out of the house more often?
  • But should I not have gone to work for four hours that Saturday?
  • But did I –?
  • But should I have–?
  • But do I still have time to–?

But Did I Do Enough with/for Kiddo on this visit?

You’d think I’d have learned to tune out the ButDidIDo’s by now. This August marked my 20th anniversary as a non-custodial parent and my divorce from JR’s dad, my fearless co-parent. As Rosanne Cash once sang, sad anniversary of a 100 old things…

20 years of every other weekend, every other holiday, week-long vacations, long weekends, early Christmases (I celebrate Christmas with JR the week before Christmas Eve), longer school breaks when I moved to Boston…

…nope, at the end of every visit, the ButDidIDo’s pay me a visit. They nag at my self-assurance. They highlight whatever mistakes I think I’ve made (The time 19 years ago my son got sunburned on a beach trip lives on in infamy in my self-doubting subconscious).

I know the ButDidIDo’s are being ridiculous. I know I did all I could to make this a great vacay. I treasured every moment with my son. I spent as much time with him as he would let me. I respected his desire to be alone in his room when he asked. I even heard Leading Man #1 on the phone with his father telling him what a good time he was having once or twice.

C’mon, Cris. Have some self-confidence for frick’s sake!

I finish cleaning JR’s bedroom floor. I close the closet door and set the suitcase in its place in front of the doors. Next, I whip out my mighty self-confidence nerf sword, prepared to do battle with the ButDidIDo’s. I will vanquish them for good this time!

But first, I’ll check on Leading Man #1 in the library.

I pad down the hallway and look in the doorway. “Hey kiddo! How’s it–” I stop as I see my son, all lanky 6 feet of him, curled up asleep on the couch. Our dog, Ella, sleeps at his feet.

I should be over this too. Just before I return JR to his father, I feel one part of my heart start to tear away. It happens with the slow sound of Velcro halves being separated.

I know I’ll never get over it. I’ll never vanquish the ButDidIDos. I’ll never get over the feeling of loss I get when I have to return JR to his father.

It’s enough that JR is ready to go home to his Dad’s. It’s enough that he had a great time. My feelings don’t matter. His do.

That’s how it’s gotta be.

I tiptoe to my bedroom. I grab my book off the nightstand. Then, I settle into the recliner across from JR in the library. Ella looks at me and yawns. Rocky, our boxer, comes in. He looks at Ella on the couch. He considers jumping up to join her. He wisely decides not to rile his sister. Instead, he settles at my feet.

One more moment to make the absolute most of with my kid.

Plus a whole train ride tomorrow! Woohoo!

What do you do after you drop your kids off with your fearless co-parent? Tell us in the comments.

Posted in Motherhood, Non Custodial Mom, Non Custodial Parent, Non-Custodial Dad

Parent of secondary residence

Posted on by cmfalato

Non-custodial parenting: Expectation vs. Reality

Technically, I am not – was not, custody ended 5 years ago when Joey turned 18 – non-residential custodian. My custody agreement says I am “parent of secondary residence.”

Same difference. New Jersey legalese says po-tay-to, the rest of the world says po-tah-to.

It’s New Jersey. Fuhgeddaboudit! Whaddaya want?

Just don’t refer to pork roll as Taylor Ham north of Newark and you’re golden.

No, seriously about the Taylor Ham thing.

Parent of secondary residence, non-custodial parent, non-residential custodian. It all comes down to the same thing: my kid doesn’t live with me.

No big deal, society has accepted weekend dads.

Yep, that’s where it gets dicey. Society has not accepted weekend moms.

Non-custodial, parent of secondary residence, non-residential moms haven’t accepted that about themselves.

Or, at least, I didn’t.

I divorced my husband; gave up residential custody, but somehow forgot that meant I was no longer part of Joey’s day-to-day life.

Maybe it was that long-delayed “childbirth amnesia” finally kicking in, because let me tell you, when a 9 pounds, 9 ounces and 23 inches newborn exits your body through a tube less than 1/2 inch in diameter, you remember.

Or you do until you come home to an empty apartment after working late because you don’t want to face not being able to tuck that now 4 year old into bed and tell him a story.

That pain, initially, is worse. Much, much worse.

There are just some losses you don’t ever get over. You just force yourself to live around them.

If I stop to think about how much my not being there every day hurt Joey, I won’t be able to keep writing. I’ll lose myself in the guilt a mother never gets over: the kind that comes when your child gets hurt because of something you did. Like when you forget to reapply sunscreen at the pool and they get a sunburn, or when you have to work so they miss a birthday party.

Except for non-custodial moms, it’s worse.

I once read a book for non-custodial moms that told me I should let go of my guilt and embrace my life as a “big hearted mother living apart from her child.”

I can understand spoken Russian better than I can comprehend that statement.

_____________________

“Coming to bed, dear?” my husband calls from down the hall. Then, “By the way, I think some of the clothes you put in my clean laundry pile actually belong to Joey.”

“I’m coming to bed in a moment,” I reply, followed by “And that doesn’t surprise me.”

The part about coming to bed in a moment is a lie. I’ve got at least another half hour on this chapter.

The part about my son’s clothing mixed in with my husband’s isn’t.

I am surprised that my son’s laundry has gone through the wash already. It’s only been a week and a half since he went back home to college. Did I really clean his room so quickly?

______________________

When I decided Joey would live with his dad full-time, it did not occur to me that I wouldn’t be able to see him every day. Joey would just be spending every night at his dad’s, except for the 2 Friday and Saturday nights a month he would spend with me.

Other than that, nothing would change. I would continue to be a part of Joey’s every day life, the same way I always had been.

I didn’t think I wouldn’t be there to tuck him in at night. I only lived 2 miles away. My now ex-husband wouldn’t mind my coming by his house every night.

I wouldn’t mind going over to his house – my old house – every day!

I would also take care of Joey when he was home from school, and pick him up at after-care. Joey would be with me any time his father needed a babysitter.

I am Joey’s mother. Of course that’s how it would go!

Or, maybe reading Frank Herbert’s Dune series during my pregnancy postponed my post-partum Mommy Brain Fog for four years.

Yes. I wanted to see my son.

I did not want to see my old house or my old husband every day.

Yes, said old husband wanted his son to spend time with his mother.

He did not want to see said mother, aka his newly minted ex-wife, every day.

Also, living separate and apart – more New Jersey divorce legalese – means, well, you don’t live together.

You kinda have to live with your kid to be a part of his every day life.

…until he turns 18, graduates high school, moves in with roommates, goes off to college…suddenly he’s the same age his dad was when you met and he’s calling you up because he left his iPad in his bedroom in Boston…

True story.

Posted in Long Distance Parenting, Motherhood, Non Custodial Mom, Non Custodial Parent, Non-Custodial Dad

Back to the start

Posted on by cmfalato

The 2 Days of my son’s life I remember most clearly are the day he was born, and the day I let him go

Sitting here in front of my computer today, glaring meaningfully at a scrap of a former Cricut Infusible Ink transfer sheet in the vague form of an X-box. This is my second attempt at this t-shirt – my 4th if you count its 2022 and 2024 heat transfer vinyl counterparts.

Joey gets a t-shirt every year for his birthday. Hand made – well, hand-ironed on, sometimes custom designed. Although to be fair, I have cheated a couple times with Amazon.com, usually the few times I wasn’t able to be there in person for Joey’s birthday – COVID, neck surgery (long story), bi-lateral carpal tunnel release surgery (another long story), a mid-March Nor’Easter.

I have them all, too. I’ve saved them. I’m going to turn them into a set of memory quilts using an ancient quilt I made that became Joey’s favorite when he spent the entire summer up here in 2020.

Remember in when I told you we all have that friend, and that I’m her?

I digress…again…

Level 23 Unlocked!

Has it been that long already? For confirmation, I look up to shelf above my desk to the silver-framed photo of Joey at 2 months and then down at the more recent on the wall behind me.

Yeah, it has… 23 years ago I was staring at my baby bump saying, “C’mon honey, Mommy wants to see her feet again.”

____________________________

I did not expect Joey to arrive on his actual due date, that never happens. I had hoped for early, or at least not, following in the footsteps of both his parents, 2 weeks late. Those didn’t happen either. My son, the master of compromise even in utero it seems, arrived exactly one week after his due date.

Supposedly, you stop recalling things exactly as they were over time. There are things – both my weddings, the restaurant my husband took me to on our first date, the restaurant Joey’s father took me to on our first date, the first time I met my old boss at SimplexGrinnell – I can remember but not pull up a clear picture of.

I can see, clearly, any time I think of it, the first time I met my son.

After 30 hours of labor. Joey took his own sweet time joining the world outside my womb. I was cursing like a sailor for the first 10-20 hours of that time. They actually closed the door to my labor and delivery room; turns out those doors are actually soundproof.

The last 10 hours I just chanted “10 fingers; 10 toes; 2 eyes, a mouth and a nose.”

I don’t actually remember much about the labor itself, other than the swearing and the chanting. I just remember, at the end of it, a nurse said, “Meet your son Mrs. R–,” and putting Joey gently down on my chest.

“Hi little guy,” I said.

My son opened his newborn gray eyes and looked straight into mine.

A part of me I didn’t even know had been missing fell silently into place in my heart.

____________________________

The same heart that broke, 4 years later, in another moment I can clearly recall: the day I knew I had to let him go.

I did say earlier than when I divorced Joey’s dad, my life was a mess – or maybe I said disaster – either is rather accurate. That is what you expect to hear when you learn that a mother doesn’t have custody of their child(ren). You expect a mother without custody’s life to be a mess. You expect she’s lost custody through some fault of her own:

  • She’s an alcoholic
  • She’s a recovering drug-addict
  • She physically abused her children
  • She physically abused herself
  • She has a mental health disorder like borderline personality disorder or schizophrenia
  • She has a mental health disorder and refuses to stay on her meds or in therapy
  • She ran off with another guy
  • She abandoned her kids

I’ll grant in some cases that is true; those are the classic definitions of a life being a disaster.

Most of the time, it’s really just that Mom didn’t have the money to fight a custody battle, or she didn’t want to put her kids through a custody battle. Sadly, it’s not always assured that a court will grant residential custody to Mom anymore. Also sadly, custody battles are often decided by money: whoever has the most, and can hire the best lawyer wins.

In my case it … I pause to think for a minute. Writing this part is hard. I have had a very long road learning to let go of the guilt I felt over not fighting harder for my son; over not just staying married so I could stay with him; over all the things I did wrong 20 years ago…

________________________

Just now my ex-husband calls, breaking my train of thought. I’m actually wondering why my current husband hasn’t come up to my home office to do that yet. I so rarely get time alone to do anything on a weekend.

Anywhoo, Leading Man #4 (bumped from #3 by the dog) is out with my son today. “Joey, say hi to Mommy.”

A gruff 23 year old voice comes on the line, “Hi Mom.”

“Hey Leading Man #1! What are you guys up to?”

“Oh, we’re just going to lunch and then the game store,” my ex cuts in cheerfully. “Say, what are we going to do about college transportation? Are we still using the same service?”

“We’re switching, but after spring break,” I reply.

“Ok, well let me know what I need to do,” TheEx says.

“Will do.”

“Ok, say goodbye to Mommy, Joey.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“Bye sweetheart. Have a great time today!”

I wish I was there with him.

I have to finish this t-shirt!

–CMR

Posted in Autism, Learning Disabilities, Motherhood, Special Education

The perseverating spectrum of guilt

Posted on by cmfalato

It doesn’t matter how many times I tell my son he didn’t fail, he still thinks he did

My son calls me up from college during his lunch break and asks a question he’s been asking since he was 16:

“Did I get kicked out of my high school?”

I sigh and try to contain the anger that surfaces each time he asks this question. I’m not angry with him.

I am not even angry with the high school assistant principal, the case manager, and the classroom teacher who failed him.

NOT because they didn’t follow the IEP. Not because they took advantage of my soft-spoken ex-husband, the Joey’s residential custodian and in-state parent to avoid having to do so.

Not even because they took advantage of Joey’s definitely NOT soft-spoken advocate and co-legal custodian, living out-of-state, to move slowly.

I know the missteps leading to my son having a series of catastrophic meltdowns and finally having to leave the high school were not 100% their fault.

Some of it was my fault for not actually reading and understanding the IEP. Some of it was my ex-husband’s for not realizing, because things were fine at home, there was a problem.

Hillary was right, it takes a village to raise an autistic, learning-disabled child.

No, what I’m angry about is that my son keeps apologizing for this. JR thinks he failed the high school.

Autistic individuals – in my experience – never get over their own perceived failures. They – we – keep coming back to them, no matter how much time has passed.

…and those failures still hurt. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. We keep coming back to those moments. We can’t escape the pit-of-our stomachs guilt of our real or perceived mistakes.

Each time my son brings up “getting kicked out of high school,” I explain how that was not what happened.

You didn’t fail, JR. I pulled you out of the high school because I wasn’t happy with them (I wasn’t).

Your dad and I wanted you to go to a better school (we did).

The high school wasn’t giving you what you needed (they weren’t).

I didn’t finish high school, either (I graduated 6 weeks early).

JR, you didn’t fail. The school failed you (they did).

JR, you are a good person (he is).

JR, you didn’t do anything wrong. You know if you did, I would tell you (that’s true. I don’t mince words with my kid).

I say these things every time he asks, and, 9 years, a high school diploma and 3 college acceptances later, he still does.

JR is thriving now. I tell him so all the time. Every time I speak to one of his teachers, coaches, caregivers, I let him know what they said. I highlight his accomplishments.

Your coach says you’re bench pressing 95lbs! That’s amazing (it is).

Your nutritionist said you lost 5 pounds! You’re beating your stepdad (he is).

I got your report card. You’re getting straight As in all your classes. Brilliant. (also true. I’m jealous)

Your Group Home manager said you cleaned your room without being reminded. That’s great! (and a rare phenomenon)

JR, your dad and I are very proud of you (we are).

JR, you are smart, kind, and any time you set a goal for yourself, you achieve it (he does).

You are the only person [our anxiety reactive boxer] Rocky doesn’t react to (100% true).

Still, that one moment 9 years ago, this one time he thinks he failed, still haunts him.

I understand why it does. I do the exact same thing.

I wish it didn’t. I wish I could make the assistant principal tell JR what happened wasn’t his fault. I wish I had insisted the case manager talk with him about what happened when it happened.

I want my son understand we: the school, my ex, me, failed him, not the other way around.

It finally took us hiring a special education attorney and advocate to fix everything we got wrong.

I learned a lot about IEPs, IDEA, and FAPE that year. It’s served me well.

JR was placed out-of-district at a special education school. In the right environment, with the IEP being followed, and all of the services he was entitled to and needed being provided (documented on that IEP), the catastrophic in-school meltdowns stopped.

In 2021, JR moved to group home, and a special education high school, where he continued to succeed.

None of that matters to him, though.

I think I’ll go call his father and ask him to talk to JR. Sometimes hearing it from dad helps.

Does your child perseverate on their failures? Do you have a way of reassuring them of their success? Drop a note in the comments and tell us about it.

Cheers,

Cris

father and child s hands together
Posted in Long Distance Parenting, Non Custodial Parent, Non-Custodial Dad

A Parent is a Parent

Posted on by cmfalato

Photo by Juan Pablo Serrano on Pexels.com

In case that wasn’t…ahem…apparent.

When I first started writing about non-custodial and long distance parenthood, I focused on my experience as a non-custodial mom. This was, at the time, a societal anomaly. I am thinking it probably still is.

A true support site for non-custodial parents cannot be just about Non-Custodial Moms, though. From a societal standpoint, non-custodial fathers may have it easier than the Moms do. Most people don’t bat an eye when they hear a father doesn’t have residential custody.

A parent is a parent. Living without your child isn’t easier or harder based according to gender. You don’t have to be a member of an NCP support group, such as Facebook’s Long Distance Parent Support Group, to know non-custodial dads miss their kids just as much as non-custodial moms do.  NCDads fight hard for every moment they get with their kids. They cherish every second once they have those moments, just like their maternal counterparts. The rules of co-parenting, of staying connected to your kids, of missing your kids, of trying to always put them first, as well as the legalities of custody, visitation, and child support are gender neutral.

The Mother Rogue supports ALL non-custodial parents who are working to support and stay connected to their kids.