Picture This: Part 3
Picture this: He travels for the Father-Daughter dance because, you know, it's a new tradition and babygirl expects to dance the night away with her dad. It's a beautiful sight per usual, but then... All 4 of us are face to face. *Dun dun dunnnn*
This is all familiar. The four of us in a booth at Waffle House with the usual order in preparation. Him - a whole lot of eggs and double the hash. Me - The All-star, but just for the kids this time. "I'm good. I ate on the way." If anyone didn't know the story, they'd think we were a family of four out having breakfast for dinner. In reality, nope. This was just time with a father and his children; a necessary few hours because things have changed drastically for two young children who only knew this picture. This dynamic. Granted, the two adults have had to make adjustments too, but for me, it's only and forever will be about the kids.
When I left, it was for good. No looking back. Yet, if this picture, on this night, at that booth had audio, it would have sounded reminiscent of a past life. He wanted to talk. I listened mostly, spoke my piece about the current state of affairs - use of that word could be triggering - and chimed in here and there outside of that. "You know exactly why you're blocked."
After what went down Thanksgiving morning, I chose my peace and sanity. No outside person should have a say in, or feel that they can speak on something beyond them. However, if the spineless won't see the issue with that. Keep the peace? Do that, but be clear on who's who and what's what. What am I saying?
Respect. Boundaries. Communication.
Okay. I digress.
He misses us. Me. The kids. Our home. Our lives together. Meh. It happens. 😆
At one point, I mentioned he should use his day off to come and visit the kids at school. It would be helpful. "Teamwork." He took that word and used it to build his case of needing to be able to talk to me directly, because "there are things I need to say to you that the kids can't relay". *Eye roll* Mind you, I was somewhat considering unblocking him because the kids' flip phone just isn't enough for what I do, but it fulfills its purpose. Ultimately, I unblocked him a few days later, and insert *long eye roll*.
He said, without saying, that he wanted to have access to me at any time to talk or whatever. About what? I don't care to catch up unless we're discussing updates or new news about our children. Makes sense to me. Yet, he finds it necessary to randomly send me throwback pictures, and I was there, so...mmmmkay...*BLOCKED*
The point? Word vomit.
When I look around and gauge the temperature of where things are, it's a muggy, humid rash of words with actions as often as a leap year. Bit by bit, I have accepted the fact that "it is what it is", so I keep it pushing.
And when I picture this - my life - I choose to paint it in golds, greens, purples, and beautiful hues of blues, yellows, reds. A chrome-colored silver lining.
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