I am honored today to present a guest post from Big Little Wolf of Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy.
Big Little Wolf was one of my first blogging buddies and she remains both a friend and an inspiration to me as a writer. Each and every day, BLW crafts an exquisite essay at Daily Plate of Crazy, covering such disparate topics as leadership, parenting, dating, and fashion. Her writing is sassy, savvy, and sagacious and her commitment to deep thought and real conversation sets a very high bar for the rest of us in this online world. (My own commitments to alliteration and adjectives presented in series of three are less worthy of emulation.)
Thank you, Big Little Wolf, for sharing a post with us today. It is an honor to see your writing here at Motherese.
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Bread Crumbs, Stale Crusts, Potions: I Don’t Talk About My Ex
by: Big Little Wolf
They aren’t lies, exactly – the things I say to my children about their father. I don’t talk about my ex much. Not with them, and certainly not here, except obliquely. Yet you may sense him in the background – an occasional presence, a storm brewing.
You
I speak of “you” as though we were having coffee together, as though I were writing a letter, as though -
Dear You Who Read:
You are the invisible, the faceless, the passing-through-strangers who become part of my world, and in some ways, are not strangers at all. You are in my kitchen, and my bedroom. You walk with me through the little den, navigating the stacks of books and bills and papers. You listen to my stories without knowing (any more than I do) what may be echo, and what is real.
No. That’s untrue. I know what is real; but I drift into the sensations of a phantom leg, the itch and ache of parts once present, dreams still tangible.
Nonetheless, you take up residence beside me in your harried minutes and insomniac hours, like mine. In your search for a quick hit of laughter or commiseration. Before an appointment, the commute to the office or classroom, or taking a night off with a drink and your computer, rather than dressing for a date, or folding the laundry.
You carry your own load of troubles, discoveries, and dazzling achievements – sometimes, as simple as making it through one more day. I think of you more often than you realize – when I first wake and want to give you something to smile about. Or over dinner, when my teenager is again silent.
But I am less alone. You are there, as we wrestle around together foolishly and purposefully in this mammoth, misshapen, inexplicable, insignificant and powerful place, this pool in which we read and write, blindly, sloppily, profusely.
Sometimes, you are too close. Sometimes, you are impossibly distant. And then, you are here. Right. Here.
Dear you.
The wizard behind the curtain
We make our own magic, don’t you think? I choose the cauldron. It’s the perfect time of year for it, and I will be all three literary witches, cackling and stirring the pot of potions, poisons and panaceas.
I am also the wizard behind the curtain, fearful and tiny, even in my tallest heels. I wisely stay behind the safety of my velvet drapes, but there are mornings when I seek light, rooms flooded with light.
A hawk flies through my backyard and I watch it soar then dive. I am envious. Perhaps not the witch’s consort, he is a strong, elegant, and predatory creature. I would master his sharp beak, his claws to grip and tear, his unrelenting eye for the kill.
But it’s never been my way.
Bread crumbs
They aren’t lies, the things I say about my ex to my sons. They’re bread crumbs. Moments I’ve been careful to drop into conversation here and there, entirely for their benefit.
“Oh, you move with the same grace as your dad on that tennis court,” I’ll say to my younger son. “I used to love watching him play. He was quite beautiful, like you.”
And to my elder: “I don’t know how you manage to look at a thing and know how it works, and how to fix it. It’s something your dad can do, and it amazes me the way you both have that gift.”
Truth. I have given each of them bits of truth over these long years. Bread crumbs, so they might trace their beginnings to a time when there was love. Or something like love. So they would know they were created from something good. 
Stale crusts
When bread is fresh, it’s warm and sweet-smelling. It sustains us. It comforts us. We slice it in order to share; we rip it into tiny pieces to scatter and feed the birds. In fairy tales, our trail of crumbs promises to lead the way to safety.
But when we leave our bread untended, the crusts grow stony and inedible. The middle hardens, and we spit it out.
I have regrets: days when rage and despair bubbled over, and words tumbled out that I wouldn’t have spoken with more sleep, or less fear. That is not an excuse. It is an admission of human failing. Of giving my children stale crusts.
Battle silence
I prepare my armaments of war. Again. But there is no battle cry of any sort. I revert to usual refrains: reminders for my sons to call their father on his birthday, or to inform him of certain events in their lives. Some of these they would remember. Some, they would forget.
It is for them that I do this; not for him, though as I write these words I know that isn’t a whole truth. Even rage allows for kindness, when kindness is a habit you don’t want to lose.
This is my job as I construct it, daily: to scatter bread crumbs, understanding that my truth needn’t be their truth, and the one constant is that they feel loved. Deeply. And my words aren’t lies, exactly. I’m the wizard behind the curtain, three witches at the cauldron, and choosing panacea over poison.
How do you stay strong in a land of partial truth?
- What do you say to your children?
- Is fairness during battle impossible?
- Must I be the hawk, if it means survival?
Please leave a comment for Big Little Wolf and then pay her a visit at Daily Plate of Crazy.
{ 32 comments… read them below or add one }
Hi – I’m not divorced/separated but all 3 of my siblings are and I think it’s crucial to try and be as positive as you can be about your ex, even if you are literally swallowing your tongue at times to do so. It’s so tempting – and yet so destructive – to malign them to the kids. It can only do harm in the long run and confuse your kids about their parents. I really like the bread crumb analogy. Well done.
Delia Lloyd
http://www.realdelia.com
Powerful, thought provoking. I’m not sure that what I have to offer can be of any help, except to say this: My mother passed when I was a young girl after a battle with a terrible illness. My father doesn’t share any part of her with me. It’s not for any specific reason. He’s just not the type and frankly, I’m not sure he remembers, it was so long ago, almost 30 years. I crave the knowledge, wish I had more parts of her to keep close to me, to recognize in myself. I realize this is different, but in a sense it isn’t. The more you can share with your boys about their father, your positive memories of when you were together or how they remind you of him, the more complete they will be for it. Knowing what I know now, I think it’s essential to our self-understanding to have a better understanding of where we come from.
There was no way I could tell my son the whole truth about what happened between his dad and I after my accident. How can he possibly understand the complexity of the situation until he has a wife and children of his own one day. My biggest fear was that I would end up dying and not have the opportunity of telling him the truth. So, I wrote it all down with instructions to my family to give it to my son one day when he is all grown up. That gives me peace in my heart.
BLW, Your use of metaphor is stunning. I know that’s not what this is about, but I had to mention it as it jumped at me. I am constantly amazed with the grace with which you pen your posts and weave your stories. Particularly because I do sometimes get the sense of a looming and ominous presence, of a fog of inequities and struggle. All I can say is that the thoughtfulness with which you engage in this parenting business – and blogging business – is exquisite and enviable.
Whether your boys are getting crumbs or crusts on any given day doesn’t so much matter. What does is that they are beautifully nourished by their wonderful – and wise – mother.
Thanks to both of you for bringing me these words today.
(Oh, and BLW the letter part at the beginning – about the quasi-strangers in this land is so fantastic – and true.)
Unfortunately, I think the hawk has to come with you into battle. You may not need to be the hawk but the possibility of doing battle with the hawk must be in the mind of the opponent.
I feed my children – still at their mostly adult ages – bread crumbs also. My ex and I get along better than you do with yours, from all conclusions I can draw. It was just a little over a year ago a parent of a friend of the youngest asked – at homecoming pictures – where my husband was. He did not realize that, at that point in time, we had not been together for 12 years.
Hopefully, if I have my way, the kids will never know the details, the exact reason for the marriage ending. Few people do know it all and those who do are sworn to secrecy by me.
We sustain our children as best we know how. Sometimes stale crusts is all we have but it is better than nothing but not as good as fresh bread.
“Swallowing the tongue.” Perfectly put, Delia. The challenge arises (constantly) when we are literally choking on that tongue. And I am not always convinced that my dimly lit reflection of reality – for my sons – is the best thing in the long run.
As single parents, or parents in general, all we can do is what we sense is the best thing for our children at a point in time. And hope some internal compass has guided us well.
Christine and Tracy: We do pick and choose what we say, recognizing what our children are capable of processing, and balancing that with their need to believe certain things. As they get older, it’s no easier. My sons are teens now, and 9 years of “bread crumbs” have allowed them to love their father, but I’m not convinced I’ve done them any favors.
Yes, Aidan. An ominous presence. Still. And worse. And Nicki – I’ve tried the hawk, but some adversaries turn their weapons on those you love most; you lay down your arms to protect them.
I recently talked to my mom about this very topic. As an adult I now know exactly what happened between her and my dad, and I know much better how much she hurt about all of it.
Yet, as a kid I didn’t know that. I never thought my parents hated – or even disliked – each other. I was free to love and desire my dad as much as I needed to.
I thanked my mom for that; I know it must have been terribly hard for her, yet, I needed the opportunity to have my own relationship, to make my own evaluations and decisions. It was a gift that I truly appreciated.
I’m sure your boys will too.
All I can say, is that after all that’s been done, I’m not sure I could operate with the kind of grace that you do.
It’s a tribute to your character and how very much you love those boys.
A mother protects her young, TKW. The way in which we do it changes over time, but we do it. With very few exceptions.
You never really know what the kids will remember when they grow up but I do know what I remember. My mother , who had every right to speak poorly of my father, never did. On occassions I remember the nasty words exchanged between them but mostly I remember this: Love your father , he is the only one you get. Sounds silly sometimes but really it isn’t. There is much strength to be found within from recognizing your genes. I have even heard it said that your soul picks you parents for a reason in order to serve some larger purpose in life. And I can tell you this, you are helping them to have a successful journey in life by dropping your bread crumbs. Stale ones or not they are part of your family quilt. Maybe someday they will get to know your ex or maybe not but it is part of their journey that you never want to hide. I know I am thankful for my mother’s remark to love my Dad. Whether he is a bastard or not is not the point. It is that he is their father and therefore a part of them. So that being said knowing my mother could remember some of his good made me grow up strong, nonjudgemental, and seeing my father for who he is: a human being on a journey and trying to find his path. I never had to hate a part of myself for reminding her of him.
“I never had to hate a part of myself for reminding her of him.”
Yes. Beautifully said. Perhaps that is why we do what we do, in situations like this.
You are doing it the best way you know how. Right now. For them. For you.
You protect. You love. You nourish. You sacrifice.
You take blame. Have guilt. Stand defensive.
You survive. They thrive.
Such is parenting. And being a Mom.
This is so powerful, so good. I admire, especially, your bread crumbs. That you choose to make and drop them seems so generous, selfless, loving and disciplined. It’s exactly what I’ve tried to articulate about what I wish my parents – my father especially – had and would do for each other and for my youngest siblings. (And frankly, they could have used the bread crumb plan long before the split!)
Thank you Sarah, and Sylvanstyle. One day at a time. And this community has been such a help through the difficult ones – a source of learning, support, and laughter as well.
My ex and I have been apart for 12 plus years. At first it was fairly bitter, but I kept the mantra in my head: He is their only father.
And truly, his relationship with them, while one I find lacking, is no doubt the purest in his life.
Shortly after we separated I got the 2 older kids (then 10 and 7) into a group for kids whose parent’s were divorcing. Once or twice a year the parents met with the teacher as a group. The animosity I saw with these people floored me. Kids being exchanged at MacDonald’s to avoid fighting, boy/girlfriends in and out of their lives….
It just made me more determined not to go there. I try and do what you do, interject little pieces of positivity regarding him. “You got Daddy’s great brain for Math; You have his wonderful pony legs.” Sometimes it’s hard not to notice the lesser attributes and I fight like hell to keep those reflections inside. It took me a long time to reclaim my past with him, the positive parts. I felt like a fake referring to an old memory, “Oh, Daddy and I did such and such when we were dating.” I’m past that now; I realize they need to hear there was once a love story that they sprung out of.
Great post, per usual!!
BLW, a lovely post and how incredible of you, not burdening your sons with the detritus of the marriage.
My father, who died when I was almost 15, was vilified daily by my mother for years and, to this day, my sisters seem to consider themselves our mother’s children but not our father’s. I know he had some (very big) flaws – I remember him very well, after all – but I like to think that he deserves the respect of a parent nonetheless.
Thanks for a thought-provoking post!
Some of my most lucid memories from childhood are of the negative things my Mother said about my Father. They divorced when I was 5 and he lived in another state. I know in my mind that by saying those things she was trying to convince me “it’s him, not you”. It was ineffective to say the least.
“I’m the wizard behind the curtain, three witches at the cauldron, and choosing panacea over poison.”
You’ve got it right, BigLittleWolf. Even when it feels uncertain and shaky at times, you’ve got it so right.
BLW, That’s a beautiful and honorable thing for you to praise your sons on their likeness of the lovely attributes from their father, and to foster the relationship. No matter what bitterness, the divorce may have left you with, you stand strong and beautiful for your sons. You are a good mother and woman.
This is one of the most beautiful posts I have ever read. It took me by surprise. I’m rarely surprised.
Thank you!
I have been to two weddings where spouses who had long since been divorced chose to engage in battle.
I listened to a groom tell a few of us that he almost wanted an immediate annulment for fear that would be him one day.
Those bread crumbs you give are worth their weight in gold.
My own parents divorced after 30 years of marriage. And I was on the receiving end of my mother’s constant digs relative to my father, in subject matter that was inappropriate between parent and child at any age.
I’ve never forgotten what that felt like. And the fact is, without their father, these wonderful boys wouldn’t be here. And there are terrific qualities which he passed along to them – directly or indirectly. I don’t ever want them to think otherwise.
I’m no saint, and I slip up relative to saying this. As my boys have grown older, there have been some difficult and honest scenes among us relative to certain realities. I try to stick to facts, but invariably it is too painful for everyone, so that’s that.
Would that two parents would always put their children first. Many parents do. Some don’t. When one does not, the other must. Sometimes it means receding into the background when everything is screaming. But you do it.
The vilifying, as you say Linda, or the fighting in public, Jack – very human, but not very adult. Kids first. Period.
Bread crumbs. What a perfect way of describing the little bits of nourishment, of information that you give to your boys. You give them snapshots that they can assemble into a collage as they see fit. Not too much information, just enough to feed their souls.
This whole “Ex issue” is so messy, so tricky. But I think you’re doing a fabulous job navigating it.
And I’m just so happy to see you here at Motherese! Two of my favorite bloggers in the same place.
Thank, Eva, for your kind words.
Eva, thank you. Some days it feels like I’m doing a lousy job with the “ex” business, which I never thought would basically be a life sentence.
Megan, thank you for what you say. Your remarks are heartening. There are things I hope my sons come to understand, when they are men. It isn’t about what they think of their father; it is about things I believe they blame me for, subconsciously, things I wish I could’ve provided for them. And hoping that when they are adults, when they are parents themselves, perhaps they will understand I did my best with what I had.
Terry, thank you. What a kind thing to say.
There are things I hope my sons come to understand, when they are men.
Several friends are getting divorced now so I have this conversation frequently. I am no expert, but it seems to me that all we can do is our best to take care of the kids.
And we do it with the understanding that they cannot understand some things until they have lived a bit longer and experienced some things.
BLW, thanks again for your post and your thoughtful responses to these comments. It was a pleasuring hosting you at Motherese today.
I’m with Eva in my delight at finding two of my faves under one virtual roof today.
As for crumbs, somewhere I once heard that bread was symbolic of the body of Christ and the birds are symbols of spirit… thus it is by Grimm design that the kids are lost in the dark wood, needing to be lost in order to be found.
Certainly you are a bit the trickster, BLW, behind the curtain as we all are in our ways… but those three witches, well I see the wise women at the healing potion indeed—straight from the wishing well, the worried well and the primoridal cauldron/womb in which our kids are collectively cooked (so that they might not grow up to be spineless woodcutters who abandon kids in the forest… oh, but then we weren’t going to be talking about Him—that old Shadow).
Namaste
Big Little Wolf, je suis en retard en lisant ce post ici, mais c’est à cause de vos mots puissants chez vous. (Je suis y allée en premier hier.)
Je m’excuse pour les erreurs grammatiques — il y avait quelques ans que j’ai parlé français (ou que j’en ai écrit). Je suis heureuse de faire la connaissance d’une autre personne qui aime cette langue autant que moi.
Toute une réponse en français – c’est inattendu, et délicieux ! Et si vous étiez en train de me lire chez moi (je souris) – tant mieux. On aime bien croire qu’il y ait un lecteur ou deux de temps en temps – et un lecteur bilingue – c’est même mieux.
Je vous ai laissée un message chez vous. Et moi aussi, contente de faire votre connaissance.
(Grand Petit Loup)
Bruce -
You do see all, don’t you…
(Stirring, stirring, muttering, and stirring)