My children. I underestimated my children.
At one point, the oldest said that his dad and I were divorced. I didn't correct him. I didn't go into the point, purpose and definition of a separation. I thought this was easier.
The other night we were chatting at dinner. Dinner. The best time to chat, you lot. It's where all the stuff comes out. We were talking about Sweet P and he mentioned divorce again. I told him the truth. That we had never divorced. That we had separated and that I didn't tell them that because I thought it would be too confusing.
His response? I know what separated means. It means taking apart things that belong together.
Well, damn. Yes. That is an excellent definition.
And as his plate went into the sink and he was walking away, he said - sometimes you need to figure things out for a year and a half.
I mean, can I take half credit for his brilliance? Just half. And that's not the reconciliation talking. I was always judicious about this. Sharing the good. Because then I also only have to take half credit when they're being assholes. Which happens. To everybody. #momtruth right there.