This morning started with chaos. The five-year-old went from calm to meltdown in seconds while trying to play Operation. That set the nine-year-old off too — he went upstairs quietly, teary-eyed, shutting down completely. He’s always preferred talking to his mum when something’s wrong. I asked if he wanted to call her, but he shook his head.
Then the youngest saw me crying, and that only upset him more.
I felt so alone. I’ve been in situations like this before, back when we were together — moments where she was out and I had to handle everything myself. But this is different. Now I know no one will be walking through the door later. There’s no one to share the load with, no one to lean on, and no one for them to lean on but me. That realisation makes me hate her more.
When they’re both upset, who do you help first? The youngest usually needs more support to manage his emotions, so the eldest ends up left on his own — and I hate that.
It was only ten minutes out of the day, but it felt like the whole day.
And yet, the morning had actually started well. The youngest “helped” me in the garden, and later in the afternoon we headed to a water park. We had fun and I even caught myself wondering about booking a place with a pool for the October half-term. The boys would love it. But would I cope? Maybe when the youngest is older.
Back home, I cooked tea and cleaned while the boys played nicely together (a rare thing). No thanks from anyone for cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, changing bed sheets — though, in truth, that feels no different to before she left. Looking back, I’m not sure I ever really felt appreciated by her anyway. Or maybe I did, but my feelings towards her now are clouding my memory?
The youngest bruised his hip playing outside — nothing serious — and later came into the kitchen limping with one hand on his back, doing his “old man” impression. I couldn’t help but laugh. He’s funny.
Still, there was no word from her asking to speak to the boys. I find that really sad. Why do I care? Not for her sake — if she doesn’t want to talk, fine — but for theirs. Just a couple of minutes to say goodnight, to remind them she’s thinking of them… Wouldn’t most mothers want to do that? The boys seem okay, but I can’t help feeling it’s strange.
Three weeks of the holidays gone, just over three to go before school starts and we settle into a new routine.
The past few days with them have been great — mostly ups, a few lows. But I’ve found it always takes a little time to find our rhythm after they’ve been away. You go from being alone in a calm, quiet house to full on chaos as soon as they’re back. It’s disorientating, but tomorrow, when they leave again, I’ll go straight back down from 100 to 0 again. I’m not enjoying this stop-start rhythm.
And apart from a one-minute chat with the neighbours, I haven’t spoken to another adult all day.
Maybe that’s why days like this can feel heavy. When there’s no one to share the small moments with — the meltdowns, the laughter, the old man impressions — it all just sits with me. The joy is real, but the loneliness is too, and sometimes they arrive hand in hand.
Dad Mode: Half Time, Full Heart 