I had it in my mind to send Donkey the January email today. The email with my request to have the kids for a weekend. I hadn’t while the kids were here to keep my focus on this visit. I was living in our moments. They went home last night.
Donkey beat me to it. He sent the January email this afternoon.
It felt too late. I waited too long. I hadn’t put it in writing to him that, duh, I would like to have the kids, or when.
I felt like he should have asked before making plans that covered the two weekends I was likely to choose from for my January time, one of which is set in court-ordered stone and the other a probable alternative considering it is my birthday. This coming from the man who threw in they need more time with you as a reason for going for a job in Atlanta.
I felt like he should have asked, but I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s a pattern: Memorial Day, the Summer, Labor Day, October, November, December, and now January. Plus, I left him on his birthday. Sure, he was out-of-town, but it’s his birthday in the divorce that stands as the date of separation. This is my first birthday without the kids in six years.