Every Sunday night around 7:30pm there’s slight chaos in my house as my brother and I rush around trying to pack up our lives into duffle bags. My brother, makes sure he has his favorite Xbox games and Beats Headphones while I frantically plan outfits for the following week trying to decide which shoes I will need to pack to ensure every outfit will be perfect. Depending on the week, my Mom or Dad’s voice can be heard echoing through the house, “Chase, make sure you have all your homework in your backpack. Kelsey, don’t forget to pack your medicine.” We’ve been doing this practically our whole lives, since I was five at least, yet my brother and I still wait until the last minute to shove everything in bags to make “the switch,” as we like to call it. As 8pm hits, we drive down Craycroft Road, heading North if we are going to our Mom’s house and South if it’s to our Dad’s. This is life as I’ve known for as long as I can remember, having divorced parents is the normal for me. But normal does not mean easy.

Trust me, it’s not easy. Being a child of divorced parents is hard. Even when it isn’t as hard, it’s still hard. In today’s society, almost half of all marriages end in divorce, which means there are many children who have divorced parents. I am by no means a rare case, there are plenty of other people who understand the difficulty of separated parents and living in two households.  Because it’s so common practically everyone knows at least one person who has been divorced or has been involved in one. Despite this, people who haven’t personally experienced divorce really have no idea what it’s like. Countless times I’ve gotten the pity-auto-response of, “Oh, I’m sorry. That must be difficult sometimes.”

Despite many arguments, messy and long court sessions, and frustrated judges, my parents have handled divorce and joint custody well, at least better than expected. Occasionally the curtain my parents put up to block my brother and I from the reality of their interactions and feelings towards one another will fall and I will get a glimpse of the not-so-bright-and-sunny reality, the fact that my parents simply don’t like each other, let along get along. “Suella, it’s my week with the kids, I get to decide how I want to spend it”, my Dad whispers over the phone in a hushed, yet stern voice, trying to make sure he gets his point across to my over-bearing mother but also making sure my brother and I don’t overhear the argument. My parents do their best to keep my brother and I out of the crossfire and out of their issues. However, they sometimes act like children themselves; like kindergarten children, fighting over the talking action figure, or the Barbie doll. In this situation, Chase and I are the talking action figure and the Barbie doll.

Last Mother’s Day I woke up at my Dad’s house with a text message from my Mom saying, “Call me when u can.” (Yes, she tries to use “text language” by abbreviating words; it drives me crazy). I rolled out of bed and dialed her number. The phone rang three times and on the forth she answered. Before I even had a chance to wish her a happy Mother’s Day or even say hello she rattled off, “Kelsey, you will not believe the conversation I just had with your father. I am so pissed.” Here it goes again…

On the other end of the phone I can hear my Mom, her voice quavering with anger, sadness and disappointment as she says, “Your dad isn’t letting me have you and Chase until 7 tonight.” She continues saying, “It’s Mother’s Day and I won’t even get to spend the day with my own children.” I feel bad for my Mom, I know Mother’s Day is important to her and she had planned to spend the day golfing with my brother and I. I begin to get angry with my Dad, how dare he strip my Mom of her important day. But then I stop. I realize that my parents have a habit, whether it be intentional or not, of trying to get my brother and I on their side, and against our other parent. I tell myself that getting mad and fueling my mom’s anger towards my Dad wouldn’t help. She finally stops talking to take a breath and I seize the opportunity and say, “Happy Mother’s Day. I love you. Take a deep breath, let me talk to my Dad and I’ll call you back.” I hung up the phone and went outside where my Dad was working in the front yard, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as he was pulling weeds. I confront my Dad as I say, “I just got off the phone with Mom; she is upset that you aren’t letting us see her until later tonight.” He tells me that we have plans to spend time with my Grandma and step-mom for Mother’s Day, which I understand and accept but I also understand why my Mom wouldn’t accept it.

An hour later, the aroma from the kitchen is overwhelming: the smell of bacon floods the kitchen as it sits, sizzling in a pan, a breakfast casserole bakes in the oven and fresh fruit salad sits in the fridge. My Grandma arrived for brunch and then left about two hours later and it wasn’t even close to 5pm when we were suppose to be done and going to our Moms. I ask my Dad, “Hey Dad, maybe Chase and I can go over to Mom’s early now that we’re done celebrating here? It would make her happy.” He replies with a mumbled mess of words and I realize that he doesn’t really have anything planned for the rest of the day – he just doesn’t want to let my Mom have my brother and I. Chase and I were the talking action figure and the Barbie. Like the little boy who doesn’t really want the action figure, but just doesn’t want his friend to have it, my Dad didn’t really need to keep my brother and I all day, he just didn’t want my Mom to have more time with us.

While having divorced parents is difficult, I have learned a lot about how to deal with conflict from an early age and I’ve been blessed with an extremely large family, which is an amazing network of support. So despite being fought over, and living in two houses and all the difficult things that come with having divorced parents, there are some blessings in disguise. However, my Dad has summed divorce up best: “it ain’t easy!”