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Weekends

I have a love / hate relationship with the weekends.

I cannot wait for it to come. It means no more work, I can sleep in (maybe - if you call 8 a.m. sleeping in on some weekends), I may or may not have my children and I always get to see Stan.

For the weekends that I don't have children. It is nice because I have a break. But even then, I miss them and I worry about them until I have them safely back with me.

Same thing goes if I only have one and don't have the other. I miss the one who is gone and worry about him until I have him back.

When they are apart from me my fears run rampant. Or should I say my imagination. I have small anxiety attacks when I first leave them with their fathers. I do get over the attacks once my mind is on other things, but I cannot help it. And I have the attacks sometimes on Saturday days and Sunday mornings. I just over worry. I could chalk it up to being the residential parent.

Friday nights mean I get to see Stan. And "keep" him for the weekend.

I never truly "keep" Stan. He takes very good care of himself, and me, when he is with me on weekends.

He is a great help on the weekends that I have kids.

We have fun, stay busy, even if we are staying home.

For the most part my weekends are happy. So where does the hate come in?

I hate missing my kids or worrying about them.

I hate Sundays when Stan leaves. There is an empty place.

Even with the house again filled with myself and the kids, there is an empty place.

I climb alone into the bed. And snuggle down and pull one of his pillows to me. I generally fall asleep that way.

Of course he says that I am more than happy to have the bed back so that I can take it over completely. But he says I do that even with him in it. So I don't see any difference if that is so.

I am always at peace knowing that my kids are sleeping soundly in the next room. That gives me some comfort. Because then I no longer have to worry about them.

Yet I miss Stan. And I can't help it.

For this, I hate the weekends.

I want my kids with me to know that they are safe, yet I want to have a break.

I love to be with Stan, I hate to be without him.

And during the week I worry about him, even though I get to talk to him. It is not the same thing as going to sleep next to him. Having him in the house.

So on the weekends, I get to worry about my children, during the weekdays, I get to worry about Stan.

Some day, this has got to stop. Maybe it'll be the day when we are all finally together in one place. Or maybe it'll be when I lie my head down for the final time to rest forever.

I'm betting on the last because as long as my kids are away from me, I will always worry about them, miss them. And whenever Stan and I are apart, I will do the same.

Is this unconditional love? Or am I just some psychopath in need of medication and a padded room?

I cannot wait for Friday night to come so I can see Stan again.

I don't want Friday to come so I can keep my little one.

Sunday, go away, I want Stan to stay.

Sunday, come quickly so I can get my little one home safely with me.

So to the weekends I must say

I love you. Because you bring Stan to stay with me.

I hate you. Because you take my little ones away.

Because I love you, I don't want you to end. Because I hate you, I don't want you to get here.

I don't know any other way to feel.

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