Although this goes contrary to your personality.. consider dropping the 'rescuing'.. "her text sounded sad so I asked her if she wanted to take the kids to supper". She's the one who has to learn to ask, to evolve. It's not your job.
You're right, you're right, I know you're right. I felt bad for the kids, though, too -- it was as much for them as for her. Maybe more (he said, knowing he'd like to believe that). Saturday night S cried, "I need hugs from Mommy now!" at bedtime.
Last night, after I put them to bed upon their return, D6 asked me to stay with the door closed. She hid under the blanket and told me she can't cry, she can't cry, she can't cry. Why?
Because it will be even more sadder if I do. My heart is in the dumps. It isn't even red or pink anymore, it's grey. Why can't you and Mommy ever stop arguing? Why can't you be married? That's how it's supposed to be for kids, don't you get that?
Tried to comfort her, to let her know it's okay to be sad, that Daddy's sad, that even Mommy is sad, too. And we don't argue; things happen in the lives of adults that don't make sense to kids, and it's okay they don't make sense. [Whoever would have thought that more-or-less amicable D could be worse for kids than the alternative???] What matters most is that she has two parents who love her very much -- they don't have to be married to each other to love her. And there's nothing wrong with crying. Told her she can always come to me, and that if she doesn't want to do that she can whisper her secrets and her sadness to her "Scooter" (a little stuffed animal she's attached to).
But she wasn't buying it. Just lay there, little hands balled up into fists pushing against her eyes, trying to keep the tears in.
Breathe. Blink. Step. Breathe. Blink. Step. And somehow find enough of the Mojo, the Right Stuff, the Life Essence to think, clearly, coldly, vigorously, systematically, about The Book; the Article; the 4-month Overdue Report; the deltas on next week's trip; doing the household budget and bills for the first time in...in ever; getting out on the road for my charity marathon [FYI, never let a concerned and well-meaning friend convince you that a great GAL activity would be running your first marathon, particularly when the kind of Scotch whisky that comes packed in its own little wooden box is involved.]; and Being Present for She Who Cannot Cry and He Who Needs Mommy's Hugs.
