Every two weeks occurs what I call "the long haul." It is a stretch of five days when the boys are with their dad. I grit my teeth and put my head down and kind of plow through those five days because I miss them. I try to look at the bright side -- activities that I can do (like fox hunting and working and long, long trail rides) that are difficult when they're around. Sometimes that makes it all right but other times, I turn a corner in the house and see something (like Mikey's duffel bag, packed carefully with individually selected stuffed animals, each with a name), and I feel a sort of gap open up in my inner world, shaped exactly like Mikey or Danny.
Fortunately for the children, they have become used to this process and besides, they have a loving parent in the other household, so I don't think they have the same kind of experience. And that's fine. They shouldn't be feeling bad in either house, for any reason.
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