Lovely man and I live apart. 100 miles apart, give or take a mile.
This isn’t a choice we made lightly. We love the area where his house is, and I do spend time there at weekends etc., and vice versa, but for the children’s education we decided that I would continue to live here until the older two have finished at college and 6th form. The plan was then for us all to move to his house and move Stroppy 3 to a new primary school until she was the right age to move to (hopefully) a grammar school.
This has changed somewhat, mainly because Stroppy 3 gets very upset whenever we mention us moving and her changing schools. She doesn’t want to leave her friends, she’s happy at her school, she doesn’t want to go. 😦 When we realised how upset she was getting we took the decision to stay living like this until she leaves her current school. It is an excellent school. The teaching is second to none, and it is in the Top 100 primary schools in the UK.
We certainly would much rather live together as a family all the time, but Stroppy 1 has problems getting her behind to 6th Form from where we live now, let alone if she had a 100 mile trip each day! We did speak about them moving to colleges closer to lovely mans house, but as Stroppy 2’s course is quite specialised it wasn’t really an option.
It’s the ‘part-time solo parenting’ thing that I have a problem with. Until recently, I didn’t even know there was a name for the way we live. Its just an arrangement to suit our current situation. I’m actually finding myself feeling a little uncomfortable knowing that it does have a name. We don’t like living apart and when I saw the name it made me like it a whole lot less! 😦
I want to move now. Not in a year, or two, or God forbid, three. NOW. I hate where I live. I work and don’t smoke, so don’t really fit in with my neighbours who seem to spend their lives outside smoking, drinking coffee & gossiping rather than going to work. I feel no inclination to get chatting to them. We have nothing in common, aside from children of similar ages. They think I’m a snob. Maybe I am……I don’t think so – certainly having a work ethic doesn’t make you a snob. Not letting Stroppy 3 run the streets doesn’t make me a snob – it makes me a responsible parent.
Lovely mans house is lovely, as you would expect I suppose. I have helped with choosing the decor so it’s very ‘me’, all homely and comfy. I love being there. I love the open fire, I love the garden, the nearby beach. Everything.
So to find out that there’s a name to our predicament made me a little sad. It brought home to me all the things I dislike about the situation. But for now I will persevere for the children’s sakes. It’ll be worth it end the end…..