I think it’s a safe bet that most women, when confronted with a rain-drenched ex-husband crawling through their bedroom window, would march immediately to the nearest police station and begin the process of obtaining an Order of Protection. In my case, having my ex-husband climb through my bedroom window last Tuesday’s afternoon is, well, life as I know it.

To call my ex-husband, Allen, quirky is an understatement. Oddly enough, his quirkiness is, perhaps, one of his most endearing qualities. Allen and I met as grad students in the English program at Clemson. We were instant friends. The problem with our relationship, however, is that we were never more than friends no matter how much we might have tried to make the relationship romantic. It just didn’t quite work out.

In hindsight it is easy to say that we probably shouldn’t have gotten married, but I do not regret it because had we never been married, we would not have Emerson. Still, after only three years of marriage, I knew it was never going to work. I was unhappy, and I had the foresight to know that my unhappiness would negatively affect my daughter. Divorce seemed the healthiest course of action for all of us.

Our divorce was amicable and uncontested. There was no fighting over Emerson or money or property (there are some advantages to being a poor grad student when you get married). We kept the lines of communication open, and decided that whatever might happen, Emerson was always going to be priority numero uno.

Since our divorce, I have gotten remarried and had another daughter, Ella. Allen, in some ways, is still as much a part of my new life as he was when we were married. He did enter my house through my bedroom window without any criminal or legal repercussions after all. To most people, I’m sure this entire scenario seems bizarre, but in my life, this unorthodox relationship is par for the course.

Allen picks both Em and Ella up from school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Last Tuesday he happened to forget his key, which is why he came in through the window. He also picks them up on Sundays and takes them to the house he shares with his parents in Williamston. Papa, Gram and Allen have treated Ella like she was theirs from day one. They have never made any emotional or biological distinction between them. The same is true in our home. My husband and I met just as Em turned one. He has helped raise her from infancy, and she has always called him Daddy.   

Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day – we celebrate these holidays together as one big, albeit unusual, family: Em, Ella, Daddy, Daddy Allen, Grandma (my mother) Papa and Gram and me. Today it seems that families come in all shapes and sizes, so perhaps we are less the exception than we are the norm. However one might choose to describe or define us, we are a family nonetheless.

In my mind, Em and Ella are truly the ones who benefit from the blending of our family. How can it be a bad thing to have more than two parents to love and care for them? Doesn’t the saying go “it takes a village to raise a child?” Despite being a child of divorce, Em has never been pulled in a tug-of-war between two angry parents, and Ella has never been treated like an “other” because her DNA is not the same as Allen’s or his parents.

Too often it is innocent children who are forced to cope with difficult issues because the adults in their lives cannot muster the maturity it takes to put aside their own hurts and petty differences. Children become paws in a tortuous chess game designed by adults “get back” at one another. Insult heaped upon injury.

While my family tree might have some oddly entwined braches, its roots are deeply planted in a foundation of love, respect and understanding. Of course there are times when we disagree, moments when we get on one another’s last good nerve, but when all is said and done, Em and Ella always come first – on this we agree 100%. We want them to be happy, healthy, well-developed children. Thus far, I think we are doing a great job!  

The fact that people raise their eyebrows every time my children announce that they have two daddies – that is just an endlessly amusing dollop of icing on the cake of life.