Welcome, welcome, welcome to the blog that will probably make half the world nod along like, “Yessss, preach it,” and the other half clutch their pearls and report me to the Co‑Parenting Police. Either way, hi. I’m glad you’re here.
Let’s talk about “The Awkward Conversation” the one nobody wants to have, but everyone ends up smack in the middle of anyway once the relationship splits and real life starts knocking like an impatient Amazon delivery driver.
If you’ve ever been through a separation, you know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s that moment you sit across from someone who has literally seen you in the least glamorous, most vulnerable moments of your entire human existence, childbirth, flu season, whatever that “I haven’t slept in six days” newborn phase was and somehow THIS conversation is the one that makes your armpits sweat.
Because now you’re not talking about feelings or dreams or where to go for date night. No no. You’re talking about the real stuff: schedules, holidays, living arrangements, and the ultimate relationship landmine: money.
(Insert dramatic soap‑opera music here.)
When we started figuring out our new lives, we did what any confused, stressed, slightly overwhelmed humans would do we asked our friends. And lucky/unlucky for us, we knew more than a few people who had already survived this process and lived to tell the tale. They told us what worked, what absolutely didn’t, and which ideas sounded good on paper but would cause emotional whiplash by week two.
We tried Sunday‑to‑Sunday. A bold choice. A terrible choice. Because if you’ve ever picked up kids on a Sunday, you know Sunday has a very specific vibe… a “my sock feels weird, why isn’t my tablet charged, I don’t want to go to school tomorrow, I’m too tired to exist” vibe. Not ideal.
So we switched to Friday‑to‑Friday and honestly, it was like upgrading from dial‑up internet to high‑speed fiber. Everyone was happier. No one cried about pants. The angels sang.
Then came the holidays also known as the Co‑Parenting Olympics.
Christmas was the big one for both of us, so we came up with a system that didn’t make either of us want to hide under the tree. One year one of us gets Christmas Eve to noon on Christmas Day, the next year noon to Boxing Day. Easy. Peaceful. Nobody ends up with emotional frostbite.
New Year’s wasn’t a big deal. One of us doesn’t drink and is perfectly happy doing a kid‑friendly countdown that ends at 9:47 p.m. because bedtime is sacred. The other one could go out with friends and live their best “ringing in the new year with adults” life. Everyone wins.
Halloween was the fun one. We both love it, so instead of fighting over it, we Frankenstein’d the evening together. If I had the kids that night, we’d trick‑or‑treat around my neighborhood, then head to his place so the kids could hit up his neighbors, too. I’d hand out candy at his house while they went roaming, and next year we’d flip it. Kids get double candy, double fun, double memories. Zero fighting. Stunning behavior, 10/10.
Now, onto the topic that makes everyone sweat through their shirt: money.
Listen. I didn’t get married to get rich. I didn’t have kids for financial gain. And I certainly wasn’t about to turn them into a walking ATM. I knew what my ex made. I knew his budget. I also knew that if we followed the government’s magic child‑support chart to the letter, he’d have been living in an apartment the size of a cereal box, living off discount noodles, and probably adopting a pet dust bunny because that’s all he could afford.
And what good is that for the kids?
Exactly. None. Zero good.
So we did something wild and rare: we were reasonable human beings. We agreed on an amount that worked, not for ME, not for HIM, but for the KIDS. He could keep a comfortable home, I could cover what needed covering, and no one had to sell a kidney to survive.
Could I have taken more? Oh, absolutely. According to that chart, I could’ve taken so much that I wouldn’t have had to work at all. But what does that teach my kids? “Hey darlings, look how Mommy thrives without lifting a finger because someone else foots the bill!”
No thank you. Hard work, independence, solid values those things matter way more than squeezing every dime out of a person just because you technically can.
So yes, that’s how we started. With one incredibly awkward, brutally honest, emotionally sweaty conversation. If you can make a human together, survive toddler tantrums together, and tag‑team vomiting children at 3 a.m., you can definitely sit down and talk about calendars and money. And if you truly can’t, get help. A friend, a mediator, whoever. Just communicate. Because you’re not doing this for yourself anymore you’re doing it for the kids.
And that’s the whole point, really. Two homes, one heart. Make both homes good ones. Make both places places your kids feel loved. Let them grow up watching two adults handle hard things with respect, not resentment.
This is part one. More awkwardness coming soon. Buckle up.
And if this blog makes you mad… well… the comment section is right there.
Two Homes One Heart 