There’s a house down the street we call the divorce house.
The folks who lived there before we arrived in this part of town got divorced.
Then a new couple moved in with their son.
Their son and our son are good friends.
Just the other day we remarked to our son that they seemed to be doing some big renovations in their back yard.
They’re building Jessie a tiny house.
Building Jessie a house - why?
They’re divorced. Bill will live in the big house. Jesica is moving into the tiny house. When Joey finishes high school they’ll sell and move.
WTF?
Our son looked at us scornfully as only teens can. Dontcha know, they’re divorced.
All that was missing was the word ‘DUH’ to punctuate that sentence.
So a big house for dad, a tiny house for mom.
And the saddest part still clings there - the perfectly built red tree house that our son and their son played in years ago.
It goes to show that just when you think that there are others out there doing better than you, the power of the divorce house pops up.
I hope that Joey finds his Goldilocks soon.
Because none of this looks ‘just right’.