Two years ago, my world fell apart. I found out about the A. She pulled out her textbook and I mine and we began the dance of distortion and despair. False recovery for 6 months. Exposure. Hospitaliztion. Depression. Divorce. Twelve months of fear. Twelve more of pain.

Two years post D-day and one year post Dv-day, I’m on my way to our oldest son’s first day in 1st grade. She’ll meet us there. We’ll take pictures. For a moment we’ll seem like the family she left. As I watch my boys sleep, I’m beset with emotion. These days are bittersweet for them (and me). They still can’t understand why Mommy won’t come ‘home’ and why they must live in two houses. They are glad, though, that they have two loving parents that are present for the big days and little moments in their lives.

Two years, a fractured family, and still she dances in the fog. Two years a shattered heart and still I search for peace. August has not been a good month for me. Perhaps a new trend can start today.

I'm sorry it's going to be tough. Maybe you could reframe the picture taking. Instead of thinking of it as pretending to be a family, you could think of it as behaving as civilized adults who want their children to feel loved.

Or you could think of it as an alien swooping in to capture souveniers of it's trip to earth.

D, I'd also suggest that after two years, your ex is no longer in the fog. This is just her.