Like the luddite that I am, I still use a big ol’ fridge calendar to make sense of my life.  I’ve been known to even carry it with me to awkward places like meetings and the dentist’s.  Each month’s page is littered with little letter B’s written in green marker.  B is for boys.  The green B’s mark the days I have my sons.  The 50/50 custody schedule I share with my ex is simple and easy to remember, but the visual still makes it easier to plan things.  It’s also a weird little testament to a strange and stark divide.  I’m always a mother, but for half of my life, I’m not on the clock as one.