You'd think summer would be a time of unmitigated fun. Lots and lots of pool time. Farmers markets. Perfect weather. The annual Maine trip. Lots of extra time to do kid stuff with fewer constraints.
It all sounds great, but the truth is that summer is becoming a time of deep melancholy. The school year means a predictable routine both with the kid around the house and with a reliable school pattern. The summer, however, means a break in patterns. Camp throws different schedules into the mix — especially when it comes to the weeks at the beginning and end of the summer. The kid's mom and I also shift to more of a shared schedule. And this is where the real problem occurs.
We generally work well on parenting and scheduling matters when the schedule is reliable. When transitions occur, our communication moves into less reliable territory. Moreover, the differences in how we approach parenting really come into play.
As the switch to a week-to-week schedule approached, I told Buttercup about it. She seemed genuinely surprised. She asked why we would change schedules, and I explained that it's what we had agreed upon a couple years ago. I also reminded her that we had done it last year. She accepted that, but she still seemed a little off.
That feeling has continued a bit over the past couple of weeks. As the switch to staying at her mom's has approached this week, she has had a few bedwetting incidents. She has also seemed needier and much more sensitive, in her own world in ways that can be both adorable and frustrating at the same time. Apparently, this is just another case where our feelings are in concert, however, because I too have been a roller coaster of emotions and stress.
It seems I've also hit the point where I can't shut off my parenting side at all. The house is lonely without the kid, no matter how many people are around. The thought of not having to get her ready for camp in the morning brings no solace. In fact, I will end up spending much of my "down" time wondering whether I'll be called on for a pool trip (good) or an emergency (bad). This feeling is nothing new, and I've written about it before. What seems different this year is the depth of it. In fact, I feel the time away from my role as dad even more this year than in previous years.
The bright sides are few. I will be busy at work and busy trying to get a handle on things at home again. I will also have a bit more time to enjoy adult time. For Buttercup, the bright side is of course that she gets more time with mom. I can't help feeling, though, that her surprise at and questions about the shift in schedules are a sign of a deeper reliance on something else.
Showing posts with label single parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label single parenting. Show all posts
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
trust is what it all comes down to
The NYT published an utterly brilliant, potentially tear-inducing piece by Simon Van Booy on being a single father the other day. In it he recounts the loss of his wife to a sudden, fatal illness and his subsequent path of raising his daughter alone.
He touches on some important moments. He builds friendships with mothers, taking advice and shared experiences from them. He worries about cultural and media role models for his daughter is in the thick of the Princess phase. He struggles to find other men with common experiences to share and have a community. Ultimately, he finds that he just "thinks differently about everything" and manufactures happiness and memories with his daughter when and where he can. And when he gives a thumbnail description of the evening when all aspects of life routine go slightly wrong, I can't help but feel like he's given a thumbnail of my life in the whole piece.
The truth is being a single parent isn't easy, but it also isn't as hard as some people make it out to be. You make your own reality, your own moments, and when it comes to the ups and downs of daily life and routines, we muddle through the same way everyone else does. I recognize (and have written extensively about) the choices and compromises in my life, but then there are moments like the ones Ivey describes making eggs in the kitchen and later shaving that wipe out any sense of loss for the choices made.
The other day, I carved out a day just to spend with the kid. We haven't had many of these moments recently — whole days and activities that were our time — and I missed that connection. It occurred to me that in the midst of my work schedule, her camp schedule, the random detritus of daily life, relationships, social times with friends and neighbors, sleeping and eating, I was forgetting to make space for father-daughter time. By this, I don’t mean going to a movie or eating dinner; I mean taking little trips, leaving unstructured time for exploration and little adventures. When we came to the end of that day and were tired from going out in the woods and then to the pool, I saw smiles from Buttercup I haven’t seen in a while. They might have been there, but I wasn’t paying as much attention. When we sat down to watch baseball, then, and she fell asleep on my lap and I listened to her breathing settle into a deep sleep, I felt more at ease than I have in a while.
I thought about this again after a conversation with B Mére about schedules. We were moving into the summer schedule of traded weeks (always a melancholy time for me), and she wanted to feel free and clear to take the kid out of daycamp when she had the time and inclination. I reacted and defended the social time and camp activities as important for Buttercup. But the truth is I was reacting against B Mére’s ability to make and create time for fun. I wanted that same freedom.
And this is where my experience and Van Booy’s most diverge. He lost his wife to death; I lost mine to divorce. Ivey must struggle daily with the pain and emptiness of that loss and his daughter’s reactions to it; he won’t struggle with the clotted communication and conflicting patterns of parenting with an ex. He won’t have to deal with any lurking resentments and occasional competition that can linger after a divorce. Regardless, this is not about comparisons.
After reading Van Booy’s piece, I was reminded that ultimately this life is about a child’s trust and small, good moments. Read his words.
He touches on some important moments. He builds friendships with mothers, taking advice and shared experiences from them. He worries about cultural and media role models for his daughter is in the thick of the Princess phase. He struggles to find other men with common experiences to share and have a community. Ultimately, he finds that he just "thinks differently about everything" and manufactures happiness and memories with his daughter when and where he can. And when he gives a thumbnail description of the evening when all aspects of life routine go slightly wrong, I can't help but feel like he's given a thumbnail of my life in the whole piece.
The truth is being a single parent isn't easy, but it also isn't as hard as some people make it out to be. You make your own reality, your own moments, and when it comes to the ups and downs of daily life and routines, we muddle through the same way everyone else does. I recognize (and have written extensively about) the choices and compromises in my life, but then there are moments like the ones Ivey describes making eggs in the kitchen and later shaving that wipe out any sense of loss for the choices made.
The other day, I carved out a day just to spend with the kid. We haven't had many of these moments recently — whole days and activities that were our time — and I missed that connection. It occurred to me that in the midst of my work schedule, her camp schedule, the random detritus of daily life, relationships, social times with friends and neighbors, sleeping and eating, I was forgetting to make space for father-daughter time. By this, I don’t mean going to a movie or eating dinner; I mean taking little trips, leaving unstructured time for exploration and little adventures. When we came to the end of that day and were tired from going out in the woods and then to the pool, I saw smiles from Buttercup I haven’t seen in a while. They might have been there, but I wasn’t paying as much attention. When we sat down to watch baseball, then, and she fell asleep on my lap and I listened to her breathing settle into a deep sleep, I felt more at ease than I have in a while.
I thought about this again after a conversation with B Mére about schedules. We were moving into the summer schedule of traded weeks (always a melancholy time for me), and she wanted to feel free and clear to take the kid out of daycamp when she had the time and inclination. I reacted and defended the social time and camp activities as important for Buttercup. But the truth is I was reacting against B Mére’s ability to make and create time for fun. I wanted that same freedom.
And this is where my experience and Van Booy’s most diverge. He lost his wife to death; I lost mine to divorce. Ivey must struggle daily with the pain and emptiness of that loss and his daughter’s reactions to it; he won’t struggle with the clotted communication and conflicting patterns of parenting with an ex. He won’t have to deal with any lurking resentments and occasional competition that can linger after a divorce. Regardless, this is not about comparisons.
After reading Van Booy’s piece, I was reminded that ultimately this life is about a child’s trust and small, good moments. Read his words.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
ponderings
I was asked recently whether I wanted more out of my life. The question came in the context of how one fits travel and various other excitement and aspirations in with life as a parent. In the week or so since the question was asked, I've thought about it a lot — not just for the context in which it was asked but also as an exercise in thinking about my life and dreams.
When it comes to travel, these days I generally think of trips in context of where I'd like to take Buttercup. We have friends who live in Norway, Estonia, Switzerland, Denmark, and all over the States. All of these are on the list, as are plenty of other places, and while I hope to do "adult" trips again someday, I have begun to think of travels in terms of family. Does that limit my possibilities? Sure, but I'm okay with that.
When it comes to adventures, the other kickers end up being schedules and finances. Between my parenting schedule, work, school, ballet, and the detritus of daily life, it's hard to pull the time together for travel. I know people who manage it, but they are mostly dual-parent families and have significantly more resources in family (proximity) and money than I have. More family nearby means more alternatives for child care for "adult" trips. Two parents in the house means more hands on deck for taking care of life matters.
That brings me to the second hindrance: moolah. One of my shocks in the past few years is how quickly a decent salary gets eaten up by food, gas, utilities, school fees, activity fees, after-school care, rent, debt payments, car payments, random expenses around the house, and who knows what else. I keep a relatively small budget for incidentals and occasionally budget clothing purchases. In good months, some money goes into savings.
What this means is that it's often hard to think about adventures that don't fit the budget — both in time and money. For now, then, this means the adventures will probably continue to be smaller, closer to home. That's just the way it is, and it's not all that bad. In fact, it's a pretty good life.
When it comes to travel, these days I generally think of trips in context of where I'd like to take Buttercup. We have friends who live in Norway, Estonia, Switzerland, Denmark, and all over the States. All of these are on the list, as are plenty of other places, and while I hope to do "adult" trips again someday, I have begun to think of travels in terms of family. Does that limit my possibilities? Sure, but I'm okay with that.
When it comes to adventures, the other kickers end up being schedules and finances. Between my parenting schedule, work, school, ballet, and the detritus of daily life, it's hard to pull the time together for travel. I know people who manage it, but they are mostly dual-parent families and have significantly more resources in family (proximity) and money than I have. More family nearby means more alternatives for child care for "adult" trips. Two parents in the house means more hands on deck for taking care of life matters.
That brings me to the second hindrance: moolah. One of my shocks in the past few years is how quickly a decent salary gets eaten up by food, gas, utilities, school fees, activity fees, after-school care, rent, debt payments, car payments, random expenses around the house, and who knows what else. I keep a relatively small budget for incidentals and occasionally budget clothing purchases. In good months, some money goes into savings.
What this means is that it's often hard to think about adventures that don't fit the budget — both in time and money. For now, then, this means the adventures will probably continue to be smaller, closer to home. That's just the way it is, and it's not all that bad. In fact, it's a pretty good life.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A morning in the life
2:36 — Wake up. Think the clock is lying. Try to retrieve paper. Go back to bed.
6:00 — First alarm goes off. Snooze.
6:08 — Look at clock and think of the things that need to happen. Roll over for two more minutes.
6:10 — Second alarm. Realize that I am exhausted from sleeping poorly and feel congested. Hit snooze.
6:15 — Roll out of bed and check in Banana's room. Her light is on, but she's still in bed.
6:20 — Ready to walk dog. Banana says she wants to sleep a little more and turns light off.
6:21 — Remember that ballet clothes are dirty and need to be washed for ballet today.
6:22 — Fill bathroom sink with Woolite and water. Soak leotard and tights. Head out with dog.
6:43 — Return with dog. Give him biscuit. Check on Banana, still asleep.
6:44 — Decide to let kid sleep while making coffee and taking shower.
6:47 — Perform a quick clean of the kitchen and work on soaking ballet clothes.
6:55 — Shower. Skip shaving for the sake of time.
7:02 — Water in shower goes very hot. Thank the stars that Banana is up.
7:05 — Out of shower.
7:06 — Kitchen. Banana. Yogurt. Granola. Bowl and spoons. Coffee.
7:10 — Dressed and rinsed ballet clothes.
7:11 — Pull laundry out of dryer. Toss ballet clothes in. Run on Fluff setting to pull water out.
7:15 — Chat with Banana. Make smoothie. Start pulling her lunch together. Kill ants.
7:20 — Go through piles on counter. Talk to Banana about weekend plans. Lose focus on counter stuff.
7:28 — Vitamins.
7:34 — Send Banana off to get dressed. Decide not to push her on putting her bowl in the sink. Best to avoid wrinkles.
7:36 — Check ballet stuff. Still very wet. Switch to low heat cycle.
7:39 — Change lunch routine and add TJ's Cheese Crunch snacks.
7:42 — Quick check of email and revised weather forecast.
7:48 — Banana still in robe. Advise her that clothes need to happen ASAP.
7:51 — Ask Banana which candy she wants for a treat in lunch.
7:53 — Negotiate with her briefly as she asks why the Christmas candy sunflower seeds are no longer in the candy-cane-shaped tube.
7:55 — Check ballet gear and realize I'll have to come back for it at lunchtime.
7:56 — Banana reminds me she has an extra leotard and tights. Feel silly for scrambling.
7:58 — Ask Banana to stop trying to brush down a cowlick and get socks and shoes on.
8:01 — Resist urge to yell when Banana goes on a search for a bag for the journal she is taking to school.
8:02 — Take bags to car and start it instead.
8:04 — Breathe. Take quick mental inventory of what I have and/or need.
8:07 — Twelve minutes past optimal leaving time.
8:08 — Lock door and follow Banana to car.
8:12 — Sign in at before-school care. Hug.
8:14 — On road to office. Breathe. Start listening — actually listening — to Morning Edition.
8:34 — Arrive at work.
6:00 — First alarm goes off. Snooze.
6:08 — Look at clock and think of the things that need to happen. Roll over for two more minutes.
6:10 — Second alarm. Realize that I am exhausted from sleeping poorly and feel congested. Hit snooze.
6:15 — Roll out of bed and check in Banana's room. Her light is on, but she's still in bed.
6:20 — Ready to walk dog. Banana says she wants to sleep a little more and turns light off.
6:21 — Remember that ballet clothes are dirty and need to be washed for ballet today.
6:22 — Fill bathroom sink with Woolite and water. Soak leotard and tights. Head out with dog.
6:43 — Return with dog. Give him biscuit. Check on Banana, still asleep.
6:44 — Decide to let kid sleep while making coffee and taking shower.
6:47 — Perform a quick clean of the kitchen and work on soaking ballet clothes.
6:55 — Shower. Skip shaving for the sake of time.
7:02 — Water in shower goes very hot. Thank the stars that Banana is up.
7:05 — Out of shower.
7:06 — Kitchen. Banana. Yogurt. Granola. Bowl and spoons. Coffee.
7:10 — Dressed and rinsed ballet clothes.
7:11 — Pull laundry out of dryer. Toss ballet clothes in. Run on Fluff setting to pull water out.
7:15 — Chat with Banana. Make smoothie. Start pulling her lunch together. Kill ants.
7:20 — Go through piles on counter. Talk to Banana about weekend plans. Lose focus on counter stuff.
7:28 — Vitamins.
7:34 — Send Banana off to get dressed. Decide not to push her on putting her bowl in the sink. Best to avoid wrinkles.
7:36 — Check ballet stuff. Still very wet. Switch to low heat cycle.
7:39 — Change lunch routine and add TJ's Cheese Crunch snacks.
7:42 — Quick check of email and revised weather forecast.
7:48 — Banana still in robe. Advise her that clothes need to happen ASAP.
7:51 — Ask Banana which candy she wants for a treat in lunch.
7:53 — Negotiate with her briefly as she asks why the Christmas candy sunflower seeds are no longer in the candy-cane-shaped tube.
7:55 — Check ballet gear and realize I'll have to come back for it at lunchtime.
7:56 — Banana reminds me she has an extra leotard and tights. Feel silly for scrambling.
7:58 — Ask Banana to stop trying to brush down a cowlick and get socks and shoes on.
8:01 — Resist urge to yell when Banana goes on a search for a bag for the journal she is taking to school.
8:02 — Take bags to car and start it instead.
8:04 — Breathe. Take quick mental inventory of what I have and/or need.
8:07 — Twelve minutes past optimal leaving time.
8:08 — Lock door and follow Banana to car.
8:12 — Sign in at before-school care. Hug.
8:14 — On road to office. Breathe. Start listening — actually listening — to Morning Edition.
8:34 — Arrive at work.
Friday, February 27, 2009
TJ's and fast home-cooked meals
The latest easy-to-prepare meal turns out to be a variation on one of my mother's mainstays when I was growing up — a casserole we always called "Goo." Basically, it amounted to macaroni and some kind of sauce and meat in a casserole dish. My variation is an easy TJ's concoction. If you're only feeding a couple of people, you'll end up with at least two meals out of it as well.
Boil a pound of pasta — penne or fusilli work best. While the pasta water is coming to a boil, remove the casings from a few sweet Italian sausages — about a pound — and thoroughly brown the meat in a cast-iron skillet. When cooked, drain the meat to take some of the fat out. Let it cool while the pasta cooks. Combine the pasta, sausage and a jar of TJ's traditional marinara (shockingly good for the price and ease) in the pasta pot. Add a couple handfuls of shredded mozzarella, mix again, and pour it all into a casserole dish. Grate Parmiggiano Reggiano on top and put it in a 350º oven for twenty minutes.
Pasta : $.99
Sauce: $1.29
Sausage: $3.50
Cheese: minimal cost if you keep a stash around
Grand total: $5.78
Time of preparation: 20 minutes active; 40 minutes total.
Boil a pound of pasta — penne or fusilli work best. While the pasta water is coming to a boil, remove the casings from a few sweet Italian sausages — about a pound — and thoroughly brown the meat in a cast-iron skillet. When cooked, drain the meat to take some of the fat out. Let it cool while the pasta cooks. Combine the pasta, sausage and a jar of TJ's traditional marinara (shockingly good for the price and ease) in the pasta pot. Add a couple handfuls of shredded mozzarella, mix again, and pour it all into a casserole dish. Grate Parmiggiano Reggiano on top and put it in a 350º oven for twenty minutes.
Pasta : $.99
Sauce: $1.29
Sausage: $3.50
Cheese: minimal cost if you keep a stash around
Grand total: $5.78
Time of preparation: 20 minutes active; 40 minutes total.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
the great Christmas debate
We live, of course, in a consumption-driven society. Getting, wanting and spending are the drivers of our lives. We live between the poles of want and need, and there are even whole sections of kindergarten curricula dedicated to discussing the difference between desires and necessities. But there is no other time of the year when it seems to become as crucial to consider the want vs. need question than at Christmas time.
Banana and I talked the other day about what she was going to ask for from Santa. The list was short, only three items. At the top of the list was an iPod. At the bottom of the list was a complete Littlest Pet Shop set. Believe it or not, I'm okay with the iPod. Shuffles are $49—not inexpensive, but also not bank-busting. When it came to the Littlest Pet Shop, however, I suggested that she probably shouldn't ask Santa for it. Since the summer we've been periodically purging toys, and several Littlest Pet Shop items have been purged. She said she'd play with the complete set, and with all the self-assurance that six-year-olds possess, she told me that the complete set was very different from the other stuff. I persisted a bit longer in part because while none of these things are needs, I am acutely aware that I want to spend money on things that will be used and would much rather spend the same amount on something that she will use for the foreseeable future rather than a few months. (The Polly Pocket racing set from last Christmas is a prime example here; friends play with it more than she does.)
So that brings us to the boots. Does Banana need $60 boots from Hanna Andersson? Probably not. But there are two reasons I will splurge. First, compared to the Circo boots at Target or similarly disposable items for a third of the price, I'd rather spend more on something that won't look worn out in two weeks. I also see a value in teaching her to look for higher quality items that last longer rather than seeing inexpensive as better. Second, I realized recently that Banana is seriously lacking in little girl clothes. She's been wearing more jeans this fall, but when she gets the chance to "girl up" she does. And I realized that her dearth of more-stylish clothing is a direct product of my pragmatism. Just as I'd rather spend more on a few better-quality items, I also tend to spend money on clothing that is more "practical."
The thing is, a little girl should be able to look like a little girl — even if she lives with daddy rather than with both parents. So these boots and the faux shearling coat she'll be getting from Grandma? They're also an effort to remind myself that life isn't all about jeans, sneakers, and fleece jackets.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
days in the life
In a recent conversation with my old friend Bonnie in NY, I described life as a single dad caring full-time for a first-grade daughter and holding down an occasionally-demanding full-time job as "balancing a bunch of different things on the ends of sticks with one hand while juggling with the other hand while standing with one foot on a yoga ball while blindfolded and with a mongoose on your head. In a hurricane." She added "sharp tacks on the ball's surface." To which, I also added "balancing the ball on a balance beam over a pit of hot coals."
As much as life can feel like that, though, there are things like the birthday gift Banana made for me:
As much as life can feel like that, though, there are things like the birthday gift Banana made for me:
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Hard-working Americans
On Friday night, every conversation I got into turned toward politics. Whether I steered the topic or someone else brought it up, the presidential contest as well as a few local races dominated everything.
The conversation that stunned me the most was the final one of the evening. I had stopped in to say hello to my neighbors as the evening wound down, and M quickly enlisted me to help convince their visiting friend why she should vote for Obama rather than McCain. She tossed out a good many of the standard Republican and Fox News talking points and seemed stunned by some of our rebuttals ("we had to go after them" vs. "Iraq didn't attack us" followed by "he was planning to bomb us" vs. "he had no weapons capable of hitting us").
The talking point that struck me the most, however, was her contention that "hard-working Americans" should be able to keep their money. I stopped and asked her, "What makes someone who is making half a million dollars a year a harder worker than me?"
She said, "Well, I just don't think we should penalize anyone for being successful."
But I wouldn't let the taxation point go. "What," I asked her, "makes someone who earns ten times what I earn a harder worker than I am and why should that person pay a lower percentage of their overall income in taxes?" She came back with her comment about hard-working Americans, and that's when I really set in. "I earn a good salary on paper," I told her, "but I work full-time and am a full-time single father with no support. In what way am I not a hard-working American? Why is it fair for me to pay a higher percentage of my income in taxes than our neighbors in the million-dollar houses?"
My attack was harsher than it needed to be, but the point was still dead-on. I earn what should be a fairly comfortable middle-class income and work my ass off to do so both at work and at home. Hard-working people should be able to keep a fair share of their income, and the determination of that fair share should start from the bottom and middle of society rather than the top down.
As Phil and I decided yesterday, the rhetorical and ideological world conservative Republicans live in these days really is a topsy-turvy, carnival mirror take on reality.
I wish them good riddance on Tuesday.
The conversation that stunned me the most was the final one of the evening. I had stopped in to say hello to my neighbors as the evening wound down, and M quickly enlisted me to help convince their visiting friend why she should vote for Obama rather than McCain. She tossed out a good many of the standard Republican and Fox News talking points and seemed stunned by some of our rebuttals ("we had to go after them" vs. "Iraq didn't attack us" followed by "he was planning to bomb us" vs. "he had no weapons capable of hitting us").
The talking point that struck me the most, however, was her contention that "hard-working Americans" should be able to keep their money. I stopped and asked her, "What makes someone who is making half a million dollars a year a harder worker than me?"
She said, "Well, I just don't think we should penalize anyone for being successful."
But I wouldn't let the taxation point go. "What," I asked her, "makes someone who earns ten times what I earn a harder worker than I am and why should that person pay a lower percentage of their overall income in taxes?" She came back with her comment about hard-working Americans, and that's when I really set in. "I earn a good salary on paper," I told her, "but I work full-time and am a full-time single father with no support. In what way am I not a hard-working American? Why is it fair for me to pay a higher percentage of my income in taxes than our neighbors in the million-dollar houses?"
My attack was harsher than it needed to be, but the point was still dead-on. I earn what should be a fairly comfortable middle-class income and work my ass off to do so both at work and at home. Hard-working people should be able to keep a fair share of their income, and the determination of that fair share should start from the bottom and middle of society rather than the top down.
As Phil and I decided yesterday, the rhetorical and ideological world conservative Republicans live in these days really is a topsy-turvy, carnival mirror take on reality.
I wish them good riddance on Tuesday.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
toys
I went into the bathroom to stow some towels this evening. Half of the towel shelf was already occupied by a neat stack of towels; the other half was occupied by bath toys. Boats, fish, mermaids, all holdovers from Banana's toddler years. I'd held on to them through the move to our current house a year and a half ago and put them in the bathroom as though they would continue to be relevant to her life.
Over time, they were replaced by the Barbies she plays with during the occasional bath—often enough, she showers these days. When replaced, they moved beside our claw-footed tub. They eventually moved up to the shelves during a cleaning. In all that time, they were never purged. Until tonight.
Through a combination of lassitude and slack oversight, I'd managed to overlook them for this long. When I looked for a space for the stack of clean towels, I realized that this space-consuming collection of toddler toys would never be played with again, at least not by Banana. Should I become a father again, it's not going to happen soon enough to warrant keeping these obsolete toys in our active living space. So, out the toys went.
I suppose there's always a point in parenting (and life, in general) when you realize you've kept the artifacts of the past far longer than necessary. There's a certain bittersweet feeling to realizing that you truly have grown past that part of your life, and I know some mothers who mourn the moments when they realize their children are no longer their babies. In fact, it's happened to many of our friends as they sent their kids to first grade. Yet, though I fondly remember Banana's younger years, I also am coming to accept that we need to purge some of these artifacts (physical and otherwise) if we're going to move forward and grow into the next phases of our lives.
Over time, they were replaced by the Barbies she plays with during the occasional bath—often enough, she showers these days. When replaced, they moved beside our claw-footed tub. They eventually moved up to the shelves during a cleaning. In all that time, they were never purged. Until tonight.
Through a combination of lassitude and slack oversight, I'd managed to overlook them for this long. When I looked for a space for the stack of clean towels, I realized that this space-consuming collection of toddler toys would never be played with again, at least not by Banana. Should I become a father again, it's not going to happen soon enough to warrant keeping these obsolete toys in our active living space. So, out the toys went.
I suppose there's always a point in parenting (and life, in general) when you realize you've kept the artifacts of the past far longer than necessary. There's a certain bittersweet feeling to realizing that you truly have grown past that part of your life, and I know some mothers who mourn the moments when they realize their children are no longer their babies. In fact, it's happened to many of our friends as they sent their kids to first grade. Yet, though I fondly remember Banana's younger years, I also am coming to accept that we need to purge some of these artifacts (physical and otherwise) if we're going to move forward and grow into the next phases of our lives.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
community parenting, a reminder
I am reminded after tonight, after this weekend, after this past month and year of what it means to be a good parent. It means to love and care for your child(ren) and all children in your life, whether they are family or friends. And a good parent shows the same respect and love for your child.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Forest Hill market, this week - and more
We had a small, but productive trip to the market this week. We came home with some nice lettuce, broccoli, peppers, amazing carrots, some bread, and apples. A few of the vendors reacted with dismay, however, when I mentioned in casual conversation that I had begun to trim my market purchases. Why, they wanted to know, would I do that?
The answer was simple: through the early and middle parts of the summer, I overbought. This meant I spent money on food I ended up throwing away. The simple and sad truth is that, as a single parent with a (small) commute and a demanding full-time job, I can manage only so much meal preparation during the course of a week.
With various fresh vegetables and fruits that go bad at unpredictable rates—from the lettuces that can last three weeks when stored properly to the strawberries that suddenly go bad in a day—it is hard to base your entire meal planning around a market trip. And when things get busy and exhausting by the middle of the week, going out or making a quick, simple pasta dish takes precedence over the creative use of that eggplant that seemed like such a good idea at the time. Add the unpredictability of a six-year old's palate—one week zucchini is great, the next week it is devil-spawn—and you have a tough juggling act.
Too often, the result of that juggling act was food that went bad. (For example, there is currently chicken in the refrigerator I may have to throw out because the past few days ended up being busier than expected, and some unfinished pac choi from last week went into the trash.)
Given that August and September were extraordinarily difficult on the Impolitic Eye bank account and given the strange and difficult financial straits internationally, I've decided to pull back a little bit. There are still a few things that I will buy at Whole Foods, but we will return to stocking our cupboards heavily with Trader Joe's items that are inexpensive and easy to prepare. It's a tough thing to accept that I can't always afford either the money or the time for everything I'd like to make or do, but the reality is I have two hours in the morning to get us both showered, fed and out the door and three hours between picking Banana up from after-school care and her bedtime. And dinner needs to be on the table in that first hour and a half.
My life falls into some pretty narrow constraints. No matter how I try to game my own system, those constraints don't appear to be changing any time soon. Time to live with in my means. And those "means" are financial, chronological, and physical.
To some extent, this is the ultimate lifehacking.
The answer was simple: through the early and middle parts of the summer, I overbought. This meant I spent money on food I ended up throwing away. The simple and sad truth is that, as a single parent with a (small) commute and a demanding full-time job, I can manage only so much meal preparation during the course of a week.
With various fresh vegetables and fruits that go bad at unpredictable rates—from the lettuces that can last three weeks when stored properly to the strawberries that suddenly go bad in a day—it is hard to base your entire meal planning around a market trip. And when things get busy and exhausting by the middle of the week, going out or making a quick, simple pasta dish takes precedence over the creative use of that eggplant that seemed like such a good idea at the time. Add the unpredictability of a six-year old's palate—one week zucchini is great, the next week it is devil-spawn—and you have a tough juggling act.
Too often, the result of that juggling act was food that went bad. (For example, there is currently chicken in the refrigerator I may have to throw out because the past few days ended up being busier than expected, and some unfinished pac choi from last week went into the trash.)
Given that August and September were extraordinarily difficult on the Impolitic Eye bank account and given the strange and difficult financial straits internationally, I've decided to pull back a little bit. There are still a few things that I will buy at Whole Foods, but we will return to stocking our cupboards heavily with Trader Joe's items that are inexpensive and easy to prepare. It's a tough thing to accept that I can't always afford either the money or the time for everything I'd like to make or do, but the reality is I have two hours in the morning to get us both showered, fed and out the door and three hours between picking Banana up from after-school care and her bedtime. And dinner needs to be on the table in that first hour and a half.
My life falls into some pretty narrow constraints. No matter how I try to game my own system, those constraints don't appear to be changing any time soon. Time to live with in my means. And those "means" are financial, chronological, and physical.
To some extent, this is the ultimate lifehacking.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
biden
Thirty-six years ago, Joe Biden lost his wife and young daughter in a tragic car accident. His two young sons were severely injured as well. It was the year he was set to begin his first term in the Senate. He nearly recused himself from the seat, but continued nonetheless. For the next few years, then, he juggled life as a single father and a Senator. Despite a remarriage, new children, and the success of his sons, the man still carries with him the weight of the loss. The man has my respect and sympathies.
Watch CBS Videos Online
Watch CBS Videos Online
mornings, pt. 2
Is it something in the moon cycle? Do darker mornings also mean darker moods for Banana?
This morning, I was up and let Reilly out earlier than usual. I was on target for a morning where everything was pulling together, and then Banana woke up. From the get-go, she was cranky. Considering she'd been cranky the night before, I was a little disappointed that ten hours of rest hadn't reset her mood switch. Nonetheless, her crankiness kicked off another stressful morning. She decided she didn't like the new rice milk I'd bought over the weekend. She didn't want yogurt. It was cold. Her leg hurt. Her stomach hurt. She didn't want to take a shower before she ate.
Unfortunately, I had to play the role of both good cop and bad cop. The good cop was understanding and sympathetic and offered to make oatmeal. The bad cop had to threaten to cancel dinner with our friends this evening. In the end, everything worked out. We made it to school a little later than I'd hoped, and Banana was very helpful in getting stuff out of the house.
I did, however, have to sit and breathe for a few minutes after I'd dropped her off. The stress of it all had taken its own life in my head and back. Raising kids is stressful enough, but when you're the only parent and you have to play every role at all times... well... it seems like every positive, wonderful moment has the possibility of dropping precipitously into a minefield of frustrations.
This morning, I was up and let Reilly out earlier than usual. I was on target for a morning where everything was pulling together, and then Banana woke up. From the get-go, she was cranky. Considering she'd been cranky the night before, I was a little disappointed that ten hours of rest hadn't reset her mood switch. Nonetheless, her crankiness kicked off another stressful morning. She decided she didn't like the new rice milk I'd bought over the weekend. She didn't want yogurt. It was cold. Her leg hurt. Her stomach hurt. She didn't want to take a shower before she ate.
Unfortunately, I had to play the role of both good cop and bad cop. The good cop was understanding and sympathetic and offered to make oatmeal. The bad cop had to threaten to cancel dinner with our friends this evening. In the end, everything worked out. We made it to school a little later than I'd hoped, and Banana was very helpful in getting stuff out of the house.
I did, however, have to sit and breathe for a few minutes after I'd dropped her off. The stress of it all had taken its own life in my head and back. Raising kids is stressful enough, but when you're the only parent and you have to play every role at all times... well... it seems like every positive, wonderful moment has the possibility of dropping precipitously into a minefield of frustrations.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
meltdowns, a recipe
Here's the recipe:
- Take one (1) tired six year-old.
- Add a divorce.
- Add one (1) corn dog, one (1) small bag of goldfish, and one (1) ice cream pop.
- Make the child run around all day, followed by an extra hour of playground time.
- Add two (2) parents to play off each other, but keep the parents from taking the bait.
- Whisk lightly and watch the results. Then duck because the meltdown the six year-old will have will be beyond epic proportions. Also, prepare your constitution for the child to say some mean things and not to listen to you.
- Reset your patience meter.
- Add one (1) fruit popsicle, two (2) whole wheat bread, and cartoons to taste while allowing the mixture to calm down.
- Hope that this is the worst it gets.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
rough mornings
Nobody said single parenthood after divorce would be easy. Regardless, the rough times always seem to catch me off-guard. Lately, there have been bunch of rough mornings. It's partly the age—five and three-quarters is no picnic—but it's also partly the situation.
Still, understanding that and understanding that empathy is essential doesn't make it any easier when the kid is, without warning, lying on her bed crying and saying, "I want mommy." Or saying, "It's not fair that you're divorced. It makes me feel sad when I'm at other kids' houses and they have their daddy and their mommy." Nothing has quite prepared me for what to say or do at those moments. Anybody have any suggestions?
*sigh*
Back to work.
Still, understanding that and understanding that empathy is essential doesn't make it any easier when the kid is, without warning, lying on her bed crying and saying, "I want mommy." Or saying, "It's not fair that you're divorced. It makes me feel sad when I'm at other kids' houses and they have their daddy and their mommy." Nothing has quite prepared me for what to say or do at those moments. Anybody have any suggestions?
*sigh*
Back to work.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
summer
One of the regular questions I've gotten about my decision to return to the private sector is why I would leave so much leave time behind. My reply has invariably been that my role at the university did not allow me to take the kind of leave time teaching faculty can take. Summer is a prime example of this issue.
Since Banana started school last year, I've had to think through what she would do for those absurd ten weeks that we still protect from the old harvest-based school schedule. Last year's alternative involved her spending big chunks of time with Banana mére and some healthy chunks of time at my office. This year, I am determined to put her in a summer program of some sort, but even with my slightly elevated income, schedules and cost are going to remain issues.
At this point, my alternatives include the following:
They're all fine alternatives, but each one comes with certain advantages or disadvantages. And they all jog my money anxieties. Furthermore, I see the pitfalls of each when it comes to scheduling a trip to Maine or Banana's time with her mom.
Why is it that this matter seems far more complicated than it should be? These are the moments I wish someone would just lay it out and make the decision for me. Tell me where to be and when to be there.
Since Banana started school last year, I've had to think through what she would do for those absurd ten weeks that we still protect from the old harvest-based school schedule. Last year's alternative involved her spending big chunks of time with Banana mére and some healthy chunks of time at my office. This year, I am determined to put her in a summer program of some sort, but even with my slightly elevated income, schedules and cost are going to remain issues.
At this point, my alternatives include the following:
- Several sessions of camp through the JCC (between $1500 and $2000), the Y (between $1200 and $1600), or a local school (between $1000 and $1600).
- Various sessions with various camps (see above for cost estimates)
- Joining with a couple other parents to hire someone to entertain the children at home, parks, museums, and the pool (approx $2,800 broken down between the families)
They're all fine alternatives, but each one comes with certain advantages or disadvantages. And they all jog my money anxieties. Furthermore, I see the pitfalls of each when it comes to scheduling a trip to Maine or Banana's time with her mom.
Why is it that this matter seems far more complicated than it should be? These are the moments I wish someone would just lay it out and make the decision for me. Tell me where to be and when to be there.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Grrrrrr -- the abridged post
Some ground rules for custody and single parenting:
Remember these and bite your tongue, because one of the most difficult aspects of custody, divorce, and single parenting is dealing with a co-parent who doesn't do their part in parenting the child the way you would like. Bite your tongue.
- Your child needs time with the other parent, and the custody agreement protects that time.
- Every communication is vaguely like walking on eggshells. The slightest slip, everything breaks, and you're headed right into the same old anger and miscommunication.
- You need your child to trust you, and to be able to talk to you when something questionable has happened.
- You need to make sure nothing poisons how the other parent talks about you to your child.
Remember these and bite your tongue, because one of the most difficult aspects of custody, divorce, and single parenting is dealing with a co-parent who doesn't do their part in parenting the child the way you would like. Bite your tongue.
Friday, October 26, 2007
two hours and fifteen minutes
That is how long I have after Banana goes to bed before a potty accident. If I get her to the potty by that time, we are fine the rest of the night. If I forget and remember ten minutes late, it's too late. Needless to say, the predictability has reduced the amount of laundry--as long as I don't lose track of time.
*sigh*
*sigh*
Monday, October 22, 2007
courtship of Eddie's father, real-life version
The half life of a post-break recovery seems to be something on the order of a year. that's about how long it took for people to start asking me if
a. I was dating someone.
b. I was interested in dating.
These questions inevitably lead in one of two directions:
a. If the answer is no, the wizened suggestion that it is time to start looking.
b. If the answer is yes (or even a vaguely committal maybe), the person begins to tell you about the friend they think you should meet.
More often than not, the person in Case Bb is a woman. This fact is more or less irrelevant in the end. In any case, the brief dossier follows — age, hair color, brief description of interests, occupation, and any other essential details. The next question is whether I am interested in meeting the "perfect" friend. There is no good answer to this question, particularly if you're in a small social circle like I am. First off, there is a fair chance the meeting will happen anyway. Second, if it doesn't, the mutual friend will "inadvertantly" make it happen on the chance that we will hit it off, and I will change my mind.
Regardless of how it happens, dating as a full-time single parent is a dicey proposition. At least in my case, I have found that I want the connection, but that it is very hard to juggle all the priorities. And making trade-offs is no fun. Then again, there really isn't much choice but to suffer through the introductions and the choices if one wants to build a new, emotionally-healthy life.
Maybe one of these days I'll wrap my head around some of these experiences to write cogently about them again. Or to write again, period.
a. I was dating someone.
b. I was interested in dating.
These questions inevitably lead in one of two directions:
a. If the answer is no, the wizened suggestion that it is time to start looking.
b. If the answer is yes (or even a vaguely committal maybe), the person begins to tell you about the friend they think you should meet.
More often than not, the person in Case Bb is a woman. This fact is more or less irrelevant in the end. In any case, the brief dossier follows — age, hair color, brief description of interests, occupation, and any other essential details. The next question is whether I am interested in meeting the "perfect" friend. There is no good answer to this question, particularly if you're in a small social circle like I am. First off, there is a fair chance the meeting will happen anyway. Second, if it doesn't, the mutual friend will "inadvertantly" make it happen on the chance that we will hit it off, and I will change my mind.
Regardless of how it happens, dating as a full-time single parent is a dicey proposition. At least in my case, I have found that I want the connection, but that it is very hard to juggle all the priorities. And making trade-offs is no fun. Then again, there really isn't much choice but to suffer through the introductions and the choices if one wants to build a new, emotionally-healthy life.
Maybe one of these days I'll wrap my head around some of these experiences to write cogently about them again. Or to write again, period.
Monday, October 15, 2007
parenting moments — late-night potty trips
For the past couple weeks, I've done my best to watch the clock after Banana goes to bed. There's approximately a two and a half hour window, and if I miss it, I will be washing sheets again. Now, taking her to the toilet two hours after she goes to sleep doesn't guarantee there won't be another potty accident in the course of the night, but at least it decreases the likelihood.
The potty accidents started to happen a year and a half ago--when the recent marital meltdown happened. Even though Banana Mère insisted that there wasn't a correlation, it doesn't take much to find that the meltdown and the potty accidents match. After things cooled down, however, the potty accidents became rare. When they happened, she had had too much juice or water before bed, and the result was an accident.
For the past few months, though, the potty accidents have become a regular occurrence. I have worried over them. I have asked other parents--many of whom have similar problems with their children. I have read books. I have spoken to the pediatrician. The verdict for all of these people is that this is an age-appropriate issue--an inconvenience, not a problem. Banana Mère insists that there should be solutions to this--from conditioning with a "special" nightgown to walking her to the bathroom rather than carrying. Everyone else recommends one of three options: Pull-ups; lots of sheets and bed pads; and waking her up to go.
Clearly, I've chosen the last option, with the second as a back-up. Banana Mère's nightgown idea is a loser so far, and Banana is just as asleep whether walked or carried to the bathroom. Ah well, she lives with me full-time; so the choice most of the time is mine.
So is the extra laundry.
The potty accidents started to happen a year and a half ago--when the recent marital meltdown happened. Even though Banana Mère insisted that there wasn't a correlation, it doesn't take much to find that the meltdown and the potty accidents match. After things cooled down, however, the potty accidents became rare. When they happened, she had had too much juice or water before bed, and the result was an accident.
For the past few months, though, the potty accidents have become a regular occurrence. I have worried over them. I have asked other parents--many of whom have similar problems with their children. I have read books. I have spoken to the pediatrician. The verdict for all of these people is that this is an age-appropriate issue--an inconvenience, not a problem. Banana Mère insists that there should be solutions to this--from conditioning with a "special" nightgown to walking her to the bathroom rather than carrying. Everyone else recommends one of three options: Pull-ups; lots of sheets and bed pads; and waking her up to go.
Clearly, I've chosen the last option, with the second as a back-up. Banana Mère's nightgown idea is a loser so far, and Banana is just as asleep whether walked or carried to the bathroom. Ah well, she lives with me full-time; so the choice most of the time is mine.
So is the extra laundry.
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