All The Single Ladies

A few weeks ago, I had a couple girlfriends and their daughters over for a mama-baby playdate. After a summer-fresh snack of strawberries and cream, I noticed one of my friends jumped up to clear my dishes from the table, proceeding to wash and stack them at my kitchen sink. When I tried to protest, she responded, "I know you're not really a single mother, but you kind of are right now...and I know that you must be overwhelmed, so I want to help you where I can." All at once, I was touched by her kind consideration, and also surprised that my friends see me as a single mother. Yes, I feel sorry for myself sometimes when I can't participate in events that aren't child-friendly, or when Adam misses out on Bryony's first swim or dance class. But single mother?

In the last month or so, an elderly man on my street has been walking by my front yard to chat when he sees me working in the garden. I'm usually wary of talking to strangers on my street, but he introduced Bryony and me to his 2-year old granddaughter, and he generally seems nice. The last time he came by, he asked me if I owned my house and if I needed him to do any yard work. When I thanked him and told him I was fine and pretty self-sufficient, he walked away with the parting words, "Let me know if I can do anything to help you." It only dawned on me a day or so later that his family must be new to the neighborhood, and since he's never seen Adam, he must assume I'm a struggling single mother raising my daughter on my own. Again, I was really touched and surprised. But then I realized that it bothered me a little that people think of me as a single mother. Evidently it irks me more than I care to admit, because I now realize that I make a point of mentioning Bryony's daddy when I'm at her daycare or one of her activities. I actively try to make it clear that I'm not a single mother.

Why? I consider myself a pretty open-minded and accepting person. Why would I care if the world views me as a single mother? I've never thought that I looked disparagingly upon single mothers, so why would it bother me to be confused as one? Results from a nationwide Pew Research survey suggest that while America has become more accepting of mixed-race families, gay parents and unmarried parents, we still have a problem with the idea of single women raising children. NPR's Talk of the Nation did a call-in segment on this study soon after its release. I remember being in my bedroom, folding clothes, and feeling absolutely livid that people actually think that single mothers are bad for America (as the survey reported). Seriously? Single mother after single mother (some single mothers by choice, others by circumstance) called in, repulsed by the idea that our nation is judging them for raising their kids the best way they know how. One woman called in, asserting that it was interesting how the survey asked respondents, "Do you think that single mothers are bad for society?" but not "Do you think that men who abandon their children are bad for society?" Why did the survey phrase the questions to directly target the women who have assumed the responsibility of raising their children, instead of gearing them toward the men who have skirted theirs? Then there was a caller who had actually received and responded to the survey. When asked if she felt that "single mothers are bad for society?" she said that she interpreted the question not as blaming the women, but rather saying that single parenting is unfairly hard on mothers, and society does little to help them. Interestingly, the survey did not ask respondents how they felt about single fathers. Single fathers called into the show, too, noting that they have felt that society has underestimated their abilities to raise their children since people don't think of fathers as nurturing figures by nature.

One of the more interesting experiences that one woman spoke of is feeling ostracized by other parents at her child's school--not getting invited to social gatherings, and having a hard time finding friends amongst married couples. Some married parents won't allow their children to play with the child of a single mother for religious or moral reasons (crazy!). I have had the exact opposite experience amongst my peers--Bryony and I get included in more social gatherings than I can keep up with and my friends offer their help and love beyond my expectations. But is this because they know that I do have a husband, that there is a father in the picture? Perhaps his military service means that it's not my "fault" that I'm in my current situation. Now, I have no doubt that the people who I call friends would never judge me regardless of my situation or the reasons behind it, but still, it's an interesting thought.

Why do Americans think that single mothers are bad for society? And why have I flinched--even a little--by the suggestion that I am one, even for a little while? Perhaps our country has not come as far as we think we have in terms of the way we view women and their role in society--what women are capable of, responsible for, and worthy of. Perhaps I am not as free-thinking as I thought I was, and yes, I need to work on that. Why not let my friend wash my dishes for me, or let the old man in the neighborhood help me with my yardwork? Why not take on this new label, and wear it, own it? I am a single mother, at least for now, and it is great to have extra help. And it's great to have the one-on-one bonding time with my daughter. And no, there doesn't have to a stigma attached to being a single mother, or to the reason that I am one. Being a good mother, single or not, is the most important factor in raising my kid.

After all, rumor has it that a single mother can raise the future President of the United States.

Welcome To The World, Hunter Logan!

Cannot wait to meet you, little one!
Love, Auntie Lauren and family

Internship: Awesome

I'm now in the middle of my third week at The Nature Conservancy, and I'm in love. I work a stone's throw from my house, a seven-minute drive from Bryony's school, in a really happenin' part of town. I can walk along the river at lunchtime, eat at any number of great restaurants at lunchtime, and my office space is a converted three-story warehouse with beautiful hardwood floors and exposed brick and chipped plaster walls. It's gorgeous.

Now, as for the job itself...my title is officially intern, but as one of my colleagues put it, this is no "can-you-go-make-me-a-copy-of-this?" internship. From the minute I first met with my boss, I've been on the fast track...scheduling meetings with researchers from eight different states; attending in-person and online meetings with researchers, project managers and upper echelon; getting up to speed on the project by reading, reading, reading; learning the names of my officemates, and understanding what they do and how I'll work with them. It's been a flurry of information and activity and at times it's been overwhelming, but I love it. I think the thing I love the best is that even though the other interns and I are affectionately known by the name "Intern (fill-in-the-name)," I don't feel like anyone at the office looks down their nose at us, like we're "just the interns." If anything, it's the exact opposite. I've found that people have gone out of their way to introduce themselves to me, to learn more about me, and to express excitement by the prospect of us working together. It's really satisfying to know that I work at an organization where people are enthusiastic about their job and the folks they work with, regardless of title.

Perhaps the best bit of all is the workday schedule. I arrive at 8:30am, and since TNC only works a seven-hour (plus lunch hour) day, I leave by 4:30pm to pick up my girl. At this time, when our guy is away and I'm the only parent she has around, there is nothing like being able to hop in my car, drive seven minutes and see my little girl's face light up as she runs to hug me. And to know that we have the rest of the afternoon and evening to go to the farmers' market, swim class, dance class or just hang out at home over a leisurely dinner...that's priceless.

Praying for Time

Bryony has been asking for "Buh-lah!" lately, which is her way of pronouncing "Abuela" (grandma, in Spanish), our next door neighbor Mrs. G. They absolutely love each other, to the point that Bryony asks for her in the mornings before going to school, in the evenings when we return home, at dinner, and just about any other time she might think of her. I have started taking Bryony next door more often to see her "Buh-lah!" and get some quality time in with my good friend.
This evening, for some reason, Mrs. G., 81-years old and still driving and working parttime, started reminiscing about old friends she worked with some thirty years ago. She remarked that all seven women have preceded her in death, even though they were all younger than her. It was a strange conversation to have, because she seemed to have some amount of pride that she, the oldest, had lived the longest. However, the deaths of all seven of these women seemed to remind her that her own mortality is on the horizon. Indeed, it was hard to consider that my scrappy and sassy friend is making end-of-life considerations. I've known her for nine years now, and I have seen how age has affected her--how standing up is a little more difficult, remembering details a little tougher, keeping her patience is tad harder. But she is still my "Mrs. G." to me and so despite these things, I only see my friend.

Today, on Facebook, a friend was wishing for the weekend. I couldn't help but urge her to stop wishing for time to go by. So many people wonder how so much time passes by, how our ages get away from us, how children grow and people die so fast. And I think about how we all wish for time to pass so that the Christmas season is upon us, or how we wish for a long day at work to be over, or we can't wait till our kid's tantrum stage is over. All this wishing away is time in our lives, time we'll never get back, time we should be relishing and enjoying, in the moment. Even when we're at work. Even when it's September and chilly and brown and we really want it to be December and a snow-white Christmas. Even when we think we don't have one more iota of tolerance for a misbehaving kid. These are the moments, the days that we will look back on and wonder what happened.

Assuming I don't get mowed down by a bus, or murdered by a serial killer or die of bird flu, my friend Mrs. G will likely die before me. I know it, I accept it, but I have a hard time thinking of it. As far as I'm concerned, she needs to be here as Bryony grows and becomes her own person, making her own memories and enjoying her own moments. And one day, I will tell Bryony not to wish away the school year to get to summer vacation, or just "get through" the school day so she can come home. Live the moments of your life, and make the most of them, my dear girl. And make sure that many, many, many of them include your "Buh-lah!".

Good Mum, Bad Mum

Now that I have been in both roles, I have started to think a lot about the big debate regarding stay-at-home-mothers versus those mothers who work outside the home. Many years before I even became a mother, I saw Dr. Phil on an episode of "Oprah" as he moderated a very heated exchange. If I remember correctly, the audience was divided into SAHMs on one side, and "working mothers" (all mothers work, but I must mean this in terms of working outside the home) on the other. The arguments were bitter and mean and the women were spitting venom at each other as insults ranged from "Stay-at-home-mothers have no ambition to do anything with their lives!" to "Working mothers care more about their promotion potential than they do about raising their kids!" It was fierce, and awful, and I was left thinking...Why are women doing this to ourselves?

I feel like I have the good fortune to see both perspectives, since I was a full-time mum for two years, and have recently returned to the outside working world. In the two years that I was at home with Bryony, I was torn between loving the close connection I shared with the little human being I'd created, and wanting to return to the work I have passion for, and had worked so hard to be accredited in. At to the feelings of longing for my profession, being at home with her was hard work. Anyone who thinks otherwise hasn't got a clue. Never in my life have I been so utterly and completely at the whim of someone else's moods, desires, needs...and acting on her whims when I had had very little sleep the night before, because I'd gotten up three or four times when she'd awoken, screaming. Then, there was still housework, chores and errands to accomplish with a little one who wanted my undivided attention at all times...even when she was sleeping! Add to that the stress of wanting to teach my child all the age-appropriate things she should know, and feeling completely inept as mothers in our playgroups would talk about the impressive things their children had learned. Being a parent is overwhelming and difficult and lovely and heartbreaking and breathtaking. Being one full-time, every single minute of the day, is all those things times fifty.

And so, now I've returned to my profession, and my daughter at two years old, has started "school." Does this mean I don't love her as much as SAHM love their kids, or as much as I loved her when I stayed at home? I won't even dignify such an assertion with an answer. I drop her off at 8:15am so she can eat breakfast with her classmates (she loves this so much she refuses to eat breakfast with me in the mornings, but rather tries to pull me out of the house so she can get to school!). I arrive at work by 8:30am, and I've recently decided to cut my lunch hour short so I can leave work a few minutes early...I'm out the door by 4:15pm, and at her school to pick her up before 4:30pm. Every single time I walk through the door, I find my daughter happily reading books with her teacher, riding on tricycles or playing with a group of other children. She is happy, even though I have missed her all day long, and feel my heart twist a bit that she is doing so well without me. So, knowing that the time we have to spend with each other each day has been considerably shortened, I try to make the most of what we have. Dinners are quick and easy so I can spend more time playing with Bryony, rather than pushing her aside to chop, stir and saute. We take more trips to the park and read even more books than before. We garden together. We tickle each other and laugh a lot about nothing. We talk about stuff that likely neither of us really understands. We make the most of the time we've got. It's hard and it hurts, but it's the price I pay for being the person I need to be--a mother and an ecologist. I think my kid is doing okay.

So, what gives, ladies? Until you've walked in someone else's shoes, lived their life, how can you possibly judge the decision they've made for their family? We are all different with varying issues and life circumstances, and at the end of the day, the only life any of us gets a say-so over (or should have an opinion about) is our own. Instead of bickering and squabbling over who the better mother is, we should be joining together to find ways to support each other, insofar as we SAHM and working mothers can. Besides, the way I see it, all of us women have enough to deal with under our male-dominated society without sparring with each other. Don't bring a sister (or mother) down, yo.

I Spy

My attentiveness acuity has been rather sharp in recent days, and so there have been a few chance situations I've encountered that I thought worthy of the blog.

I don't know why this particular instance resonated so deeply with me, but...upon turning into my parking space at the local garden center in town, I noticed a middle-aged couple getting out of their SUV in front of me. The husband had barely parked the car before the wife pushed the passenger side door open, closed it and walked into the store while her husband locked the vehicle. He seemed to walk along, at a distance behind her as though he were used to doing so. It made me sad. One of the things Adam and I like most about running errands together is the quality time we spend with each other. So many times he's had to run to get an oil change or pick up light bulbs or do some banking, and he eagerly asks me if I want to take a ride. Half the time, I want to stay at home and have time to myself to get chores done, read a book or catch up on a phone call. However, seeing his face looking so hopeful and being flattered by how much my husband wants my company on such ventures is enough to make thoughts of doing anything else fall by the wayside. Errand time is our time. Looking at the couple in the garden center parking lot made me wonder if they had just had a fight...or maybe she was rushing in because she thought there would be a big sale?...or maybe they've just settled into an existence where they don't really acknowledge each other. I really hope we don't fall into that pattern.

I also have noticed recently that I get a lot of stares from friends and strangers alike when it comes to disciplining my kid. I am relatively strict with her. I grew up in a very strict household where corporal punishment came in the form of hands (my father actually nicknamed his "fire" and "thunder"), a belt, or a choose-your-own-backyard-stick-to-serve-as-the-switch-I'll-be-spanking-your-@$$-with. I have made the personal decision that corporal punishment is just not my bag. Cheesy as it sounds, I heard the best comment in reference to spanking from Dr. Phil. He said, and I paraphrase, "How can we teach a child that he or she can't hit siblings and peers when they've done something the child doesn't like, when we as parents hit our children for the same thing and call it 'discipline'? It's hypocrisy and doesn't make sense." I loved that perspective and it has stayed with me. So, instead of spankings, I tend to follow the Supernanny method of punishment by putting Bryony into timeouts (and later, when she's older, take away privileges). Timeouts are SO effective because Bryony finds sitting there, all by herself, being ignored, completely maddening. She screams and cries and makes me look like the mother with the glass eye and wooden tail. But, I've realized that being a single mother means having to play two roles at once...with no extra pair of hands available to catch her as she runs toward a roadway or tries to scale tall furniture, I have to put my foot down pre-emptively. I am playing "bad cop" more and more these days, as she pushes boundaries and conveniently goes deaf when I'm talking to her. I have to be Mum and Dad all rolled into one, and that doesn't always come across as pretty. One of my friends recently said that she felt at this age, the kids should be left to explore and discover, that there will be plenty of time in the future for rules and boundaries. Sometimes I don't have that luxury. If I have to take a shower or take out the trash or go to the basement while Bryony is in the house (and if putting her in her crib is inconvenient or not an option for whatever reason), there is no Adam around to watch her to make sure she's not doing something dangerous. I need to know that in those three minutes, I can run outside to push the trash out and she won't have climbed up onto the stovetop and turned all the burners on. I have to be strict with her in order to give her the best possible chance of staying healthy and safe. Weird looks from others is the burden I'll have to bear, at least for a little while longer.

I've also spied with my little eye more and more women with body hair, in the form of leg hair and armpit hair. I have always found this incredibly fascinating. I'm not sure why, considering men sport hairy pits and legs without a second thought, and society considers it normal and acceptable. But if a woman walks up with all the hair nature gave her, one starts to hear comments like, "Whoa! Why didn't she shave that forest under her arms?" or "Dude, I don't wanna be with a woman who's got more hair on her legs than I do!" How is it that so many of us--the vast majority of us--has bought into the idea that women should be ashamed of the qualities that nature gave us? Since when is armpit hair or leg hair on a man natural, but it's "dirty" or "ungroomed" on a woman? The last time---perhaps the only time--I grew my armpit hair out was in college when my roommate and I had a standing bet to see who could grow more underarm hair in a month. Our third roommate was the begrudging judge at the end of the month. At the time, it was funny, and I lived in the East Village and was young and kinda hippie. Now, I'm not sure how comfortable I could feel letting the hair grow. Listen, I'm not a crazy armpit and leg shaver. I know women who shave everyday, as though they feel their continued membership in Womanhood depends on it. I'm more of the "shave it or leave it" variety, maybe shaving, maybe not for weeks on end until I finally just get tired of the extra hair and do away with it all. But, I look to women who don't feel the need to shave for their husbands, their jobs, their communities or for society in general, and I am jealous of and impressed by their mental fortitude. It's not easy to be true to yourself in such a way in today's culture.

I'm done with I spy for now...as, I think I spy a sty on my eye from all the spying.

Second Birthday, First Day

Today I have a two-year old. Today I have a two-year old who attends "school." What a day it's been.

The "Happy Birthday" banner our friends Pamela, Luke and Mateo (and Ruby and Unica) made and gave us for the occasion!

Official two-year old b-day photograph (using my camera phone...tres chic)

Gotta get everything cleaned out before the first day of school!

Bag all packed, bear in hand, ready to rock 'n' roll...

School didn't forget her birthday, either...

Happy birthday, my sweet puppy. Mama and Daddy love you so very much.