Mad props to single parents. My husband has been out of town since Tuesday, and while I do enjoy time by myself and am happy he’s spending time with his family of origin, my boys miss their dad. It’s absolutely endearing to hear both kids talk about their dad so fondly while he’s skiing in Colorado this week. They’re plotting all kinds of fun to dive into with him when he returns. I love that they’re picking up the phone on their own to call him whenever the inclination hits them. The boys love their mom, but I am not the fun one. The boys are more demanding of me, and I don’t mean demanding like, “I get whatever I want from mom.” Hell to the au contraire. I laugh a lot and loudly and have a wildly inappropriate sense of humor. I sing out loud all the time–no, not well–and I’m a flurry of movement in our home. I’m that, but of the two of us, I’m the down-to-business parent. I’m the one who makes sure everything gets done and bought and packed and scheduled and prepared and, and, and. . . That’s not ragging on my husband; it’s simply a fact. He’d tell you the same thing, my husband. The kids are demanding in that they know I will accomplish or help them accomplish whatever needs doing. They know that I will be there for whatever whenever wherever. I’m the mom, and of course I’ll be there, so they ask. I never let them down.
Not only am I the everythinger this week, but also am expected to fulfill the dad role in a mom’s way. I’ve got to double the time and talk and love and hugs and back rubs and homework and piano and dinners and lunches. I do not know how single parents manage this feat. How does one person do the job? It’s so important. Like the most important thing in the world, to be a good parent. And the degree of difficulty is a factor of a bajillion with no net to catch you if you fall. It’s also the best damn thing I have done in my life. Ever. It’s an incredible honor to have landed this parenting gig, and I work my butt off to be a reliable, trustworthy, loving mom. I open for business at 5:15 am daily.
My big kid stumbled into my room at 4:09 this morning, and when I say stumble, I mean just that. He sounds like a herd of elephants on stampede when his feet hit the hardwood, and that is in fact an MD thing (weird how that piece fell into place–I swear we are such complete and utter idiots not to have known this earlier, but I digress). At 4:09, a full 66 minutes before my alarm is set to ring, he crash lands onto me and says simply, plaintively, “I miss Dad.” Sweet. Honest. Needy. My response? “Yeah, me too. Go back to bed. You’ll miss him three hours less if you’re sleeping and wake up around seven.”
You can start the nomination process for mother of the year any time now.