There is a scene like this in the movie about boys There, single parents gather in a shabby church hall and chant the words “Single Parents Together.” I remember watching that movie and feeling a sense of condescending sadness towards the thick group and its lonely responsibility.
Well, I am now one of SPAT (Single Parents Alone Together). And while I don't sit in a healing circle with other single parents, I am solely responsible for my two girls during “my” week. So you're expected to have a 360-degree parenting experience, financially, administratively, emotionally, but you don't have a co-founder.
“Darling, hey…” isn't an option when you're pushing one kid into the bath and solving algebraic equations for another while you're busy meeting work deadlines.
There's no one else to quickly make tea for the kids while I try and fail to figure out why the Wi-Fi isn't working. No one but me is desperately trying to find a school skirt for my youngest to wear, even though he has three things to dry and iron. No one can make it clear that they are not being ignored while I try to keep my financial future healthy. There is no rest during the week when I am in charge alone. And although I have a coat-hanger smile at the school gate and a good game with my manic cheerfulness at work, I was devastated because before I had half the load.
Before you comment, let me be clear: this is not a pity party. I am fully aware that I am still in a privileged position. But my parents live three hours away from her and I have limited flexible child care, so I'm a mother island. I am responsible for homework and filling out school forms. And I don't know if months of mediation before the divorce prepared me for the fallout. A 2:2 ratio is manageable, but a 2:1 is a little heavier considering constant work and odd hours.
It may be the rivalry between siblings that has been hurting the mother's heart lately. I can handle basic parental management such as school administration, pick-up, homework, drama club, tea, bath, stories, bed, etc. with the efficiency of a FTSE CEO. But the moment I care about anything other than mediating their disputes, all hell can break loose.
I have to admit that two weeks ago, we got into a fight over an old toothbrush that we both hadn't used in months, and I almost lost it. I exclaimed as I put my work call on mute and found my oldest son's favorite Minecraft T-shirt. “If you don't stop fighting, your body temperature will drop.'' At that point they were rolling around on the floor laughing – “Mom, are you calling it a tantrum?'' I said, just as I was on mute. I realized that I had lost all parental controls.
But there is beauty in the ordinary, even if I am pushed to the limit at times. The moment we lost it together, and I can sit on the floor and explain why the heat inside me was rising. Every parent reaches a breaking point, but in the past there was usually another adult in the room giving their opinion on how I should have handled things. Or vice versa, when I was there to passive-aggressively parent a parent. (No one needs a post-tantrum analysis of “I don't know if I should…”)
Child psychologist Martha Deiros Collard, Ph.D., says reassuringly that it's not so much about keeping your cool in every situation as a parent, it's about how you make amends when lines are crossed. and how to encourage children to repair relationships when they break down. This is probably a more difficult task for 6 and 10 year olds than for older kids, but a little powwow between the three of us goes a long way.
When things feel overwhelming, I look at the small tattoo of three stick figures on the inside of my wrist. A strange relief indeed. But the oil-based ink depicts me in the middle with my daughters on either side, and the artist is my youngest daughter. I have a simple triangle tattoo on my chest. The tattooist asked me why I carved both, and my answer was to remind myself to have fun along the way. I feel more strongly now than ever that we are just three girls at different stages of life trying to figure everything out. A small triangle of humans who share the same DNA. Homework needs to be done and shoes need to be put on, but there's always room for joy amidst the chaos.
But there's one thing no one tells you to prepare for after a divorce. When the children get off the train, their lunch boxes are packed and they hear someone say, “I'm thirsty, can I have a drink?'' Stop, an eerie silence creeps in. That time every night from 9pm was her Netflix appointment time with her ex-lover (and it wasn't cold). It was separated by “Would you like a drink?” Or even a fleeting argument about gibberish by the dishwasher.
That's when I get really depressed about being alone. Not when coaxing parenting or homework, but in the calm after the storm of parenting. That's when you're much more likely to shed tears after a bad day at work with no one to download with. That's when I instinctively understand the SPAT chant and feel the need for a hug in a foot-smelling community center.
