Tag Archives: kids

Unsolicited advice: needing a man

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“I’ll tell you exactly what you need – you need to find a man.”

I was standing outside talking to Ethan’s teacher on Friday afternoon. We had just wrapped up a meeting about enrolling Ethan in speech through the local public school when she made this ridiculous statement while offering (unsolicited) advice about how I could help Ethan through this tough time.

Honestly, after she said this, I lost track of what she was saying and why/how a “man” would solve all my problems. I was just pissed.

I don’t doubt that having a strong male role model would be good and healthy for Ethan (and Lauren), but to make a broad, bold statement like this is just… stupid. (SIDENOTE: I have started the process of matching E with a Big Brother, but it could take months for the right match to be found.)

Ethan and Lauren (and I) don’t need a “man.” If I started dating TODAY, it would be a LONG time before I’d introduce someone to my kids. If a man from church or school offered to take Ethan fishing or bowling or to play video games, I would be very hesitant to let my son go alone with someone. (Think of all the horror stories…) His teacher recommended sending Ethan on a playdate with a friend when the friend’s dad would be around (right, because men are KNOWN for participating in kids playdates…)

No, a “man” isn’t the answer. (See my previous entry on men and unicorns.)

There isn’t a man in our lives, and we don’t live close to family or close friends. But Ethan sees women (me and my mom) doing all sorts of things: sleeping on a submarine, taking out the garbage, hanging shelves, building things, watching sports, talking about his personal care and hygiene, going fishing (my mom takes E, not me. Fishing is where I draw the line), discussing urinal etiquette, killing spiders. Not to say these are all “men” things or that these are the only things men are good for. Quite the contrary. Even if Mike and I were still married, I’d probably be doing most of these things (and arguing with Mike at the same time). The point is that Ethan sees us doing all sorts of things to keep life moving. We do all this without complaint, without being told, to keep everything running smoothly. And at the same time we’re doing all that, we’re also making meals, cleaning the house, doing laundry, grocery shopping, hemming school pants, walking the dog, reading bedtime stories, helping with homework, kissing boo boos, and on and on.

Ethan and Lauren are witness to a fully functioning household – with or without a traditional family structure.

Now I understand that both kids would benefit from being around a strong male role model, to have a real reference point for what it means to be a good man/husband/dad/friend. But that’s the thing. It isn’t about exposure to a random old testosterone-filled person. It’s about finding the “right” man, a good man, from whom my kids could learn and grow.

And those don’t sell those at Target.

Little girl (alternatively titled, Assumptions are the worst)

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She walked up slowly to the table of cookies and popcorn. Her big brown eyes and unruly curly hair stuck out immediately.

“I want a cookie please,” she said in a tiny voice.

I was behind the table, volunteering at a fundraiser at Ethan’s school. We had turned other kids away who approached us without money, asking for food. I didn’t know this little girl. Had never seen her before.

“Do you have any money?” asked one of the moms working with me.

The little girl, probably 4 or 5 years old, shook her head.

“Then no,” said the other mom and she turned away from the little girl.

“Honey, cookies are 50 cents, but I’ll give you one for a quarter,” I said bending down to her level.

What I said next has haunted me since Friday night. It was exactly the thing I hate hearing. That I dread will be asked of one of my kids someday. An assumption of a “typical” family – a mom, a dad, two kids, white picket fence. But the words just came out.

“Why don’t you go find your mom and your dad?” I asked.

“I don’t have a dad,” she said. “He died. He was really sick and he died. He’s dead now.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. One of the other moms put her arm around my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, honey,” I said.

But by then, she disappeared into the crowd.

I dabbed my eyes, and she came back with 50 cents. I gave her three cookies.

“Do you know her?” I asked all the other mom volunteers. “Have you ever seen her before?”

But no one knew the little girl. (Unusual that no one knew her since this is a small school in a very close-knit church community, and a little girl with a dead daddy would certainly be memorable.)

The tiny little girl, so young but so confident, handled the situation beautifully. She was poised and eloquent. She answered liked it was no big deal, and maybe to her, it wasn’t a big deal. I don’t know her story.

But to me it was a big deal. I wish I knew that little girl. I want to give her a hug. To cry with her mom. To say, “ I get it and I’m so sorry I assumed you had a mom and a dad and I know that it’s hard.”

I haven’t seen the little girl since.

Lesson learned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On a related note, the mom who assumed that Ethan would be “over” the death of his dad was volunteering at the event also. Early in the evening, she pulled me aside.

“I need to tell you that I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?” I asked.

“That night at the meeting. That was so STUPID of me to say. Of course Ethan is grieving. I’m sure you are, too. It’s a huge loss for you guys. I feel so bad about saying that. I didn’t mean anything by it. I went home and cried to my husband because it was just wrong to say. It came out SO WRONG. I’m so sorry that I said that,” she said.

And I forgave her.

Thursday Tidbits: Generosity, Crushing, Reflection, Reconnecting

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A few completely unrelated, totally random thoughts:

  • Yesterday’s mail included an envelope addressed to Ethan and Lauren. Inside was a ridiculously nice gesture from a college friend (he also practiced the same kind of law that Mike did so they saw each other often “on the circuit”). He sent a beautiful note to the kids about starting the holiday season early with the enclosed gift cards to Toys R Us. Ethan went bonkers – he even graciously offered to “help” Lauren spend her gift card. It was a tremendously nice and completely unexpected surprise. And it should be noted, that this friend is also one-half of the college friends who sent me flowers for Mother’s Day earlier this year. Heart melting.
  • I have a tiny crush on Ethan’s TKD instructor. Not an actionable crush (1. He’s Ethan’s instructor = deal breaker, 2. He’s 10 years younger than I am = WTF am I thinking?), but it definitely makes it more fun to sit through an hour of watching E during practice! In related news, Ethan successfully tested for his yellow belt. He was incredibly nervous and I thought he was going to cry a few times, but he hung in there and nailed it!
  • I’ve been reflecting on my professional life quite a bit since the semester is winding down. I really feel like making this career change was the RIGHT thing to do. The last 15 weeks have been amazing – tough sometimes, challenging sometimes, and often harder than I thought. But I really feel good. – and I think I’m pretty good at it. It also helps that the fall 2013 schedule has been drafted and I’M ON IT (meaning my contract will most likely be renewed)!
  • I reached out to a FB friend who called out my former sister-in-law in a FB post. My SIL is not on FB anymore, has gotten remarried (and changed her name), and left her former job (and the only email address I had for her). I recognized her maiden name in our mutual friend’s post. When SIL divorced Mike’s brother, things got (understandably) weird. But I think about her often and I really miss her. I’ve asked our mutual friend to share my email address with SIL. I hope to connect with her again.

Baseball cap

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As I was digging through a box of Christmas decorations, I found it. It kind of blended in at first. The red hat against the red Rubbermaid box, next to the red garland and red and white stripped dish.

But it was too faded to be a decoration.

I pushed some stuff out of the way. As soon as my fingers touched it, I knew.

Mike’s “Nebraska Rifle” hat.

He bought that hat while visiting a friend from law school in the Cornhusker State. He wore the hell out of that hat, and 10 years later, it was faded and discolored and O-L-D looking. There was the stain on the back of the hat – from something getting spilled on it when it was left on the kitchen counter one time. There was a small tear on one side – from pulling it free from a barbed wire fence. The front of the hat showed signs of dried sweat – from wearing the hat to mow the yard. It’s a pretty nasty hat.

I sat in the basement, next to the Christmas box, holding the hat. He wore that hat a lot. All the time. He loved baseball caps, but this one… this one was one of his favorites. There were a lot of good times in this hat. Good times from way back.

I put the hat in the box and carried it upstairs.

“Ethan, guess what I found?” I called. “It’s one of Daddy’s favorite hats.”

“Can I have it?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Ethan wore the hat around for a while over Thanksgiving break. (He looked so adorable in it!). He has slept with the hat every night since I found it. Every night he cuddles with the old stinky baseball hat and an old shirt – a few of the only things I have of Mike’s.

I’m not sure how it ended up in the Christmas stuff. Maybe the movers found it in the basement of the old house and just stuck it in a box. Maybe Mike stuck it in there for who-knows-what-reason.

But it’s home now. Home with Ethan.

Grandparents card (alternatively titled “I have no use for assholes in my life”)

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How do I tell Ethan that his dad’s parents are assholes?

Ethan is seven years old, and completely naïve about the tension between the former in-laws and me. He doesn’t know that we’ve never liked each other. Doesn’t know that even his dad didn’t like them. Doesn’t know about the foul behavior at the funeral (WTH steals a crucifix from the coffin?!) or that there hasn’t been any meaningful outreach from them since January.

And most of the time it doesn’t matter. They were never a major part of his life. He saw them once, maybe twice, a year, and they never really engaged with him, just watched him play from across he room. They’ve never called to talk to him or came to a school function or sporting event.

But last Wednesday, Ethan’s school had a grandparents’ day. My mom went and had a lovely time playing games and enjoying snacks with her only grandson. Ethan made a very sweet card for her – and he also made one for Mike’s parents.

He brought it home and asked if we could send it to them.

Truth is, they moved and I don’t have their new address. Super truth: I could get the address if I really wanted to… IF I REALLY WANTED TO. But I don’t want to.

I grew up with one set of asshole grandparents, too. I saw them on occasion, and my parents never swayed me in one direction or another in terms of my feelings for them. I knew some of the horrible stories about their behavior during my mom’s childhood, but my parents were cordial to them.

(SIDE NOTE: My dad’s mom was an amazing grandma, and I miss her very much. My mom’s grandparents – my great grandparents – were incredible, too. From these three amazing people, I learned what “good” grandparents were, how loving they could be. What a real grandma and grandpa can and should be.)

When I was an adult I chose to cut off ties to my mom’s parents completely. There were two situations that made me realize that these were not people I wanted in my life:

  • My grandmother spread a horrible lie about Mike and his behavior at my cousin’s wedding. Not only was the situation untrue, but the person who was supposedly the victim of Mike’s outburst was not even at the wedding.
  • My grandmother confronted me at the funeral of my grand grandfather, wagging her finger in my face and screaming, “Who do you think you are?” simply because I went over-and-above to find his favorite flowers. (All of the yellow roses in the area were gone – sent to California for the Rose Bowl. I made a few calls, worked some of my professional contacts, and found yellow roses for the funeral arrangements.) This woman went on to accuse me of performing sexual favors to get an internship at one of the world’s top companies in my field.

That was it. When they sent holiday cards, I marked them “refused, return to sender.” They were not invited to my wedding, not informed when Ethan was born, not invited to any celebrations.

I realized in my twenties that genetics does not make someone worthy of the title “grandma” or “grandpa” (or any other familial title…). Someone genetically linked to you might be a good match for a kidney transplant, but that doesn’t make them a nice, loving person. And you DON’T have to surround yourself with assholes – genetically linked to you or not.

(SIDE NOTE: About three years ago, my parents patched up their relationship with my mom’s parents. I was as polite as necessary when forced to be around them, but I did not go out of my way. I did not attend the funeral of my mom’s mom a few years ago, who was the major source of the drama and conflict. And while I do not have a strong desire to have a close relationship with my mom’s dad, he will be spending Christmas at my house, as she requested. I still do not call him “grandpa” as that is a title he does not deserve – I only refer to him by his first name, even to his face. My kids call him “great grandpa” and when they are older, they can decide for themselves if they want a relationship with him.)

That’s kind of the approach I have with Mike’s family. I won’t proactively reach out – I have no reason to. Hell, I have NOTHING nice to say to them. They know where I am, how to get in touch with me and the kids. Ethan and Lauren will know the stories when they’re older. They can decide for themselves if they want to (try to) have a relationship with them.

Until then, I have a grandparents’ card on my kitchen island.