Empathy for the Partnered Parent

crossposted here.

I should be reading for class, creating a confidentiality form or maybe even knitting one of the 4 projects I have on the needles, but I’ve got a venue for parenting stuffs and it’s been a while so…

When my son was just two months old, I told my now ex-husband I was leaving. Four months later, I moved out of his house and in with my parents. For two years I worked and muddled about, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with myself and my life. During this time I struggled with several things, especially my new-found identity as a single mom and divorcee. Sure single moms existed eleven and a half years ago, but so much research was being published demonizing single moms, bludgeoning our egos, repeatedly telling us we were ruining our kids. Single moms with sons perhaps bore the brunt of said research because there wasn’t a live-in adult with a penis to balance out the dynamic. It’s much the same way single dads are vilified for not having a vagina around (except that happens far less as often the female contingent step in automatically). Finally, this year, single moms have been vindicated!

So back to the title of this post: Empathy for the Partnered Parent. This, I think, is where I struggle most. As a budding clinical social worker, we are taught to begin where the client is, remain open and empathetic, and most importantly, non-judgmental. For the most part I succeed at these things…except when it comes to my own life and situations that affect me directly.

Per example: About three months ago, the husband of a co-worker accepted a six-week job in France – they were desperate after him being without a job for close to a year – and one day I inquired how things were going with the separation. She almost immediately launched into the difficulty in taking her son to football practice, attending open house once school started, taking days off when he got sick and balancing being a “single” mom with work. I remember her mentioning the amount of time off from work she needed in order to take care of these things. When this happens, I try very hard not to look at parents with partners (aka live-in support that’s around 24/7) and say, “Welcome to my world!” because I understand it is hard to have that support one day and not the next. It is a jolt to their routine and way of life whereas for me, it has been my world since the beginning.

Another example: Last summer, friends in the neighborhood just had a baby and often the husband’s job required him to leave town. One weekend, while we visiting in the dog park, the wife went on and on about not being able to get any work done, her mother-in-law had to come over to help and just wow, parenting “alone” is hard! I hope at that time I kept a flat affect, because again, inside my head I was thinking many non-empathetic thoughts!

Because when your partner goes out of town for a few days, you are not truly parenting “alone” and you know it is only for a short time and there will be an end to that “aloneness”. I don’t get a break. I don’t have someone coming home at 6pm who can help me check the kid’s homework, get dinner on the table, let the dogs out then feed them…I am all the kid’s got for better or worse.

It’s hard for me to be sociable during the week because it’s a school night, the kid needs to get fed, have his homework checked, maybe even study a bit, take a shower and get in bed at a decent time. And I can’t afford a babysitter. On the weekends he is with me, I try to do things that are kid-centered because he is, after all, a kid and our weekdays are fraught with getting things done as fast as possible. Weekends are for doing something fun and exciting as well as taking the time to enjoy each other. This often means my time with mostly kid-free people is limited to every other weekend. This means I only get four days out of every month to focus solely on me.

Four days. Of every month. Only.

Perhaps this is also why I end up shoving way too much fun into the 3 weeks I don’t have him over the summer.

This includes going to the store whenever you want, going to happy hour with friends on a moment’s notice or shoring up the anchor that keeps you at home more often than not. (Let’s not even get on the subject of dating – that’s an entirely separate blog post.)

Then there is the positive financial aspect of being a partnered parent as well, that is if both of you are working full- or part-time. I am the only one who pays our bills and if I don’t work, I don’t get paid. There are a lot of single parents who don’t have a middle class income with paid sick time, vacation time or family leave. Many single parents live paycheck to paycheck (like me) with little left over to put into a savings account. I work anywhere from 40-45 hours per week and have 4 days of paid sick time, but I save most of it if not all for times my son is sick since he can’t go to school when contagious.

And when he can’t go to school, I can’t go to work.

And when I can’t go to work, I don’t make any money to pay the bills.

See where I’m going?

Don’t get me wrong, I adore my kid and think he’s the most beautiful boy on the planet. I would die for him and fight someone to the death in order to protect him. But being a single-mom is super hard and draining. I crack often. More often than not I feel like I’m the mean mom and his dad gets to have all the fun. Constantly being the strong one, or as my bestie said, being everything to everyone at the same time, takes its toll. And when I blow, my kid suffers the fall out and not because I chose to take it out on him, he’s the only one around and is only beginning to understand what I mean when I ask him to leave me alone for 30min.

As a single-mom, the pressure to always be on point is enormous and sits heavily on my soul. So when you complain about not having the day to yourself ‘cause school got canceled due to snow, remember all the moms out there who either get that luxury rarely or not at all.

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Allow me to Introduce Myself

crossposted here.

(Is anyone else singing the song by Digital Underground?)

I am thenutfantastic on Twitter and of the blog Welcome to the Nut House. I chose the name ‘nuthouse’ because at times, with anywhere from 3-6 dogs, a kid and myself, that’s what it feels like.

I am a single mom. I have been a single mom since my son, who is now 11, was 4 months old. Technically I was a single mom since he was born since my now ex-husband didn’t do much to help nor did he take much of an interest in our son. When my kid was 2 months old I made the decision to seek a divorce and when he was 4 months old we moved in with my parents (where we stayed for 7 very long years).

My son also has the distinct pleasure of being biracial: he’s half Filipino, half Caucasian. You wouldn’t know he’s got a white mama by looking at him and often other kids and adults have been surprised when they see me instead. He’s got a tan all year round as well as the beautifully thick dark brown Asian hair. We’ve had a time of it in the public school system because a lot of kids have never seen a Filipino so have not been sure where to place my boy in terms of labels and categories. He wears his hair long, doesn’t care if people use the female pronouns when referring to him and overall doesn’t much care for sports.

When my son was 2, I decided to go back to school. I worked part-time and attended VCU full-time, graduating in December 2005 with a bachelor’s in Interdisciplinary Studies (aka Women’s Studies) and a minor in English. Currently I am in my 3rd year of a 4 year masters of social work program at VCU.

See? Still nuts!

My son attends the IB Program at Lucille Brown Middle School and I am so proud of the hard work he put into studying in order to pass the admissions test. He’s got a lot more hard work ahead of him but both of us are up to the challenge as we’re both tired of him being bored in school, which lands him in trouble.

Perhaps we’re a family of over achievers? Or we’re just nuts?

In my spare time we open our home to foster pit bulls (ish) through a group called Ring Dog Rescue. Currently we have a 7 and 12 week old puppy and 3 adults ranging in age from 2-5 years. Two of the oldest dogs are mine; found wandering the streets and alleys of Church Hill.

I also keep busy by being a hospital advocate through the RHART Program with the YWCA. There are many people, mostly women, who voluntarily sign up for 12 hour shifts 2 or 3 times a month. We are on-call during that 12 hours and can be called into the ER of MCV or any Bon Secours hospital to sit with a woman who has been a victim of domestic violence or sexual assault. Essentially, we volunteer to see women on their worst day in order to help them process the traumatic event or comfort them.

Have no fear, I’ll be writing solely about what it’s like to be a feminist single mom in all capacities e.g. dating, sex, kids getting on your nerves, blending families, staying single by choice, etc., ‘cause let’s be honest, it’s hard. Most of the time I love it; however, there are plenty of times when I don’t. There are a lot of times when I am fully aware just how my single life could be so much easier without the attached-at-the-hip baggage.

For example, when the kid has the flu and I’m the only one around to take care of him. Or when he gets suspended and there isn’t anyone else but me to deal with his needing care during the day, punishment and/or enforcement. Or the times he gets sick and has to be picked up from school, which means I have to take time off work. Or the intense pressure on you to work work work because there is no one else to pay the bills.

All this hard work pays off, though, when I see him finally get it, that ‘aha’ moment most parents look for and hope to see in their kids. The moment your kid proves to you they’ve been listening all along, just not directly. Maybe I’ll share some of those stories. I may even share some of the not so pretty stories when I realize I’ve become way too much of a grizzly and need to back off. It happens a lot while being the only real parent out of a possible 2 parent tag team.

What a taste of things to come, yeah? If you have any questions, comments or would like me to talk about something specific, lemme know! I’m a wide open kinda gal and do not embarrass easily.
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So it's been a while

I've been contemplating what to do with this space I have reserved for myself. Should I make it a knitting blog? Should I scrap it altogether?

Then I had an epiphany.

Why not make it a political mommy knitting blog? You'll get to see pictures of the projects I'm attempting and/or have finished, hear their stories, as well as experience the frustrations as I trudge along in my 2nd year (of 4) in grad school and try not to notice as Peanut enters into his tween years (complete with attitude).

Every so often I might vent about why birth control needs to be put in the water source.

So to get everyone up to date: Peanut informed me the other morning that one nostril was bigger than the other.

And I realized I didn't have any pictures of the only sweater I've knit myself in 4 years.


Expect to hear more from me. Hopefully a lot more. I have missed this space that has allowed me the kindness to vent my frustrations and work through a few things. Especially my ever-increasing grasp on our foster care system, state budgets and so much more.

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Being Raised up Biracial

Monday, during recess, a schoolmate went up to Peanut and proceeded to call him a “white n*****”. Peanut and his friends immediately launched into the, “But I’m/He’s not white!” defense, to which I agree. Then I told Peanut that is when you tattle, to let the teachers be aware this phraseology and supposed insult is being used and hopefully a talk with the child’s parents will come out of it. After all, the kid didn’t pull it out of thin air; he had to hear it from somewhere.

Charlie was astounded when I said I wasn’t angry, which got me thinking, “Why am I not?”

Peanut is biracial: his dad is Filipino and I’m Caucasian, or Euro-American if you want to break it down that far. We live in a very urban neighborhood, far from being suburbia it is. We live in a city that has a prominent African American/Black population and in Peanut’s school, he is the only Filipino kid with the majority attending being African American/Black and maybe even biracial.

The kid who referred to Peanut as the racial epithet has probably never seen a Filipino person, much less been subjected to the influence of said culture via a 4th grader. Peanut’s hair is straight and a very deep chestnut with skin a shade of russet. (There are a ton of pictures in my flickr pool to the right.) So to him, Peanut is either white or black, there is no in between as no experiences have taught him otherwise.

Which brings up another issue entirely: How do we teach kids racism transcends all boundaries that once seemed solid but now are becoming fluid-like? With the increasing population of biracial children, how are they to learn who they are and, unfortunately, where they belong?

I did a quick goggle search using the term “raising biracial children”. I didn’t expect to be alone in this strife and was not disappointed.

As the mother of biracial children, I am well aware of racism in America and how subtle it’s become. Although we like to think of ourselves as evolved, there are still many among us whose actions reveal attitudes about those they consider different from themselves.

As I stated above, I am white. How do I prepare Peanut for a world of racism that I don’t experience daily but he will? Taken a bit further, how does the occasional white guy I date take this on as well? More importantly, how does me dating the occasional white guy affect Peanut when many strangers assume he was adopted and yes, at times talk to both of us with that assumption in mind (or does it matter since either way he is my son)?

When discussing the incident Monday afternoon, I informed Peanut that, regrettably, now is when he is going to start experiencing and being aware of the attitudes of those who think everyone belongs in a box with 4 sides and no way out. That our society places people into categories, whether we like it or not, and that eventually, someone is going to put him in a position where he will feel like he has to “choose sides”.

Before you can offer biracial children guidance, you must explore your own experiences of racism in America.

Oh how spot on this is. Your children are a mirror of your true self, reflecting your own idiosyncrasies, prejudices and quandaries. Just listen to them talk sometime, I mean really listen. I find often that Peanut repeats a lot of the same views I have and that’s obviously because he thinks I’m right and awesome enough to emulate. However, through his repetition, I have often realized just how flawed my way of thinking can really be, not to mention my desire he think for himself.

Being aware of who you are, why you are that way and of course taking on a heavy dose of self-responsibility, help you better see yourself in someone else’s eyes. Empathy is something definitely worth obtaining the rights to as well. Just a little bit of self-awareness can really go a long way; kids will show you the way whether you wanted to go there or not, but it’s up to you to pay attention.

For example, I was brought up to believe everyone was the same no matter what and they deserved to be treated as such. I don’t recall my parents ever saying a discriminatory word toward anyone though I do realize now my mom thought them on occasion. But no matter what your parents teach you, being in school around a diverse group in terms of thought and practice is something else entirely. I remember kids in high school, white kids for clarification purposes, stating black girls were to be feared because they were mean and angry (oh yes, this stereotype has existed for decades). My high school was predominately self-segregated. After hearing this belief repeated over and over yet having no direct contact with anyone other than my handful of white friends, I internalized this prejudice, fighting hard years later to rid myself of them.

This is what racism feels like. Someone exerts their power over you because they want to and because they can. You are judged for what, rather than who you are. The sense of injustice is overwhelming. Although sometimes the oppressor is someone who holds no true power in the world, it’s an experience that leaves the victim feeling dehumanized and shamed. Imagine feeling this way every day of your life.

Which makes me wonder where the kid got the phrase from and what place from inside him was it coming from. Being 8 years old, I doubt he’ll know, but kids are wondrous little people and can be talked through the process of discovery over time.

Then the question prompted is what does that mean anyway? Is this the “reverse racism” people erroneously purport exists in this day and age? Or was its use misunderstood? Perhaps the kid was joking around with Peanut, but something tells me he wasn’t.

Either way, racism is a power play and in the very depths of the individuals soul who is the racist, they are afraid. We crave power because it means we can be better than someone and in order to feel superior, someone needs to feel inferior whether honestly or ill-begotten.

But how to explain this rather large deeply rooted problem to a 9 year old?

Explain to biracial children that racism is based on fear and insecurity. Extremists and hatemongers are fearful bullies at heart. Hating others because they don’t share the same ideas or views gives birth to intolerance.

If there is one thing Peanut has had hammered into his head, it’s the fact that people are human beings first, and everything else secondary. We bleed the same; have all the same organs, facial structure and body parts. We are one until someone sets themselves apart.

And unfortunately, because he has the benefit of looking much more like his dad, Peanut will always face some sort of racism based solely on his skin color then again when they find out he has a white mom.

(I highly recommend reading the rest of the article quoted here and I added this book to my wish list.)

via

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Mean Mom

This morning Peanut tells me, but only after I asked to look in his agenda, that he needs $12 for a field trip on the 24th.

He needed the money by today.

I told him too bad.

Then I added how I don’t have the time run around the morning of, rushing to the bank and back to him as I have to work. We leave our house at 7:25, are at the daycare by 7:45 then I’m at work by 8, which is me being on time. Not much wiggle room is there?

Peanut springing this same day stuff on me makes me late to work so at some point, as a parent whose job it is to teach her child a hard lesson in responsibility, I have to draw the line somewhere.

School has only been in session for a month and a half yet this kid has repeatedly shown he is unable to tell me anything until the day of or several days after, like when he was $4 in the hole on his lunch account.

Upon further investigating the muddle that is his homework/slash agenda binder, I found an assignment he has due by the 14th, a bookmark that is to serve as a book report for a book his class just finished reading together. I pulled the paper out, looked it over and then announced to Peanut I knew what he was going to be doing this weekend.

Sad face ensued.

This morning, I told him I was going to start going through his book bag daily and if I had to start wasting a lot of time following behind him with regards to homework and schoolwork, I was going to make his life real hard.

So yeah, today I’m the Mean Mom.

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