I’ve been having a rough run of it, doing this single mother thing.  For a couple weeks I forgot the things that I’ve enjoyed about being a mother, and could not get away from focusing on all the things that I am missing out on by doing this on my own.  After working a full day at work, my job doesn’t finish.  Every day is a kids’ activity that I must drive them to, and many times our activities didn’t end until bedtime.  The house would be a mess, and I would be so exhausted I would put it off for another day.  The housework piled up, my mood worsened; life seemed like this never-ending pendulum.  I’d knock the balls to keep things in motion, and in return they would knock me back down.  I was exhausted.  And to top it off, the kids’ attitudes were worsening, their manner of speaking to me changed to an appalling nature.  Maybe they were feeding off me.  Maybe they were angry from so many sudden changes.  Maybe they were learning bad habits from friends at school.  Maybe they were also overwhelmed.  Regardless, the order of our house was utter chaos. 

Last weekend everything came to a head.  I had endured enough.  I had been told “No” too many times by both kids who were refusing to help me.  I felt so in over my head that I realized I had to ask for help.  One call to my mom, and she was there at my house.  She got the kids to pitch in and help, and the house was suddenly transformed into the house we were proud to live in.  Their prized possessions were taken away: video games, skateboard, TV privileges…  And they were to be gone until they had earned each one back one by one.

The first day without any of their usual things to do resulted in a quiet Sunday afternoon.  Both of them read books cover to cover.  We colored pictures with sparkly pens.  I made them homemade play-dough in blue and red.  And we made little play-dough figurines and let them dry out on a plate.  Monday morning my son told me that he was going to miss the weekend.

“Why?” I asked him.  “You were in trouble all weekend!”

“I know,” he told me.  “But we just had so much fun hanging out.” 

I know he misses the video games most of all, but I think that we all needed for them to be out of the house just to be able to revisit the core of us. 

This last week was a lot better.  The schedule didn’t change; I was still going from work to kickboxing, work to soccer, work to their visit with their dad.  Every day was something else.  And I still felt the need to fight it tooth and nail.  But the kids’ attitudes improved some.  My son made it his goal this week to greet me with a hug every time I picked him up from daycare after work.  He filled his promise every day.  When I asked them to help me do something, they did so almost every time.  Slowly my dark mood wasn’t feeling so dark.

Today was my daughter’s soccer tournament.  We arrived at the soccer field at the very latest we could be there without losing points.  I dropped her off so I could find parking.  The other girls on the team immediately took my daughter over, spray-painting her hair red and orange and tying ribbons in it.  My son and I came soon afterwards.  He had earned his skateboard back and was making up for lost time.  I’m amazed to see him ride sometimes, his balance impeccable on the board I used to wobble on once as a kid.  We found a bench above the field, giving us a bird’s eye view of the whole game.  My grandma joined us, and my mom and dad soon after. 

Our team was playing another team they had played once before and lost miserably to.  The last game they had played, it had been a 6-0 shutout.  One of our girls had broken her arm in the scrimmage.  And towards the end of the game, as our girls were panting and just waiting for the torture to be over, a little pixie of a girl on the other team announced loudly to her other teammates to stop scoring goals because it was so unfair to our team.  It was a humiliating experience.  This time, our girls had their game faces on: literally with face paint, and liberally with determination in their eyes.  The game was played tough, and when the final whistle blew three times, the score was 2-1.  We were on the winning side!

The girls were amped up when their second game came about.  They had won one game; they knew they could do it again.  My own daughter was taken out of the goal box and placed as “Forward”.  From the time that whistle blew she was off running, her eyes were locked on the ball, her position correct every time.  Her moment of glory came when she wrestled the ball away from the other team, passed it to another girl in front of the goal, and the girl scored the game’s only goal.  I ran down to the field as soon as she was switched out to tackle her in a bear hug.  Her face was shining in pride, and at this moment I could see that her spirit was lifting.  The weeks of indignant promises that she wouldn’t play next year were eaten as she told me that maybe she would be signing up again.  The games continue tomorrow in the second half of the tournament, and we have a real chance of winning the whole thing!

One of my friends and her mother had joined me for this game to cheer my daughter on.  When it was over, my friend took both kids to give me a night of rest.  I spent my free time getting a pedicure with another friend, and then watched a really bad chick flick while we folded laundry.  When my friend left, I went to work on my kitchen, eventually cleaning out the bookcase in the dining room of all the books we didn’t want anymore.  It was then that I came across my daughter’s class journal, the notebook she had to write in every day for one of her assignments.  I flipped it open and was immediately transported back to memories of all the things we had done last year, yet through my daughter’s eyes.

I look back at my own childhood fondly.  My parents made it their mission to make sure that we had a good life.  There are many memories of trips to the cabin, skiing and snowboarding in the winter, trips to Disneyland, neighborhood camping trips, summer camp, ice skating lessons, Tuesday night dinners at Sizzler, boating at the lake, BBQs, large family holidays…..  One of the things I lament is the fact that there is just one of me, and that there is no way I could ever duplicate the childhood that my parents had given to me.  I often feel like my kids are missing out because of my mistakes.  But my heart was filled as I read through her assignments of recalling favorite memories.  Some involved memories of times with friends.  Some involved things with her father’s parents.  Some involved things with my parents.  And many were about events just our family experienced.  She had a normal childhood.  She had good memories.  Being a part of a single parent household has become her reality, and it seems that her childhood is not really that different from mine.  Maybe I really haven’t failed these kids at all, and that they really aren’t suffering.

Today was the perfect end to a very difficult period of self-pity and self-doubt that I had to go through.  It was a day when the tides turned, the winds shifted, and our little sailboat family coasted back out to sea with strength and pride in our sails. 

We can do this.

Sail away with me at winecountrymom@winecountrymom.com.