The Non-Mommy Parts of Me

Here’s the thing: I hate dating. I’m not a dating kind of person. All of that posturing and fake smiling and hair-tossing. It just isn’t me. I’m a jeans and t-shirt mom with princess band-aids, hair ties, and hand sanitizer at the ready at all times. Need a tissue? I’ve got a whole pack for you right here. Splinter? I can fix that. Monkey-bar blister? No problem. But get dressed up and head out to sit across from some guy and impress him? Not my strong suit. That, and I haven’t been on a date in over a decade. So you might say I’m rusty. Except even back then I wasn’t a good dater. So can you really be rusty at something you never learned to do in the first place? Probably not.

Anyway, all of these things led me to one conclusion in my year of being single: I probably had another few years of being single to come. I mean, when would I even meet someone? I have my kids most of the time. And I’ve noticed that nothing spooks a handsome young guy who has just smiled at you like the two little girls traipsing along behind you calling you “mommy.”

My girls’ dad keeps them for a couple hours on days he can knock off work early, and he has them overnight on Fridays when he’s in town, but he does travel a lot for work, and that means I’m a three-bodied, six-armed, six-legged person most of the time. Which is fine. I adore my kids--probably to a borderline-unhealthy degree. I fully accept and am honored to hold the role of being their mother, solo or not. And honestly, I think I’m pretty good at it, this single motherhood gig.

I didn’t mind being single. I needed that year of solitude. My year alone gave me time to grieve the end of my marriage, to let all the negative stuff go, to get back on my own feet, to push myself harder than I ever have as a writer, and to find a balance that doesn’t just feel like surviving, but like thriving, like moving in the direction I was always meant to go, like pure, unrestrained joy with two adorable little sidekicks cheering me on in the sidelines. But, still, there was a part of me that wondered: is this going to be it, forever?

It’s not that I need a man around to fix stuff. I can fix stuff. I work out. I can lift my own heavy things. I don’t miss cooking for someone else (I don’t even like cooking) or doing someone else’s laundry or tripping over big man shoes in the hallway. But sitting on the couch at night, girls tucked into beds they refused to stay in, watching TV before prepping school lunches, checking homework, folding the endless laundry of two girls who love outfit changes the way I love sleep, I found myself thinking: meeting someone would be nice, right? Someone who saw me as more than just a mom? It seemed unlikely, though. I travel between my house, the kids’ school, and my favorite table at Starbucks where I write and ignore all of the other patrons. My quiet cocoon of an existence doesn’t really invite others in. Especially not single men.

But lo and behold, the universe has a way of listening, even when you aren’t sure you’re really asking. A year after my husband and I set up separate residences, an old acquaintance from high school, a film producer looking for new material, asked to see some of my writing, and a conversation started. After a couple months of exchanging short stories and comments on them, we met for dinner—not a date, so I didn’t dress up or get nervous—to talk shop. And sometime between dinner, the bookstore we visited, the cafe we ended up in, the business meeting started to feel like a date. I didn’t have my kids for the night, and he didn’t have his, which meant hours of uninterrupted conversation about utterly grown-up topics. I had my princess band-aids and pink hair ties and hand sanitizer right there in my purse, but I didn’t feel like a mom for a few precious hours. We didn’t know much about each other, except that we’d passed one another in school hallways twenty years earlier, but he’d read a lot of my writing, so in a way he knew more about me than most people do. The inside of me, the vulnerable parts and sharp edges and restrained anger and hard truth-seeking part that doesn’t posture or hair-flip or tolerate any fakeness whatsoever. And even with all that, he liked me.

I guess you could say we’ve been dating for two months now, except that I hate dating, so I wish I could think of a better name for it. We’re taking it slow, getting to know each other and trying to maintain the balances of our own careers, our own relationships with our kids, our own fears of getting hurt. To call this new territory minimalizes the wonderful oddness of the whole thing. It’s new territory the way an entirely new solar system would be, when someone you barely knew in your past can come back around and help the present you feel, well, more like you. The non-mom part of me is now a bigger part of me, which is strange and scary and, ultimately, good. It makes the mommy moments more special, when they aren’t the only moments I’m having all day. So maybe dating isn’t so bad.

Aloha

We're back in Hawaii: me, my girls, and my sister-in-law Jessica for a week in one of my favorite places in the world. I've got sun and the sound of ocean waves, myna birds and palm trees, mongooses (the girls prefer "mongeese"), plumeria trees, fresh-cut pineapple and papaya, a fridge full of Pog, and a much-needed week with no plans whatsoever. No school lunches to prep, no gymnastics to rush off to, no homework to check, no dog to clean up after, and no nagging household chores to do.

The girls, still on California time, have been the first up each day. They wake Jessica and me up with music blaring from their iPod, the little thumps of dancing legs just outside our bedroom door, their high girlish voices singing along to Adele.

We sip Kona coffee on the lanai and wait for the day to start. The first few days we were up before sunrise, but today the sun beat us. We've visited a variety of beaches, had pool time each day, have watched a hula show, gone to the beautiful and calming Place of Refuge, and done some shopping. The days have a timeless feel and pass both quickly and slowly. Yesterday we decided to spend an hour at the beach. With twenty minutes left we took to the waves. The girls bodysurfed while the grown-ups scanned the horizon for the last of the migrating humpback whales, the mamas with their new calves. When we checked the time three hours had passed.

String bean, out of the water since last summer, has gotten reacquainted with her swimming skills. She's built like a swimmer, long and lean with a wide wingspan, and she can cover the length of the pool in a single breath. At seven years old, she's probably a better swimmer than I'll ever be. Peanut, five now and determined to do everything her own way, huffs along in her spastic doggie paddle style, still stubbornly refusing to try any real strokes. Luckily we have water wings, so she can alternate between floating along and thrashing around and I know she'll stay safely afloat. The girls exhaust themselves with jumping waves, making sandcastles, running free in their hot pink flip flops, swimming in the pool for hours, and each night as I cuddle with them for our daily list of three good things, they've fallen asleep on me before finishing.

Jessica has been an enormous help on this trip. After a year of single-motherhood I'd forgotten what it's like to have an extra set of hands for dinner prep, kid-bathing, dishes, laundry, general clean-up, and driving around. I was prepared for a kid-centered vacation, but I've gotten more relaxing in than expected thanks to Jessica's presence. We're a lot alike, quiet readers who prefer the sound of the ocean to the bustle of a crowed street, drama-free types who like to get the work out of the way so we can sit and chat and relax. The girls adore their aunt, and I'm enjoying watching them vie for her attention, off the hook for many mommy duties that they'd rather have her do. It's also been a great week to keep our friendship going, which has always been a separate thing from my marriage to her brother. The separation from my husband has done nothing to diminish my bond with Jessica, and this week has been a great reminder of that.

Whenever we come here, I remind the girls that they have Hawaiian blood, are tied to these islands beyond loving vacations here. The concept of ancestors seems hard for them to grasp, but they like to hear the stories, of their Chinese great-great-great grandfather Chun Afong marrying a Hawaiian Chief's granddaughter. They never met their Hawaiian-born grandmother, and while String Bean has my same almond-shaped eyes and olive-toned skin, fair-skinned and blue-eyed Peanut doesn't look like she could possibly have Hawaiian blood in her anywhere. But from the stories they have decided that they are Hawaiian princesses, and this fills them with a ridiculous amount of joy. Almost as much joy as I get out of being here with them.

Family is Forever

Yesterday I hosted a birthday party for three of my favorite people: my 3-year-old niece, my dad, and my dad's sister. The Aries have the rest of us outnumbered in my family. It started as an idea for a small get-together to acknowledge my dad and niece's back-to-back birthdays, and grew into a big family and friends-who-feel-like-family gathering. There were family friends that I hadn't seen in years who came, and my amazing, artistic aunt, who I hadn't seen in over five years, who is celebrating her birthday today (Happy birthday, Aunt Nancy!).

There's been plenty of family drama and the usual life trials in my family over the years, and many of us have drifted apart, but yesterday none of that showed. Hatchets were buried, bonds were renewed, and best of all, my girls got to be there to see it all. It's an amazing thing, to fill your house up with everyone you love and just bask in it for a whole day. We ate, we talked, the kids played, the musicians jammed, the kids danced, and the party lasted all day long. We're all talking about doing it again, soon.

Probably the only thing I still struggle with about separating from my husband is the guilt over not being able to keep my daughters' family intact. I know what it's like to have divorced parents, the schlepping back and forth with suitcases in hand and wanting desperately to wear the shirt you left at your dad's house and won't see again for at least a week. But watching my girls run circles around their extended family yesterday, giggling and twirling in their princess dresses, and having them ask over and over if we can do it all again next weekend, I'm letting some of the guilt go. They are loved, and they have an intact family, just as I do. My parents divorced over 30 years ago, and had plenty of years of not speaking kindly of one another, but yesterday I got to sit between them and listen as my father played his banjo and my mother sang along. That's the thing about family. They're forever, if you let them be.

Flying Solo, Together

The past year has been a steady string of firsts, none of them easy. Twelve months ago, this very week, my husband and I broached the idea of separating. It was the first time we'd discussed the idea in a calm, non-threatening way, not as hurtful words hurled to inflict pain during a fight, but as a means to end the hurting that had become a solid part of our relationship. It wasn't what I wanted, giving up on our marriage, pulling our childrens' lives in half like the clean snap of a wishbone. But it was the right thing to do. We had long talks about how to part as friends, how to set aside our anger and sadness, and focus fully on making the transition as easy as possible for our girls. We looked together for a place for my husband to move into, went to Ikea as a family to pick out furniture for his new apartment. For the first few months we called it "our house" and "our apartment" when talking to the kids, so they wouldn't hear the division, the finality, of mommy and daddy having different homes.

The kids adjusted surprisingly well. Their dad and I had been leading fairly separate lives for a while, between him traveling regularly for work, and me ducking out to a hotel for a night of recovery and writing time when he came back into town. While they were with me they continued to have the same home routine, school routine, and play dates as always. We took our time getting them used to the apartment, to sharing a room for the first time, to being without me in a new place. The apartment came with new bunk beds and a pool, two things the girls were very excited about. As soon as the warmer weather hit, they started heading over there regularly to swim with their dad, and we worked up to them spending the night there on Fridays.

It was a big change for me, being home without them, but after the initial shock of quiet, I learned to appreciate the down time. I had precious pockets of alone time to simply sit and breathe, something I hadn't had much of in years. I started going out with friends, especially other single moms, to unwind during my Friday nights off. Our new version of family fell into a rhythm that lasted through summer and into this school year.

The girls are both thriving this year, blowing me away with their reading and math skills, blossoming into confident little chatterboxes with a constant bubble of friends around them at all times. And a surprising number of their friends also have parents who are no longer together, which has helped this all feel less drastic for them. They compare notes with their friends on which toys they keep at mom's and dad's places, who takes them out to eat the most, which ones have pools to offer summer fun.

A year into it, we're still figuring out certain details. When dealing with small kids, flexibility is key. But one thing I'm most proud of is that our kids' family has not been shattered. They have a lot of love around them, on all sides. And their dad and I have kept our promise to stay friends, to stay kind, and to not put the kids in the middle of our issues. When we have family gatherings at my house, he's invited. Last Christmas we all headed back east to visit his family together. Next month his sister is accompanying the girls and me on a Hawaii trip. I feel very strongly that the girls must not lose any of their family connections as a result of the failings of their parents' marriage. It's a strange new world, this single motherhood gig balanced with a determination to keep the whole extended family in the picture. But I think we're pulling it off.

Three Good Things

String Bean can be a bit of a muller/wallower/worrier. Especially at bedtime when she's reviewing her day and getting herself too worked up to sleep over the stressful/scary/sad stuff that happened. So I started a tradition with both girls, that as I cuddle with them and tuck them in for the night, we each list three good things about our day. In the beginning, it was sometimes hard for String Bean to think of three really good things. Now she rattles off happy moments like she's been storing them up all day, just waiting to share them. Peanut rarely has a list under 10 good things, and usually ends her list with, "I just had the best day!"

It's seemed to help String Bean settle down at night, to make a point of remembering the good stuff from each day, hopefully helping her learn how to let all of the less-than-good stuff go. And there are definitely nights when this helpful reminder comes in handy for me, too.

As the year draws to a close, a year of more strife and hardship than I was expecting, full of more illness and death and divorce than I want to recount, I'd like to apply the same wisdom on a grander scale. So, my three good things for 2011 are:

(1) my beautiful brilliant little girls are thriving, reminding me every day what really matters: love, laughter, and wonder;

(2) my writing is thriving, getting some recognition here and there (a new short story published just this week!), giving me much to feel proud of and more to aspire to every day; and

(3) I have the best extended, complicated, ever-changing, but loving and supportive family and friends around. It's been a turbulent year, but I'm standing on solid ground thanks to the people standing beside me.

Happy new year everyone!

Falling Down

Today was one of those days we all fear as parents. A day when one of our little ones gets hurt. It was a typical morning. We were running late because the girls were tired and dragging and wouldn't get in the car. We made it to school with a couple of minutes to spare, and were heading down with the masses toward String Bean's class, picking up speed, when Peanut fell down.

Peanut falls down a lot. She's a rough and tumble kid, unafraid of spills, and if she's moving, she's usually going full force. Well, she went full-force to the ground, face first. I picked her up, dusted her off, and saw blood. Lots and lots of blood, pouring out of her mouth. And a tooth, her top front tooth, at a very bad angle.

I scooped Peanut up, rushed toward String Bean's class, handed String Bean off to another mother, and raced back to the car with Peanut, shoving wadded towels into her bleeding mouth. We raced straight to the dentist. X-rays showed her tooth had broken off at the root, so it couldn't be saved. Luckily it was a baby tooth, and in being knocked out it hadn't damaged the adult tooth behind it. But Peanut just turned 5, and the adult tooth is nowhere near ready to come in. The dentist said it may take a year, possibly close to 2, before the adult tooth drops down to fill the hole. The teeth on either side were knocked loose, but not beyond hope. We have weeks ahead of a soft food diet and avoiding contact with those teeth, in the hopes that they will strengthen and stop wiggling, and wait firmly in place until the adult teeth behind them are ready to make an appearance.

Peanut was a champ the whole time. She cried pretty good when it first happened, but once we got to the dentist she was completely calm. She followed the dentist's instructions perfectly and even corrected him when he was trying to be silly with her. She was all business. When she was all cleaned up, they offered her a bounty of prizes for being so good. She insisted on taking two of each, so her big sister wouldn't feel left out.

We had a long day of trying to find something, anything, that she could eat without hurting. In the end a few sips of milkshake and some yogurt was all she could manage. She's got a scraped up face, a hugely swollen lip, cuts and bruises all around the inside of her mouth, and a cute gap where her tooth should be. But she's still my smiley girl who thinks it's super cool that she's one of the first kids in her kindergarten class to lose a tooth. And she's very excited about the tooth fairy coming.

In reality, all turned out fine. The scrapes and bruises will heal, the adult teeth will come in, and someday this will just be one of those family lore stories about what a tough kid she was. But for right now, this moment at the end of that long day, it's all I can do not to stand guard next to her bed and protect her from ever being hurt again. We're never ready to see our kids get hurt.

Happy Frozen Cheese Pizza

On Monday my little Peanut will, impossibly, be turning 5. I don't know where the time went, but I can tell it's gone, because at the end of her fourth year she's suddenly sporting a new pair of longer legs and less-chubby cheeks that show off her cheekbones. She looks five, which does nothing to make it easier for me to swallow.

I have a party planned for her, set up as she requested: just a few friends here at the house. Peanut is nothing if not easy to please. I mean, she's the most stubborn human being I've ever met, which is saying a lot since previously I was the most stubborn human being I'd ever met, but that's only about 1% of the time. The rest of life, she goes easy on.

So the following weekend we're having family, about 8 kids, and cupcakes to celebrate this milestone. That's all she wants, and that's fine by me. But I keep asking what she wants to do on Monday after school, since that's her actual birthday: go somewhere fun, have a friend over, go out to dinner? And she's decided: she wants a frozen cheese pizza, here at the house, with me and her sister. That's it? That's it.

Every day I come up with a few more ideas, tantalizing little notions sure to entice her into imagining a more interesting birthday. Nope. Frozen cheese pizza, play time with her sister, and maybe a story or two before bed.

I love having an easy-to-please child, I really do. And I don't want her to feel wrong for wanting to keep it simple. I'm trying to recognize that while this milestone feels huge for me (She's in kindergarten now! She's reading! She's doing math! She has these ridiculous legs! The baby fat is all gone!), and worth celebrating in some spectacular fashion, maybe she's got enough newness going on in her life that the same old same old sounds perfect: a little familiar comfort to ring in her fifth year. Okay. Fine. I get it. But I'm still getting cake. And balloons. She'll just have to deal.