Pretty In Pink
I nodded, like I understood. Like I was right there with her. Which is, I’m sure, what lead her to ask.
“Oh, is your daughter on her school’s lacrosse team, too?”
No. No, she’s not. I’m not sure she would even know what lacrosse is; I, myself, only having the vaguest idea. We are West Coast. We are hippies. We can all sew and play a drum. We are poor. We don’t lacrosse. Later in the same conversation, she was insistent.
“Does your son play tennis? You must use our tennis coach. He’s a genius!”
No. No tennis, either.
I wasn’t at some social media gathering or literary soiree, trying to blend, as sometimes happens. I was at work. As a checkout girl. In a grocery store. Wearing a bad uniform, a barely polite smile, and feeling the stings of a hundred bees on my heart.
Should I tell her that mine are bus riding, latchkey kids who can’t participate in extracurricular activities, lest they sit on the curb outside school until I finish up at work which is sometimes long after dark?
Should I tell her that my kids don’t have health insurance and we try to stay away from any and all physical activities because even tennis has an elbow named after it and we are still deep in debt from the bout of bronchitis that my daughter suffered last year?
Should I tell her that we can’t afford uniforms and equipment for such things and that my son carries a hot pink hand-me-down camera to photography class and I had to approach my daughter’s choir teacher about making payments on the dress required for performances because that kind of expense just isn’t in the budget and has to be planned for?
Should I tell her that it’s only me? For everything? Only me? Only me to pick them up? Only me to pay the bills? Only me to do the grocery shopping? Only me to go to games/concerts/matches and cheer them on? Only me to lie awake at night and wonder exactly how much I fucked them up that day and worry that I won’t have the emotional and physical strength to get up the next morning and do it all again?
She went on. She talked about how her son had totaled his truck and fussed that they had to go out and buy him a new one so he could still get around. She sighed, exaggeratedly, like we were leaned over tea and scones in her “good” living room. The one that her children, husband and dog are strictly forbidden to enter.
“Teenage boys, right?”
I nodded. Agreeing that they are, indeed, a handful.
Should I tell her that I wonder if I’m enough? Enough to raise a daughter without daddy issues by loving her harder than I’ve ever loved someone in the hopes that she doesn’t spend the rest of her life trying to fill the void that not having a father has left? Enough to make a boy into a good man by telling him how to treat a lady, avoid a fight, and respect all living things because god knows I don’t know the first thing about shaving a face, choosing boxers vs briefs, or grilling meat?
Should I tell her that her life is not my life and, everywhere I turn, I have trouble relating to other mothers? Other bloggers? Other social media personalities? Other people? Should I tell her that I am so many things that I end most days feeling like I’ve succeeded at being none of them?
I don’t tell her. I stand there looking interested. No, BEING interested. Fascinated. By that life. And its different set of problems. And the bubble that it affords.
I am Molly Ringwald, reworking the outdated, thrifted prom dress, desperate to fit in with the cool kids, but determined to never be one of them. Never wanting the bubble. Never wanting to unleash the hundred bees. Just wanting someone, anyone, to understand.
HeatherVonsj@gmail.com
Twitter: milkglassheart
/ Mar 1 2010
There is no way I can relate to what you’re going through raising two teenagers but I totally know what it feels like to have ridiculous responsibilities that no one understands.
I too have never felt like one of the “cool kids”. My mom has had M.S. since I was a kid. I am an only child and well, the responsibilities slowly built up on me as her condition worsened. No one wants to hear about my day.
“Yeah, I totally cleaned up a massive load of crap today and changed a catheter that didn’t want to cooperate and had to change the bedding and wash 2 loads of pissy laundry and stayed cheerful through the whole mess and gave her a makeover to make her feel more human and watched shitty TV I didn’t feel like watching so we would have something to talk about and every time I tried to get something done around the house and she called me and interrupted me for some nonsense, because she’s starting to lose her marbles, I had to try real hard not to snap.” Yeah. No one wants to hear that shit.
Everyone has their own problems and god only knows what that well-to-do mom’s dark secrets are but damn if doesn’t make you want to stab someone when you hear them complain about trivial crap when you’re about to rip your hair out with stress.
I get what you’re going through as much as I possibly can and I think this new blog is great for you to vent. I may have to start a caregiver one myself. You’re doing a great job. Your children are loved and know it. They won’t grow up to be spoiled entitled assholes. Seriously, you rock.
This piece of writing with your feelings poured out into it shows how well off your kids really are. Truly. I can’t relate completely, but a good part of me can as well as with my own childhood. Glad I found your blog.
Oh, friend. You are wonderful. And enough… more than enough, even.
Been there, done that and DAMN did it suck. Worrying that I’d never be enough for my son led me to make some really stupid choices that I thought would make things better for him. Hindsight is 20/20 though. Kudos to you for doing it ALL on your own AND for putting it in such eloquent words. Looking forward to reading more.
Twitter: maggistitches
/ Mar 1 2010
I second Val’s emotion. That bad-driving boy didn’t deserve the first truck; his parents are using material goods to make up for what they aren’t giving him. You, on the other hand, are dishing out the love with a big ol’ spoon. More than enough, indeed. XXO
I managed to grow up without daddy issues though I should have them. I was a latchkey kid, with a single mom, struggling to pay for things, and I turned out okay
It must be frustrating to hear those things from other moms, and this was a brave and human post. We can never know what secret demons people are fighting, even those who seem perfect on the outside.
Hang in there. Your sense of humor and down-to-earth ness will go a long way
Twitter: MFAMama
/ Mar 1 2010
Ohhhh do I ever hear you on this one. You totally fit in with ME, not that it’s much, but hey misery, meet company.
Twitter: pattypunker
/ Mar 1 2010
oh you are enough! like any john hughes fan, we all know the coolest kids didn’t fit in and weren’t like anyone else. they were the individuals — and that you are!
loving your kids is the best gift of all. i know they’re going to be awesome just like you.
Thank you for writing this. Our hearts are full of love and our spirits strong so that we may endure all of the things that are thrown our way in whatever shape or form. It is the hardest and best job around.
Twitter: pagalina
/ Mar 1 2010
Wow, very well-written. Ain’t mother-guilt the nastiest, lowest feeling? Even if you could afford lacrosse/tennis would your kids even be interested? They are learning other, i think, better things. Like self-reliance. And I bet they have a lot of respect for you and how hard you work to give them the things they DO have.
Well said. I’m new to single parenthood, but you’ve perfectly captured the feeling of financial insecurity combined with guilt about having to fill two roles to make up for the missing parent.
Very touching post. Have you ever checked out http://www.zoerights.com/? She’s a blogger/single mom in her mid-thirties with a teenage son and teenage daughter and a whole lot of attitude. At times when I read each of your blogs I am reminded of the other.
Wow, this is such a powerful post.
Twitter: hessleman
/ Mar 1 2010
Well, if it makes you feel ANY better, I feel like you’re doing better than me, and I do have a husband–a good one at that. Some people are just better and more natural at mothering and it sounds to me like you are “some people.” Your kids are lucky to have you.
Twitter: jennytalia2009
/ Mar 1 2010
OK – so I’ve never heard of you before
After reading your latest post (which I loved) I went and read over all of your previous posts
And you know what?
You’re fucking awesome. Love the way you write. Love the way you interact with your kids. Love it all
And if the relationship you have with them is because you’re a single parent – I have one husband for sale (cheap)
JT
x
Lara-
On twitter few months ago, for just the briefest moment, I saw your armor crack and I knew you would understand. This comment touched my heart and convinced me I was absolutely right. Thank you for taking the time to share.
Heather-
Thank you for saying that, and for linking to it. It was not easy to write but the blog love I am feeling lets me know I’m not alone.
Jen-
Thank you for turning me on to her and for reading this blog. I’m lucky to have some great people holding my hand!
I loved this entry. Especially because of the false sense of security we all have about ourselves. She seemed jaded, but we’re all one medical disaster away from eating cat food.
Your entry digs deep. You’ve got an honest and legitimate beef and you write so freakin’ well that this was a pleasure to read.
I grew up surrounded by privileged kids and was really grounded as a result, because we had to earn what we got in our house. Now, being a notch higher than a starving artist (one who gets to hit Chipotle for the occasional burrito) I have such a grateful heart for the perspective I got. If your kids are 1/3rd as determined as you are, you won’t have to worry about much of anything.
PS – Your quill is your ticket out of the store. You’ve got great wit, and you know how to spill it onto a keyboard. Writing like this takes serious talent, and you’ve got it in droves. Keep it up!
Twitter: bollbach
/ Mar 1 2010
I absolutely love the conversations with your kids that you’ve posted. Not having kids, it seems obvious to me that the way to raise children is to be honest and reasonable, but all around me I see people treating their kids like strange objects that require weird rules and head games.
I’d take a down to earth, genuine mom over money any day. That sucks about the money, though. Hang in there. We’re all rooting for you.
Twitter: laels_mom
/ Mar 1 2010
I love a mom that keeps it real. I love this post. Like really.
You give me hope.
This post stabbed a fork in my heart and twisted it.
My kid is now 20, in college and doing well. We still struggle. Money is tight. It is still just mostly us, the two of us. I have help from a terrific boyfriend, but those long years of being the only one to do it all still haunt my dreams.
I am amazed at how wonderfully she turned out. I Don’t have any idea how the hell it happened…
Twitter: L8enough
/ Mar 3 2010
i really appreciated this post. im not a single mom and my kids are still little, but i related with struggling to fit in with other moms, the social media scene, the blogosphere, my neighborhood. i WANT to (sometimes), but i feel like my experiences in life — the where-I’m-coming-from — are just so different than most people I meet.
anyway, i’m pretty sure that you ARE enough. because i’ve been told that i am enough and i KNOW that i’m not special. so if i can do this thingamabobber with all my deficiencies, I’ll bet that you are doing a much better job than you realize. plus i always remind myself how resilient kids are. (but that back story would be for another day)
I can’t say I relate to this in any way except that you are human who writes beautifully and through that writing you conveyed a feeling, that I think I know very well, only in a completely different context.
Thanks for posting this and sharing.
I’ve never read you before tonight. Found you through thebloggess.com.
Don’t have teenaged kids. Only have one toddler and another on the way in May.
Married to a great guy. Lucky, lucky me.
I totally love you. Please know that you are enough. Always. My mother did it alone with three of us, just about. (Alone, I mean. There were definitely three.) We all turned out okay. Happy, even. Well-adjusted, on most days.
You are incredible and I’m putting your site on my google reader right now.
Hang in there.
Twitter: subWOW
/ Mar 9 2010
p.s. I lied. I said I was going to stop with the serial commenting. But I am so glad I decided to just read one more post. Just one more. Then I am going to do my taxes. I am so glad I didn’t miss this one. This post seared it. Your place in my bloggy heart. You can curse all your want. Be as glib/facetious as you’d like. I will see you as the wonderful, kind, thoughtful, intelligent person that you are: you didn’t lash out even in your post here, and you didn’t whine nor become bitter in your writing either. I can see why The Bloggess likes your blog. Somehow you remind me of her.
Never been here before, cant say that I know everything you mean, and everything you talk about, because I don’t. But I did love this “No, BEING interested. Fascinated. By that life”. I often find it so hard to find people to relate to, but I also often find myself fascinated by how far their world is form mine, and you captured that feeling beautifully
I was raised by a single mom, just my mom, me, and my younger sister. My mom worked full time and went to school, so there wasn’t a lot of, well, anything. Except love and laughter, that we had a lot of.
I’m a mom, I have two teenage boys. I have a husband who was in the military for 13 long years. I’ve had to be both parents many many times.
We still don’t have BMW’s in a suburb where Hummer’s and Audi’s seem to mate and reproduce over night. Hell, because of the economy we’re living with his grandmother. Who is batshit crazy. Who I take care of. Who just asked me for the fifth time in an hour what’s for dinner. Who I haven’t stabbed in the face with a shovel.
But we do still have love and laughter. I can’t monetarily compete with the other Suburbanite mom’s and I wouldn’t want to. My kids know who The Clash and Siousxie and the Banshee’s are and have been to a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. We have in depth conversations on art, music, life. My kids trust me because I treat them like real people.
Thank you. Thank you for being my kind of mom. The kind of mom that thinks if you fuck up your kids less than your parents fucked you up then you’ve succeeded as a parent.
Found you through SubWOW (Absence of Alternatives. Anyone who can so eloquently show how they relate to Andie is tops in my book. That’s my favorite John Hughes movie ever. I *was* Andie (well, without the ability to make cool clothes) and will forever hold that movie close to my heart. I’m not a parent but I’ve helped to raise my nephew (who is now 15 – 15 really does fucking suck) and the few posts I’ve read of yours so far have gotten me to add you to my reader. I shall now be off to read through the archives (of this site & The Checkout Girl).
Lil – No matter how far I get in life, I will always be Andie. Welcome to my blog. So glad to have you.
Rachael –
Reasons I Adore You:
You haven’t stabbed grandma in the face
Living in the suburbs, but not suburban
The Clash, Siousxie, and Rocky Horror
Kids as real people
Fucking up your kids a little less
We are now internet best friends.
RubyTwoShoes – What a wonderful compliment! Thank you.
write softly – Thank you so much for being supportive for for turning out okay. Welcome!
Ben – Thank you so much. Welcome to my life!
Heather – Sometimes we succeed despite our best efforts to fuck it up, I think. Thanks for reading!
B – Thanks for reading yet another blog of mine, and for sharing. I’m glad we’re friends.
I was raised by a (mostly) single mum my whole life.
I say mostly cause after she left dad when I was 2 there was the drug dealer who was sometimes there for 6 years, then there was a properly single period after we did a runner in the middle of the night (I am not even exaggerating), and now there’s a drunk gambler who works in the coal mines so he’s only there part time too.
My mother made a lot of bad choices.
YOU love your children though. So on any given day, I promise that you have not fucked them up. You have loved them.
You are so awesome.