All in a Week's Work--Susan Briscoe

I suppose it wasn't such an unusual week. My elder son ran away from school (better than running away from home) on Tuesday. A few days later, displaying his flair for dramatic acts, he tried to escape from playroom clean-up duty by climbing out the second floor window. Hanging from the window ledge by his scrawny arms, he panicked and yelled for help. Fortunately, we managed to get him down with only a scratch.
Then on Friday, my four-year-old had a mega-tantrum which necessitated me carrying him up the long, steep hill to our home, all the while with him twisting and trying to kick, punch, scratch, bite, and head butt me, screaming at the top of his very strong lungs "YOU SHITTY MOM, YOU BITCHY BITCH MOM!"

When I had to put him down to rest my arms for a moment, he looked me in the eye, his face red and twisted in hatred, and deliberately and as forcefully as he could (remember his strong lungs) snorted out thick streams of snot at me. This, I must concede, was a brilliant and original expression of his disgust with me, a true inspiration, even better than a spit in the face. Part of me was, of course, angry, but another part frankly admired the intensity of his fury and its pure, unrepressed expression.

Later, as I attempted to lecture him, not the least bit contrite, about respecting his mother, I rhetorically asked him who loved him more than anyone else in the world. His answer: "my daddy"-the father who abandoned him at birth, and hasn't been heard from in years. I guess I set myself up for that one.
Sometimes, finding the joy in single parenting is very challenging. But with a little detachment, even the worst moments can be looked at from another angle, with another attitude, and something positive can be discovered.

When my first child had tantrums, I took them pretty personally. Now a veteran mom, I have learned to react a little less to my kids' emotions. I realised as I trudged up the hill, my arms aching, that there was a great deal of humour in the situation. A small part of me was worrying about what the neighbours would think, and that was linked to the part that was angry at him. When I let that go, I was mostly just annoyed at the extra physical exertion. But then again, we had gone out for our walk in the first place because I wanted some exercise.


But I am not always able to be this detached, and I often get angry. Even worse is when I slip into the familiar old shoes of self-pity and despair, shuffling through days and weeks of depression. Being a single parent is challenging, often to the point of being inhumane. But in my better moments, I am grateful for the many, many lessons it has offered me.