Kid Grief

I haven't been sure whether to write or post this or not. Frances's struggles to deal with the divorce I've largely tried to keep private. It is her very own first tragedy and I've no business poking around in her head to share her messy feelings and terrors with an audience, especially when I know perfectly well that audiences grow with trauma. But Frances's Take on Adult Relationships is not complete without some glimpse at the other side, in which Mommy and Daddy's new relationships are not happily ever after for a little girl who still misses her family.

As potentially invasive as writing about her grief might be, it would surely be worse if I told the world that she was feeling just fine.

In We're Still Family, Constance Ahrons argues that watching a parent enter into a new relationship is often harder for kids than the initial divorce. Partly because it's another series of changes, partly because children often fear losing their parent's attention and focus to someone else, partly because it can make the divorce itself seem more irrevocable. According to the Experts, there are a lot of things that parents can do to mitigate these effects, including waiting until you're ready to be in a new relationship, taking it slow, keeping plenty of kid-only time, piling on the affection and reassurances, and waiting at least two years after the separation to either move in together or get married. (Thank you, Cat.)

Not that this makes it easy. Frances has responded just as well as I think a kid possibly can--which is no surprise, because that's how she typically does things--but we've still been dealing with a few issues that date from around the time she was told not only that Greg is my boyfriend but that her Dad has a new girlfriend. More big changes for a small girl.

I can't just tuck her in and go at bedtime anymore.

When she asked me a few weeks ago if I could sleep with her "just for a little while" instead, and I said no, she grabbed my arm and said "PLEASE, Mommy," with an edge of desperation in her voice. "OK. Just for a few minutes, though," I said, and climbed in beside her. It's become a habit, and I can no longer just kiss her and go. When I tried it again Sunday night she wandered into my room two minutes later and stood at the foot of my bed. "Hey, kiddo; what's up?" I asked her. Frances burst into tears. "I just wanted you to sleep with me for a few minutes!" she wailed.

So back we went, and I cuddled her, and she went to sleep.

She is asking for a lot more reassurance in her own undemanding way.

For instance, one morning she threw her teddy-bear at me. "Frances!" I scolded. "Are you supposed to throw your toys?"

"No," she said, and got very quiet and serious. I leaned over and kissed her cheek and she grabbed my arm. "You still love me even when I hit you, don't you, Mummy?"

Or how many times each day I now hear, "When I am a grandma and you are a grandma you will still take care of me, won't you, Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetpea, I will." How scary it must look when your Mommy and Daddy stop loving each other and start loving other people. Maybe it could happen to you, too. Maybe they could stop loving you and fall in love with another little girl. "For as long as you want me to take care of you, I will take care of you."

"I will always want you to take care of me," she says with great assurance.

The saddest has been the missing.

Especially for the first few days after the Boyfriend Talk, she missed her Daddy and cried about it a lot. And she missed her old house and cried about that too. I asked her what about the old house she missed. "I miss the roof," she said. "And I miss the bottom part. I miss the frogs in the backyard. I miss the flat part. I miss NB."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," I said. "That's a lot of things for a little girl to miss. It must be so hard. You've lost a lot of things. I wish I could give them to you."

"I wish you lived in Daddy's house," she said.

It was the first time she voiced anything like a wish for a reconciliation.

I remember when Erik and Frances and I all used to snuggle up in the big bed with Frances in the middle, back when she was a baby and toddler, and she would roll back and forth and grin in utter delight at seeing her two favourite people both smiling back at her. She's lost that and I can't get it back for her. I can give her other things that are at least as worthwhile in their place--a sane mother, for example, or a better relationship model, or better communication skills. But can she understand any of that at four?

The most flummoxing has been the--I don't even know what to call it. I can't call it defiance, but it's as close as I've ever seen Frances get to it. "Frances, sweetie. It's time to get dressed. Frances. Frances? Hello? It's time to get dressed. Honey, put down the toys. It's not play time. It's time to get dressed." She doesn't rebel or tantrum. She doesn't do anything; in fact, she gives no indication she's heard a word I've said.

As four-year-old misbehaviour goes, it's pretty mild. It slows me down in the morning and that's about it. What's going on in her head when she's pretending that the person standing right beside her and speaking right into her ear isn't actually there? Is she angry at me, and expressing it in a safely passive-aggressive way? Is she feeling too rushed and like she doesn't have enough playtime? Is she stressed or unhappy and not sure how to express it? Is it just a typical stage? Is it the result of eating too many blueberries? Who knows.

All I know is, it's not like her, and given everything else that's going on in her life, the very last thing I want to do is get into a power struggle with her--about anything, but especially about the trivial stuff she ends up ignoring me over. ("Frances, do you want apple juice or water with dinner? Frances? Frances? Hello? Frances McBean, I'm asking you a question. Apple juice or water? Hey!") Because I know her well enough to know that when she is feeling happy and secure, most of the time, she is a charming, social, well-behaved, people-pleasing kind of little person. So.

So. In a few weeks we're both going to be at school, and one of the unvoiced promises I've made her is that I will make sure we have more time together then than we do now. I will make sure that however I arrange my homework and working out and writing, it will leave me with more time to spend with Frances than I currently have--because that's one of the reasons I'm doing this. And we will spend that time doing things that she likes doing, that she gets to choose, as much as I possibly can. I'll arrange the morning schedule to give her more time to dawdle. We'll keep talking about feelings (oh the conversations about feelings we've been having these last few weeks!) and how it's ok to be angry or hurt and I'll still love her no matter what. I'll slather her up with reassurance and affection and attention and see if that can bring back her nuclear smiles.

Posted by Andrea at 10:00 AM under Single Momming
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The Lenses in the Pink-Coloured Glasses

At my nephew's recent first birthday party--who, by the way, is enormous; at one year he is already several pounds heavier than Frances is at four-and-a-half, and is almost as tall--he and Frances were playing with his trucks and cars and balls and the rocket-ship we gave him (complete with astronauts, space dog, alien, moonbuggy and crater).

"Look at them," said someone whose anonymity I have decided to preserve: "Frances is such a little girl, and Lukas is such a boy!"

They were playing together with the same toys. Those toys were mostly "boy" toys. It's true they were playing with them differently. Frances formed her trucks into tribes of friends and families and had them rolling across the floor and talking to each other, whereas Lukas was mostly banging them into the hardwood while crowing "duh!" because he's only one.

But Frances was wearing a pink dress and her long hair was left down, whereas Lukas wore a set of blue overalls and his hair--such as it exists to this point--is short.

Not that either of them chose their hair or outfits. I chose Frances's pink dress and I decide how long her hair grows; ditto with Lukas.

Several adults nodded approvingly at the anonymous adult's comment.

I remembered the hour we had spent that morning before the party playing with red Spiderman and black Spiderman, how she had delighted in showing me the way that red Spiderman can shoot webs from his hands to catch bad guys. I remembered her current best friend at daycare--a boy--and the many times I'd watched them play with the big bucket full of dinosaurs. I remembered every time she had pointed out a Ninja Turtle or Transformer in the toystore. I remembered her many complaints that she does not have enough plates to make a fence or a house with her toolset; her delight at catching frogs; her comfort in dirty jeans and t-shirts; her love of lego and other building toys; the way her Barbie lies neglected in the bottom of the toy basket.

And, yes, how she loves to nurture Baby Eloise and turn all of her toys into families sometimes. But, on the whole, I'd hardly characterize Frances as a girly-girl.

Unless you are bound and determined to see her that way.

Based, I repeat, on a pink dress and a haircut.

Why do we put so much time and energy into determining the conformism of each child with gender stereotypes, to the point of seeing it when it isn't there?

At this point, I'd say Frances is a child with an impressive diversity of interests. She likes colouring and painting and craft projects using cut-and-paste and buttons and pipe cleaners and sparkly glue and mummy's scrapbooking leftovers. She likes to take photographs. She likes jumping in mud-puddles. She likes superheroes and picture books, trucks and dolls, naptimes for her Little People and building them houses out of lego and turning her Wedgits into cakes (by the way, Wedgits are a fabulous toy, my new favourite). She likes playing with her Calico Critters in their dollhouse; she likes her long-neck dinosaurs and all their little friends; she likes flowers and stars and planets and mud and frogs and fairies and fantasy stories and knights and horses and castles and amusement parks. I can't categorize her as girly/boyish/tomboy/whatever, and I don't see the point in trying. She's herself. She's Frances.

Why does anybody else care? Why does anyone ever put any time or interest into determining the degree of any child's adherence to gender stereotypes? How does it help us better parent or teach or befriend a child, ever? In what way does it ever benefit them not to simply see them as themselves, as full and complex little people who are still figuring out what they like and who they want to be?

Posted by Andrea at 9:23 AM under Female Trouble
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Frances's Take on Adult Relationships

All of the Experts agree that it is best to be honest about the status of your new relationship with your child relatively quickly, and as we all know, parenting Experts are never ever wrong. So, thinking to myself that Frances and Greg might be spending some more time together over the fall and winter, I decided to come clean with the WBPE, BN, and tell her that Greg is my boyfriend. "So ... what do you think about that?" I asked her.

Frances: I think it's great!

Andrea: You do? Oh!

Frances: Greg is nice. I like him.

Andrea: Awww, that's great.

Frances: Yeah. He's my friend, even when he's big.

Phew.

Of course nothing is ever over quickly and simply with young children, so the next morning over breakfast Frances says, "Greg has a girlfriend!"

Andrea: Yes he does.

Frances: You are Greg's girlfriend!

Andrea: That's true, I am.

Frances: Do you love him?

Andrea: [pause. How much information is too much information at four? Do I need to reassure her that I love her more? Ack!] Yes. Yes I do.

[silence]

Andrea: So ... how do you feel about this?

Frances: I think it makes you expensive.

Andrea: Expensive?

Frances: Yeah.

Andrea: Expensive!

Frances: Yeah.

[silence]

Andrea: Why does it make me expensive?

Frances: Because you love him.

Andrea: Oh.

It was right about there that I gave up. Frankly, I don't think such a conversation could go better at that age, and if a little bit of english had to get mangled in the process, I'm willing to pay that price.

Up until now Frances and Greg have not had much to do with each other. I see Greg when Frances is at her Dad's house, with one exception; they have only met each other twice and both times casually and briefly. The last thing I want to do is expose Frances to more potential loss. She still tells me that she misses the old house, her old daycare teacher, her best friend at that daycare, the little boy who lived next door, the frogs in the backyard. It's been a year. I thought, since I can't guarantee that a relationship I have will be permanent and that therefore I won't have to worry about her losing him, that I'd try something else.

"If we ever broke up, and if Frances wanted to, would you let her stay friends with you?"

"Of course!"

"OK."

"I've stayed friends with all my exes. I even became an honorary "uncle" to Little N, who I adore, almost a decade after her mom and I had dated."

"I know. But I have to ask, I can't just assume."

"I know. And if that ever happened I would tell her that myself. She's a great kid. Why wouldn't I want to still see her grow up?"

"Well, I know I think that way, and I'm not biased at all--but I have to be careful where Frances is concerned."

"I know you do. And the answer is yes, I've thought about this too. But it's not going to happen because, as I've said before, I'm keeping you."

Just over a week ago Greg came over and played Calico Critters with Frances while I made up spaghetti with homemade meatballs and tomato sauce (I even pureed the sauce so Frances wouldn't reject it for having 'plants' in it--aka basil--which has got to earn me a few SuperMom points). Then we played Sorry, as you've already read, and watched an episode of Walking With Dinosaurs on DVD, in which a mommy and daddy proto-mammal ate their own young to escape from a couple of mean miniature dinosaurs. Greg and I exchanged horrified glances over her head. "Isn't that nice!" said Frances. "The brother and sister are sharing!"

Big sigh of relief. Catastrophe averted. Successful day all around.

On another single mom blog I read, MsSingleMama, there was a troll who hung around for a day or two dispensing his invaluble wisdom for romance for the single mother, to wit: you are damaged goods, and if you expect to find love again, you'd better lower your expectations and be ready to be extra sweet, extra forgiving, extra generous to compensate for the innate burden of your children. His girlfriend is apparently a single mother who I suppose must have fallen for this line of horseshit. I happen to think that Frances is a pretty amazing person and anyone who gets to spend time around her is lucky, even if that cuts into spontaneous road trips and seeing new releases in the theatre. It's lovely to be with someone who feels the same way. And now I get to relax a little bit and let them get to know each other a little more.

Posted by Andrea at 9:41 AM under Single Momming
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Anti-Anniversary

(Now is when I meant to publish this. Apologies to those who saw it a few weeks back.)

It was a year ago that I moved out of the house with Erik and into my apartment. I have the same attitude towards that year that most of you do--where the hell did it go?--but also a strange sort of gratitude, that Frances and I have made it this far already and we seem to be doing ok.

Not perfect. OK. This, mind you, is more than good enough, considering how many days this past winter I sat down on the couch and cried, thinking, "I can't do this. Why did I think I could do this?"

As it turns out, I can. I just have to give up on frivolous goals like being well-rested. As it turns out, it's even good for me in some ways. I have 63,000 words written on my novel, a stack of acceptance letters for other writing projects (and a stack of rejections, which I'm proud of if only because it shows that I am working on it), a six-day-a-week working out habit, a freezer full of healthy leftovers for midweek suppers, a new career adventure I'm embarking on in two (ack!) weeks, a boyfriend and a relatively busy social calendar (for me). I try to figure out why none of this happened while I was married (with the exception of the boyfriend, which is self-explanatory) when I had more time, more rest and more help. I think it's because all of my personal goals were construed as selfish within the context of that relationship. As it turns out, being selfish feels pretty good. It's my favourite part of being single(ish--see boyfriend, above).

My least favourite part is the lack-of-sleep bit.

I wish I could say that Frances is as OK as I am. She is happy most of the time, but she misses her Daddy. She misses the old house and asks me sometimes if we will ever move back there. It breaks my heart to say no.

For so many reasons it was the right thing to do, including Frances's long-term best interests. I don't regret my decision, though I often regret that it was necessary. But here we are, a year in. So far so good. Here's hoping for better-and-better.

Posted by Andrea at 9:11 AM under Single Momming
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And now for some comic relief

Frances: Do you know how giraffes hug?

Andrea: No, I don't.

Frances: They go like this [wiggles her head and neck] and wrap their necks around people and animals. And frogs.

~~~~~

Frances: Mabamabamabamaba!

Andrea: Stoogooboodoo.

Frances: [laughs hard] Eenaeenaeenaeena!

Andrea: Flabiffty!

Frances: [laughs harder] Eeyoeeyoeeyoeeyoee!

Andrea: baboobaboobaboodee!

Frances: [face flat] That's not funny, Mummy.

~~~~~

[playing Sorry]

Andrea: So I'll use 4 to move this guy to this slide, and the other 3 to move this guy to this slide.

Greg: Another slide! Your mommy is smart.

Frances: Yes, but I am smarter.

~~~~~

NB: Frances, do you want to play outside?

Frances: No.

NB: Noooo? Oh! But I want to play outside! Will you want to play outside later?

Frances: Maybe.

NB: In how many minutes?

Frances: Eleven?

NB: But last time you said four, so this time you have to say three.

NB's Dad: Maybe Frances just wants to stay warm, NB.

[a few minutes later]

NB: Frances, do you want to play outside?

Frances: No. I just want to stay warm.

Posted by Andrea at 9:03 AM under Beanie Baby Brags
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