Owning the holidays

I have a major bugaboo about Thanksgiving. It's never been a particularly friendly holiday for me, ironically. Started when my childhood home was damaged by fire, and water hose, and smoke, the day before Thanksgiving and caused long-lasting emotional turmoil in our family for some time thereafter.

Then there was the annual bout of strep throat that typically left me unable to eat in subsequent years (psychosomatic or not) for the Big Dinner.

The many years feeling out of place at other family's dinners when I was transplanted to the East Coast and could afford only to come home at Christmas.

The dinner with friends when we didn't understand that defrosting would require days in the refrigerator, not a bacteria-brewing day on the countertop.

My own skewed perceptions that Thanksgiving is for giant cuddly family time with extended relatives arriving and filling up the house. My actual family always consisted of two parents (still together, which is an amazing blessing), one brother, one grandparent. My dad had one sister and step-family we never saw. My mom has one brother.

Last year the kids and I visited my grandmother in the nursing home. Not quite warm and fuzzy, but important. It was my last major holiday with her before she died.

The next day I marched into an Apple store to replace my three-month-old computer because of a hot chocolate spill. I was feeling highly stressed about that and other personal matters that could not be fixed....and within moments was sobbing uncontrollably in front of the Apple sales guy.

Many of us have our own stories of unhappy holidays that didn't fulfill our expectations. Sometimes we dread the holidays because it forces us to interact with family members who don't understand us, or our choices. Or we watch nieces and nephews joyous and exuberant and cute, feeling a bit invisible because we don't yet have children of our own to celebrate with them. Or it becomes the occasion for younger sister to announce her engagement to Perfect Man. Or it simply becomes an exhausting time of shopping, wrapping and traveling with our little ones, putting Bah Humbug into our already stressful life.

Of course, some of us embrace the holidays as an opportunity to do service in the community, to show our older children about what it means to give.

And many of us LOVE the holidays, as a time to celebrate rituals with loved ones.

I'm writing today to tell you how, this year, I OWNED my Thanksgiving.

The kids and I had a few invitations to dinners. I considered hosting. My Mom -- warm and toasty with Dad and friends in Arizona -- had that "sorry" sound in her voice when she heard that we intended to stay home alone.

But what the kids and I did with our Thanksgiving is create our own ritual. We stayed in our pajamas all day. We each picked four things we wanted to do.

The list was not the usual TO DO list that usually takes over. It consisted of: craft (flying paper turkeys on a hanger), puzzle (Transformers), cooking (chicken with beer can up its butt, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, fancy bread), manicures and massage (yes, my son is still sporting his pink nails proudly), Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium (all three of us cuddled together on couch with hot chocolate and popcorn), disco party (to Hedwig!), and more.

We had a three-member-family extravaganza. And it was deliriously brilliant.

And there's more: that Apple sales guy? He was part of this year's ritual as well. The kids and I made a gift basket to celebrate my store breakdown. Because since then, his cousin has been responsible for helping me get the Choice Chat podcast running smoothly, and for producing my first CD for Choice Moms, about answering the "Do I Have a Dad?" question. His brother has become my tech consultant and resident handyman. And the sales guy himself has recently become my webcast developer, currently working with me on a Choice Moms DVD about "building your support network."

OWN your rituals. Take the REINS. DO what you can. LET GO of what you can't. BUILD your network.

There is much to give thanks for, when we keep moving forward to create our own meaningful short-term and long-term communities.

On reliability, support and independence

I recently returned from a second networking workshop for Choice Moms, which I conducted in the San Francisco Bay Area, following up a similar event in New York City last month.

Putting them back-to-back, what have I learned about the Choice Mom community?

Yes, we are strongly self-sufficient, intelligent, fun women. And yes, we derive a great deal of strength from being able to meet, connect, share. But there were surprises.

In New York City, the conversation circle about "grieving the dream" was bursting at the seams with participants (topic of our latest podcast). Single Mother by Choice founder Jane Mattes' talk about "Answering the Daddy Question" was wonderfully humorous and reassuring (now captured as part of a 50-minute CD available in the ChoiceMoms.org Products section). In the Bay Area, the small group talking about at-home insemination was insightful and warm. The large group interested in discussing "parenting over 40" had to be moved to a bigger space.

The group chat about Choice Mom survival tricks (which you'll hear soon on an upcoming podcast) focused in both cities on the importance of support networks, and being able to ask for help.

Two aspects of the Choice journey that I've benefited greatly from.

Before having my kids, I could do everything alone. This was a point of pride. Also a lack of faith in being able to trust others.

We need to be able to rely on other people. When there isn't anyone dependable around -- a true partner -- we can become bitter about it...defensive about it (I don't really need anyone anyway)...joke about being 'control freaks'...perhaps melt down every once in awhile...simply do the turtle shell retreat and build our life around no one else.

And then our kids arrive, and we can't possibly do it alone. First we need someone to watch the baby while we nap, or to cook a few dinners (see recent Becoming blog). Then we need a stranger to carry our stroller down a flight of stairs while we tote groceries and baby. Our baby gets sick and -- panicked and exhausted and unable to leave home -- we call on a neighbor to pick up medicine.

And they do.

And we are amazed. We are touched. We are grateful for the reminder that good people exist who will help us, if we let them, if we ask.

We get better at recognizing who adds to our life, rather than takes away. We re-prioritize who we want in our life. Slowly, as our exhaustion with a newborn and our distraction with a toddler gives way, we find ourselves with school-aged kids and we're open to getting involved -- involved! -- with school activities, church events, recreational pursuits, social life, ME time.

We look around and see how much stronger our lives are because of all the new people in it.

It's not easy to trust this will happen before you get there. In the Bay Area, on a gray day, not-yet-moms talked about fears of always being alone. New moms talked about being too fatigued to feel connected to anyone else. And with toddlers running free, making new friends, occasionally forcing moms to leap to their feet for intervention, there also emerged a great, bonding energy. The high that comes from recognizing that we aren't alone -- people with similar values are around us, rising to meet similar challenges, able and willing to offer insight that can help us take a new step if we need it.

We learn, through our kids, that what makes us strong is not our independence, but our interdependence.

We learn and grow, not simply from virtual connections online, but from real, live interactions when we can look someone in the eye and recognize something of ourselves there.

Emily wrote: "I just wanted to thank you for hosting a wonderful event last weekend. I really enjoyed connecting with real people after all these months of digital and written, relatively silent thinking and doing."

Fiona said: "What a supportive group of women you managed to bring together. I've never felt so sure of the decision I was making!"

Felicia reported: "I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to be surrounded by strong, funny, insightful like minded women. Especially for a group like us, who often don't feel we get the support we would like to have. You may have support from some friends and some family...but there is something almost sacred about being amongst others like ourselves, who truly get it. It feels very warm and safe."

As I write this, Garrison Keillor is on the headphones and these words slide out in his marvelously melodious voice: "It's November. Winter's coming. We need warmth. We need life. So we reach out for each other."

That's what being a mother helps us do, so much more consciously than we ever did when we were truly single.


Where should we reach out in 2009? I'm collecting input about which cities should host the next 2 or 3 Choice Mom networking events. Please vote here.

Living our one life with pride of ownership

Visiting minister Keith Kron told our Unitarian Universalist church a story a few weeks ago about The Possum. And it's still sticking with me.

The story was about this mysterious creature who took up residence upside down on the tree across from a cafe where magical things tended to happen. He hung there, bringing residents together in wonder, until a distant neighbor, living alone in grief after the death of his spouse, visited the cafe. The man's encounter with the possum helped him realize his next purpose in life: taking in stray animals on his lonely farm. The possum's work was done and he magically disappeared as unexpectedly as he had come.

Keith Kron also told his own personal story of finding new meaning in a magical way. As a gay teacher in a conservative area from a traditional religious family, he made a new connection and had a revelation: he was unhappily living four separate lives. He was keeping parts of his identity private, never wholly integrated. He shared certain stories with some people, other stories elsewhere. As a consequence, he never felt he was able to take full pride of ownership in who he was.

It takes a willingness to be vulnerable, to merge parts of your private life with your public life, in order to live fully open and wide to what the world does have to offer. It takes a measure of risk to be willing to let go of secret identities and multiple lives in order to intregrate and tell your one story.

His ultimate message is that in order to feel the magic of our purpose in life, we have to tell our stories without shame and live our one life.

When we are Thinkers on the Choice Mom journey, some of us are fearful of how others might react to the choices we are making. Some of us worry that we won't find acceptance from family and peers and colleagues. We sometimes grieve for what we don't have, and project that sense of loss onto the child who is not yet with us, wondering if they will be angry someday about growing up without a father. We might feel shame that in this one area of our life -- finding a life partner -- success has eluded us.

After we become Moms, I've noticed that we tend to realize that what others think of our choice no longer matters to us as much. WE know what motherhood offers us. The only opinion that matters is that of our child, and as they grow older -- generally happy and healthy -- we can breathe easier. We feel more free to tell our story proudly.

In the coming year, it is my goal to bring more of us together as a community so that our pride of ownership in Choice Motherhood can be shared by women who need to feel our strength.

As proactive, resourceful women, we have a lot to be happy about. We are creating new meaning in our lives, with rules that might not work for everyone, but that work for us and our children.

The energy of Thinkers and Moms who connected at the recent Choice Moms networking workshop in New York City was a great reminder for me that we need more opportunities to find magic and inspiration from each other.

I've got five cities in mind as destinations for these gatherings in 2009. But I'd like to hear from you. Where should we meet? Where should we hang up our possum and share our stories so that more of us can discover from each other what we need to learn in order to take the next logical steps in our individual journeys?

The daddy question

In an upcoming Choice Chat podcast we'll have some excellent insight from experts about how to address the daddy question as our kids' questions become more sophisticated over time.

It's a frequent topic of conversation among Choice Moms.

Here's what some of them have been reporting:

Maya said her 3-year-old son looked at a male adult friend of theirs and called him daddy. She wondered how to respond.

Darla pointed out that it can be common for kids to get something into their head, but they usually self-correct over time. She said she herself was being called 'mom' by a friend's nearly 3-year-old daughter. "We've both tried correcting her but she just smiles and ignores us and continues to call me mom...I vaguely remember my son doing things like that when he was learning to speak. If you look at the way kids learn language, they take a rule that they've learned and try to apply it in other situations so sometimes they just get it wrong until they learn the correct rule. A mild correction, like "His name is so-and-so," should suffice until your son figures it out.

What about you? What situations have you encountered with your children, or your children's friends, and how did you handle it?

Having two

Jennifer asks:

I am a Choice Mom to a wonderful 2.5 year old little boy. I am thinking about having a 2nd baby, hoping for a girl. My question for other Choice Moms is: If you have made the choice or thinking, what are the deciding factors in having the second baby? How do you get by? Always the money question!!! I have a wonderful family, just lost my Mom and number one fan in March. Grandpa and Uncle are semi hands on, but adding an infant to the mix is not a good thing. So many things to think about. What was the deciding factor that made you go for it?

Any insight will help.

Podcast: The Mr. Good Enough debate

When Lori Gottlieb wrote an article about the merits of settling for Mr. Good Enough (Atlantic Monthly, March 2008), it set off a firestorm of debate within the Choice Mom community and across the U.S. in general. We talk on the Choice Chat podcast (posted today) with Lori about the strong responses she's gotten from people on both sides of the discussion. We also talk openly with Choice Mom Lily about the sometimes shamed viewpoint even within our own community that single parenting can be incredibly rewarding but also can be a lonely path.

Catch up on the discussion by listening to the podcast, then post your comments here.

-- Mikki

using the "dad" term

One of several interesting and warm-hearted threads on the Choice Mom discussion board this week was started by a woman who mentioned that her child, not quite 3, was starting to refer to a male family friend as "dad." She wondered what to do about it.

She's been getting great advice from the Choice Mom community -- largely related to offering simple, non-fussy correction.

But it's a common stage for Choice Moms to start wondering, as our kids begin talking, about how much we should worry about what they are thinking and to what extent we need to do something about it....and what that step should be. We tend to be afraid that each moment is important enough to have a lasting effect. I remember being very concerned when my daughter started to take a huge interest in princess-and-prince stories when she was 3/4 that it was a reflection on her need for a father....

It took awhile before I discovered that roughly 98 percent of girls that age love princess-and-prince stories.

Now that I have a little hindsight -- my daughter is 9 -- I can reflect better on another stage she had. Once upon a time she used to say she had 3 daddies -- her donor dad, my ex-husband (who we're close with but who I divorced 6 years before she was born), and, after I married a second time, her stepdad.

Now that she's 9 and knows what the term "dad" really means, she doesn't use that for any of them. She simply calls them by their first names.

I think it's fine for kids to play around with the terminology, as long as you very simply let them know it's not real. In my case, I used to tell my daughter only, "wow, you're lucky to have THREE dads." And within a few months she was past that stage.

When I was about 7, I knew about the brother I had who died at birth before I was born. Somehow this took on great meaning for me -- I longed for a big brother at that time, since I was having some issues I was afraid to tell my parents about. It was around the time of the Vietnam War, and I started telling classmates that I had a brother in the war...and eventually that he died there.

I grew out of this stage about a year later (and my parents didn't know about it, so they never corrected me). To this day, I do recognize in me, in times of greater emotional stress, that longing for a big brother to put his arm around me and say everything will be all right.

Sometimes our kids will long for a dad...or a sibling...or a dog...or a Wii. Longing is okay, especially if they feel comfortable letting us know about it in subtle or not-so-subtle ways. And I don't think, when we look at it in the long run, that it is something for us to feel guilty about. Unless we tell them not to long for anything.

-- Mikki

Finding Community 2

Have had a really great week of finding the wonderful things about life and community, and thought I'd share some of it -- may be useful to be able to remember. It is an election year here in the U.S., after all, which sometimes seems to bring out the worst in people.

This week started when a bunch of involved parents came over to spend a Saturday morning sorting bottle tops and Betty Crocker labels to earn money for the school.

A few days later I saw the great Eddie Izzard (U.K. comedian), who uses his wonderfully intelligent platform about religion, ancient civilizations, and evolution to point out our responsibility to lift up our communities.

Another set of parents came over to discuss how to advocate on behalf of our school district for much needed funding, especially for our English-as-a-second-language programs.

A wonderful young man who recently fell into my path offered more than 10 hours of his time to help me improve my Choice Chat podcast.

I helped chaperone a busload of third graders on a 10-hour field trip. Many of these kids were overjoyed to see dairy cows in the fields enroute, and giant rainbows in the sky on the way back. A friend of one of the teachers took the day off work to grill hot dogs and burgers, ready upon our arrival, after 2.5 hours of driving, at a picnic place.

Finally, today, I attended my favorite Unitarian Universalist tradition at my church -- the one that led me to join in the first place -- when a few of the 9th graders performed their Coming of Age spiritual statements in front of the congregation. It always brings a tear to my eye to see how amazingly mature these 15-year-olds can be, thanks in part to the great parenting and the church community that surrounds them.

There was the entertaining young man who created a film to show his belief in nature, energy, music and technology. The remarkably poised young woman I had the privilege to mentor who believes in the magic of a long run, of seeing light shine through the leaves, and of the piece of music she played for us on the piano (The Girl with the Flaxen Hair"). The quirky Molly Ringwald-like (ala Pretty in Pink) young woman, who had such eloquent points to make that I'm also writing about her in the "Thinking" blog. And another young man I taught two years ago at this church who has already surpassed my expectations of what a thoughtful, talented person he will become.

There are so many good spirits out there. Weeks like this I am profoundly reminded how great is the source of community connection when we find the right place to be -- for ourselves, for our children. Keep attuned to new experiences and new people and we'll find the Good Ones who add so much without even trying.

-- Mikki

Dealing with big "ouches"

from Mikki

The Choice Mom discussion board this week has been discussing another juicy topic: coping with our children's emotional pain, which was launched by a post about biracial children (more on that in another blog). It coincided with an interview I had with someone this week about how Choice Moms celebrate Father's Day. And my own concern that I have to fly out the day of my daughter's birthday in a few days so that I can do an interview on the PBS all-female news show "To the Contrary."

These three things have in common the syndrome of "Mama pain."

Not to discount the emotional pain our kids do go through, but sometimes we forget to recognize the prism we look through as Mothers who love our children more than anything else. We don't want them to ever feel lonely, or hurt, or lost, or left out, or frozen with fear.

Of course, sometimes they will. As Mom, it's excruciating.

On the front end, before we're mothers, we worry about whether we'll pass our home study, which donor sounds right in the audiotape, which doctor to use. Some of the enlightened who have the option these days plan further ahead, looking for open-identity donors or open birth placement for our as-yet-unknown-children, to help them avoid psychic pain they might otherwise have about their identity.

When they are babies and toddlers, we worry about them falling down, putting things in their mouth that shouldn't be there, the earache that keeps them up at night. And we do our best to deal with their emotional issues: the kid who took the toy away, the fact that mom wants to drag them away from the playground, fear of the dark.

As our kids mature, they struggle with things that are much more emotional and serious...and difficult for Mom to know how to talk through. Why a best friend isn't a friend anymore. The death of a classmate, or grandparent, or dog. What they have in common with an anonymous donor. Why a birth parent placed them for adoption. Achievement anxiety. Not getting picked for a sports team. Being bullied. Being teased. Being left out. Not looking the same as his/her parent, or most of his/her classmates. Not having a father. Having a lesbian parent. Not having as much money as other families at school, and feeling shame. Recognizing that an uncle is an alcoholic, and not understanding it.

The most difficult thing for Mom is to see them struggling -- and know you cannot fix it or make it go away. We can "only" talk with them.

With that talking comes the difficult task of figuring out what it is that actually bothers them. Not clouded by the prism of what does or does not bother Mom.

I was racked with guilt and sorrow at the thought of leaving my daughter behind on her birthday so I could fly somewhere for an interview. I asked her if she wanted to fly with me. She said not if it would cost me money. She also doesn't like the idea of being away from school on her birthday, when friends can acknowledge it with her. Ouch. She's turning nine, and that transition to the importance of friends, compared to family, is right around the corner.

She said she will be sad if I cannot be with her that night after school to celebrate her birthday, but I know she will live with it better than I will. I still vividly remember our first night together on the day she was born. Wanting to look at her all night, and be with her every moment, even though I was exhausted. To her, it is much more about an excuse to have a party.

I think Father's Day is another occasion that might bother some of us, as Moms, more than our kids. It also might bother some of our kids more than it does us. Another important distinction to come into focus in the Mom prism.

A group of Choice Moms I know take their kids camping Father's Day weekend, just to have something special to do. Others honor grandfathers and uncles. Some plan to create reunions with half-siblings, to commemorate their link to the unknown anonymous donor they share. One woman suggests volunteering with the kids at a soup kitchen that day, so they can learn as a family to respect what they have, rather than what they do not.

An interesting idea one Choice-Mom-in-the-making learned from another single parent is to celebrate with a son the Father that he might become someday: collecting stories and mementoes and advice about the Man-in-the-making. It will naturally reflect the mother's hopes at first, but gradually transition into the boy's own aspirations.

I love this idea in many ways. How many of us actually take the time to discuss with our kids the kind of parent and adult they might someday be?

For our daughters on Father's Day, an extension of the idea might be to ponder together the kind of person we hope to share the awesome responsibility of parenting with someday. Recognition of values to find in a true partner. Encouragement that pursuing that partner is good, even if Mom has found the pursuit elusive, or is doing well alone.

Then Mom's role is to step back, year by year, and let our child fill in the picture on an annual basis of what kind of relationships they want to have in their life -- what values are important to them. Parenting in a nutshell.

We cannot make their ouches go away. Or even predict what they will be. We can only know that there will be things that trouble them. And that they will, for the most part, have to get through them in their own way.

What we can offer them is a great deal of conversation in order to give them the tools, before we send them on their 80 percent merry way.

What do you think? What emotional pain do you worry about with your children? How do you plan to spend Father's Day as a single mom?

Finding community

In recent weeks I've been reminded deeply of the very strong power that community can provide, and wanted to use the emotions of the moment to reiterate to Choice Moms the value of extending your networks as head of a household.

My mother's father died when she was 9, and her brother was 6. My grandmother was a pretty woman who had no particular ambitions other than to raise her family, but she sent her kids to relatives for a year, went through cosmetology school in the big city, and opened up her own beauty shop in their small hometown until after her kids were grown. She had loyal customers, who undoubtedly also understood how hard she was working to keep things together for her kids. She purposely decided not to remarry until her kids were grown.

More than 60 years later, earlier this year, my mom's 6-foot-1 brother had a dizzy spell, fell in his bathroom, broke his neck, and became a quadriplegic. He spent a month in ICU, fighting off pneumonia and other things, before being moved elsewhere for therapy. The medical bills are, of course, huge, and he is not a wealthy man.

Former neighbors helped the three kids launch a spaghetti dinner and $1-per-ticket raffle fundraiser. Dozens of people offered wonderful donations for the raffle, including new iPods and digital camera. An estimated 300 people showed up on a Saturday afternoon to buy a $10 plate of spaghetti (one man paid $200 for his), with the food and hall donated by two of my uncle's American Legion buddies. In all, the afternoon raised $11,000.

My uncle is not a "special" man. He has always been a loyal dad, who tried to make ends meet in simple ways. He loves to talk, enjoyed his time at the American Legion, and continued to work past retirement age, ironically, driving disabled people in a van. He tried to visit his mother every Sunday in the nursing home.

My uncle was vaulted into a special place in his community once he and his family needed support. Attendees at the fundraiser included a grizzled man from the Legion who said he missed seeing my uncle at the bar, a woman who had met him briefly in conversation shortly before his fall and marveled at how open and friendly he was, the grandson of a long-time friend, members of their church, and so many more.

Finding community, who will freely offer support when we need it, can be found in the simplest of ways. But we have to be out of the house, often apart from our parental role, in order to be found and to find.

Some of that same extended network was at work a few weeks later for the family, when my 96-year-old grandmother died. Although all of her many cousins, her four sisters, and all but one of her friends had died, it was the next generation that stood together for the family at the burial site in her hometown, decades after she and my mother (and my uncle) had left. My grandmother had maintained contact with families that my mother had barely known when she was growing up. And it was those families that stood with her at the cemetery to help her say goodbye.

As I wrote in the "Choosing Single Motherhood" book several years ago, I had become isolated in my professional life in New York City. It's not until I shook off the work cloak a bit after my daughter was born that I reprioritized, relocated, and reinvested in a community life that now includes the Unitarian Universalist church, school parents, Choice Moms, old high school friends, and even new families.

I still have a long way to go to feel as secure in my community as I'd like -- to feel reassured that if something even closer to home happened, my kids would have the support and connections they need. But it's something I will always keep my eyes open for, especially now that I've been reminded of how vital it is to be surprised and touched by the kindness of others.

Mikki