in which I break out of near-lurkdom with a post so long you'll need three cups of coffee

[mamajoan]

Here's a post that has been brewing for a long, long time. You'll get a good idea of just how long I've been fermenting this, when you see how long the post is! This may very well be the longest LJ post I've ever written, too. Yow.

Something I've been thinking about a lot lately is how I react when people say things like "I don't know how you do it" or "I could never do what you do" etc., in relation to being a single mom. You'd be amazed how often I hear that -- and it irritates the crap out of me. Even worse is how I react when I hear a married/partnered woman say "I'm a single mom this weekend" or "I'm doing the single-mom thing" or similar, when her spouse is on a business trip or similar. This kind of thing makes me crazy. I grind my teeth / bite my tongue like you wouldn't believe.

But looking at it objectively -- or as close to that as I can manage -- I do realize that it's unfair. People who say things like "I don't know how you do it" are expressing admiration; it's a compliment, with nothing but good intentions behind it. Mostly they are probably trying to picture their own lives with one spouse subtracted, and they can't envision it at all. I get that (well, sort of ;) ).

So why does it bother me so intensely to hear those comments? This is something I've been pondering at length for a while now. The other night we had an incident that clarified some things for me.

One of the many things that I haven't gotten around to posting about here lately is that a few weeks ago I saw a mouse in my apartment. It was a chaotic moment -- we were in the final throes of getting ready to leave the house (maybe to go to the cottage? can't actually remember) and the last thing I needed was something else, ANYTHING else to think about. So I saw this mouse running across the kitchen countertop from the left (stove) toward the right (cabinets). And when I gave an exclamation of startledness and ran toward it, it ran back to the left and behind the stove.

Well, I basically freaked out and didn't know what to do. I pretty much punted it and went on with getting ready to leave, and later I talked to my mom and my co-homeowner Brian, and both were of the opinion that the mouse probably wandered in from outside and saw that there were people and a cat, and wandered back out again, and that would be the last of it. I was highly skeptical of this, but okay.

A day or two later I found some mouse droppings in one of my kitchen drawers, where I keep towels (and nothing edible) but I managed to convince myself that the mouse had left those there before I saw it, and was gone now. Uh-huh. I cleaned out the drawer, washed the towels, wiped down the countertop, and tried to put it out of my mind.

So fast-forward a few weeks to this past Monday night. I open that same drawer and see more mouse droppings. This makes me highly unhappy (and also confused, because there are lots of food items on the countertop, but none in that particular drawer, so wtf?).

I pulled out the drawer to try to see where the mouse was getting in. Now, I've long known that there's a hole in the floor, behind/under the stove, wherein the previous owners had run an electrical cable to plug in the stove to an outlet in the basement. Why they didn't plug it in in the kitchen, I don't know, but whatever. Anyway, I was assuming that this is how the mouse got in; it got to the basement somehow, and then came up through that little hole. And having removed the offending drawer to look behind/inside it, I could see that the cabinets aren't flush and there's definitely some space where a small rodent could very easily get from behind the stove, to the cabinet space under the sink, and then through a hole from the sink into the next cabinet space and into the drawer.

So I decided that I needed to get at that space behind the stove, to block up the hole coming from the basement. As you may recall, my stove is fairly new; I bought it about a year ago now. I gave it a few tugs and it seemed like it was too heavy to move.

Now, at this point it's about 95 degrees in the kitchen, I'm sweating like the proverbial stuck pig and freaking out about the idea of a mouse coming into my home and eating my stuff. This was the day, you'll recall, when Ruthie was sent home from daycare with a fever; so she's standing around fussing and crying because I won't pick her up, plus she's snotty and coughing; and Isaac is wreaking havoc with a bouncy ball and asking me every two minutes if we can go in the back yard. Believe you me, dear reader, it's extremely rare for me to ever feel this way, but I was sure as shit wishing there were another responsible adult in the household onto whom I could shove this task of dealing with the mouse.

I did take a moment to look around for reinforcements. I tried the guys who live upstairs -- no answer. I tried metafrantic, who agreed to come over, but very reluctantly and you know, I don't like asking that kind of thing from him anyway -- I mean the guy has his own life, he works a job, comes home, wants to spend the evening with his wife and kid. My problems are not his problem, if you get what I mean. I know he's glad to help when he can, but that doesn't mean I want to be depending on him.

So I took a deep breath and tried again with the stove. I managed to pull it out far enough that I could stand on a stool and shine a flashlight into the space behind it. And this is when I made an interesting discovery: the mouse was not coming in from the basement. For one thing, the hole leading to the basement is quite small and almost completely filled up by the cord for the stove. For another, about a foot away from there, there was a small pile of plaster dust on the floor and a little hole in the wall. That's the wall leading out to the outside world, mind you.

I went outside and looked at the outer wall, but couldn't see anything. We have some kind of tile/shingle stuff on our outside walls, and there's a space between that and the actual wall, so presumably it would be easy to get in there if you were a small rodent.

metafrantic suggested putting a metal pan into the space between the wall and the stove, so that the stove would hold it in place and it would block the hole. That was a good idea, but there's a bracket in the way -- I think its purpose is to keep the stove from banging right up against the wall(?) -- so no room for a pan. But it did give me the way to think about the solution.

So, after some thought, I put Ruthie in the sling and got Isaac to put his shoes on, and we went in the basement and looked around until we found a brick. The kids enjoyed that part. Then we went back to the kitchen and I warned the kids that there would be a loud noise (I was going to have to drop the brick, because I couldn't reach all the way down behind the stove). Ruthie started sobbing because she didn't want there to be a loud noise. (I mentioned about how Ruthie was sick and cranky, right?) Oy!! So I had Isaac hand me a plastic bag, and I put the brick in that, and lowered it down to the floor without much loud noise. Then I used a broomstick to maneuver the brick right up against the mouse-hole; and then I pushed the stove back into place.

Now, I don't actually know whether this has worked, because I haven't had a chance to check again since then. But that whole incident got me thinking again about what people mean when they say "I could never do it," what they are envisioning as the "it" that I do.

It seems to me that when people form a mental picture of what life is like for a single parent, they are picturing an evening like that one: some big disaster like a mouse in the house, which needs immediate attention and involves physical exertion/muscle as well as problem-solving skills and the appropriate tools -- all compounded by the need to juggle a sick kid and a full-of-energy wanting to play kid, on top of all the usual evening stuff like getting dinner ready and so forth. But of course, every day in my life really isn't like that! That was an extreme evening even for us -- and an extremely crappy one, of course.

So this highlighted for me the conclusion that I had already been drawing in the past few weeks of pondering -- the answer to the question I started this post with, i.e., why do I get so annoyed/resentful when people make those comments? It's because I know (or think) that they don't know what they're talking about. I know that they really have no idea what my day-to-day life is like, what the logistical challenges are that I face (not to mention the challenges financial, emotional, physical, etc.!), and that makes the comments seem hollow to me even though I know they are intended as compliments.

Let me be clear: I am talking about my failing here. It's neither rational, nor reasonable, nor nice to feel that someone's opinion is unworthy or their compliments meaningless just because they're living a different life from mine. I recognize that. I'm coming -- albeit slowly and painfully -- to accept that it's perfectly okay for someone to comment on something that I have more experience with than them, and their comments are still valid. I'm working on accepting the comments more graciously and not wincing when I hear the "I'm a single mom this week" stuff. I have a ways to go yet, but at least I'm on it.

There's another component to this, too, which is that I really don't see "what I do" as anything all that special overall. I mean, it's all I know, you know? If your husband is out of town and you find yourself cooking dinner, changing a diaper, making a doctor appointment, and cleaning out the litterbox all at once, you might be thinking "omg this sucks, I wish hubby were here!" But when that's me, I'm basically just thinking, "okay, I'll do this and this and then that. But the other thing will have to wait." I have something I say to the kids a lot when they ask for something and aren't patient: "I can only do ten things at once, and you're the eleventh." I don't even see it as a joke or funnyism; it's just what I say because it's what I feel in the moment. But a friend of mine overheard me saying it once and totally cracked up...okay, it IS funny. But to me it's just life. Okay?

I also keep thinking about another recent evening we had, which to me embodies "the life of a single mom" much better than the mouse incident. It was our turn to pick up the CSA farm-share that we are splitting with my mom and a couple of friends of hers. The CSA dropoff begins at 6:15 and I pick up the kids at 5:30 so we had some time to kill. On this particular occasion I decided we would take the bus from Isaac's preschool to the pickup location; I had left our car near Ruthie's daycare -- also near the home of the aforementioned couple -- so Ruthie and I bussed to Isaac's preschool, then I thought we would bus to Lechmere and switch buses and bus to the dropoff location. Because of course there's no bus that goes directly there from there. So it's totally ridiculous -- if you knew the layout you'd agree, but suffice it to say, that was bussing WAY out of our way when we could have just hopped in the car. But I decided to do it that way because a) it would kill some time until 6:15 and b) the kids LOVE riding the bus so it would be fun for them and c) it would save me some gas.

So that's what we did. We waited for an 88 bus and took it to Lechmere. Then we waited for an 87 bus and took it to the dropoff location. Then we waited for another 87 bus and took it to Davis Square and walked to the home of the couple, where we did the divvying-up of the vegetables, and then the kids and I got in the car and went home.

And all of that was fine, except for the part where we had to walk from the bus stop to the people's house (about a 6- or 7-block walk) with me carrying the four heavy bags of vegetables and shepherding my two wayward kids. That part kinda sucked.

But anyway, to me, that was nothing much. Even my mom (who was a single mom herself) told me I was nuts when I described all that to her. But to me it was nothing. It was the best way to get what I needed done, done; at the expense of a large portion of my physical energy, to be sure, but still. I didn't feel like Supermom after that evening, although I know that many people will read this and think of me that way. But I didn't and don't feel like Supermom. Just mom.

Whew. I can't believe I wrote that whole thing. I can't believe you READ that whole thing! ;) But thanks, if you did. And the sad part is, I'm sure there's some stuff that I left out. I'm definitely not being as eloquent (or even coherent) as I wish I were on this topic. ah well.

Comments

[algernon-mouse.livejournal.com]

I think I see it slightly differently. I don't think they're looking as what single parents do or don't do at all; I think it's a reflection on how trying their own lives are day to day.

Parenting is tough in a partnership, and it's even tougher when you don't have a back up person to rely on.

Granted, you've used a dramatic example, and in those types of situations - life is hard.

My own melt down came on night when I couldn't open a glass jar and there was no one to turn to for immediate help.

I don't view myself as a supermom either. I'm just someone who has found a way to cope because I have no other choice. Saying that, just because I *can* do it alone all the time doesn't mean I always want to.

[sunlit-mists.livejournal.com]

Having been A teenage single mom, a single mom, a mom in a new relationship, a mom in a long term relationship, and now a married mom, sometimes it is just as hard in all those situations.

Sometimes being a married Mom is actually more difficult that it would seem too..., because on top of yourself and the kids to take care of, now you have a partner, who also demands your time, attention, money and love, and doesn't always give it back the way you would like. Also you have to negotiate parenting choices with someone who may not agree with you parenting style all the time.

That being said, I understand your frustration, and at the same time, I think it comes down to, as parents, single or not, you learn that you just do what you have to do, to make life work.

Thank you for sharing, sometimes we all need to realize that we are not the only ones feeling a particular way.

Alli

[glaurung-quena.livejournal.com]

But looking at it objectively -- or as close to that as I can manage -- I do realize that it's unfair. People who say things like "I don't know how you do it" are expressing admiration; it's a compliment, with nothing but good intentions behind it.

Actually, no, I think you are shortchanging your instincts. I don't think "I don't know how you do it" is a complement. It's in the form of a complement, but unpack it and I think it's saying "you are suffering from a handicap because your family is incomplete; how heroic of you to persevere despite such hardship." Seen that way, you are perfectly correct to become angry every time you receive this particular "complement."

As for mice and mouse holes, it is unlikely that you have just the one hole, or just the one mouse. When you have the time (say, on your next mother-supplied kid-free day), look around everywhere for more holes. The little pests can get in and out of astonishingly tiny holes. Holes made in the floor or wall to accomodate plumbing or wiring are one very common entry point for them. Fortunately, they tend to leave droppings outside their front door (as it were), which helps in the search.

Rather than use bricks, I suggest buying some cans of spray foam from a local hardware store. You want gap and crack filler, not window and door insulator (which doesn't expand as much and which dries soft instead of hard). Stick the nozzle of the foam can as far down the hole as possible and wriggle it around while spraying until it oozes back out the hole (then the next day cut off the hardened excess with a utility knife). This will not only totally fill the space with tough plastic foam that they'll be hard-pressed to chew through, it will also save you a few bucks in heating costs by totally stopping the draft from the hole.

Before we moved here, our basement and 2nd floor neighbours had tons of mice, but we did not because I had sealed off all of the places they could have entered our apartment with foam.

[orbitalmechanic.livejournal.com]

Eh, as someone who does sometimes say this, I usually mean, "I whine about how hard my life is, but then I notice that other people are doing fine with fewer resources." I say it, or think it anyway, when I'm tempted to say the other thing Joan mentioned, about being "a single mom" for a week.

Other times I mean that I couldn't have made the choice to do it that way--in fact, as a kid I thought being a single mother was (a) standard and (b) too hard. I do know that it can come off as "Hey, you're the weird one!" so I try to avoid it most of the time. But I certainly don't mean it's a handicap.

I agree with you about the foam insulation, though. And now is a great time to do it because when it gets colder, indoors becomes more tempting.

[lizardjee.livejournal.com]

great post.
i understand where you are coming from, i use to feel the same way right after jaeci died and people would say basically the same things.
you do what you have to do because it needs to be done.
period.
and you are a super mom :)

[fox1013.livejournal.com]

My primary reaction to this post is that you're awesome- not because you're a single mom, but because it is so clear in this post (and all your posts, for that matter) that Isaac and Ruthie are incredibly important and special to you, and you're a fabulous mom to them. I mean, I'm frequently amazed at what you do, but it's not how much you have to do as a single parent- it's how much of yourself you're willing to give to being a parent.

[downwardlashes.livejournal.com]

During the description of the mouse hole and what you planned to do, my mind filled in a sentence and made me laugh:
"So, after some thought, I put Ruthie in the hole"

[thinking-lotus.livejournal.com]

Your rant post reminds me of how I hate it when people say to me "oh I could never do what you do" about being self-employed (previously) or about being a business partner with my spouse or even living in a majority-minority neighborhood. It is annoying because the implication is that you must be able to do it because you're soooooo speshul (read: weird) and nobody who was at all normal would want to live like that.

But, you know, I chose my life and I like it, and that helps me to get over the resentment. Also, the longer you have persisted in your chosen way of life and the more successful you are at it and the more people you meet and become acquainted with who are doing the same sort of thing, the less you will have to hear it. And once Isaac's in elementary school, he'll be with mostly the same kids and families for a few years, and people will be used to you and you can talk about other, more interesting things.