A Sanitized and Single Mother’s Day

Did you wash your hands yet?

I knew my first Mother’s Day as a single parent was going to be rough. I just had no idea that I’d be packing hand sanitizer and face masks in with the beach picnic blanket. I thought the challenge would be that missing piece of the family puzzle. That vacant Dad-shaped hole.

Maybe it was that the bar was already set so low by the quarantine. Maybe it was the release of expectations that came with married life. But getting out of the house, parking down the street from the beach, walking through vacant parking lots to avoid the crowds, and finding a little spot of rocky sand that was much more than 6 feet away from anyone else – it was heaven! We ate cheese, crackers, and cookies as the wind gusts occasionally drove sand into our faces. We fruitlessly searched for crabs as the tide was high. We ran through the beachside grasses, chanting, “Gig, gig, gig!” (I have no idea what this meant, but they clearly had an agenda.) Things were simple and that felt great.

 I have done a lot of grieving for my marriage and the life I thought I was going to live. I still have more to do, but today wasn’t a day of grief. It ended up being a day for enjoying the little things and celebrating resiliency.

While I was loving my Mother’s Day, my oldest was struggling. He was clearly feeling that missing Dad-shaped puzzle piece. I did my best to help him name his feelings and give him the space to work through them. There was a lot of complaining and demands to go home at this point. There were also increasingly larger rocks being thrown at us by my little one, who knows that when you throw big rocks at people, they pay more attention to you.

I had pretty much given up hope for any more peaceful moments at the beach when they decided to explore further into the beach grasses. My oldest, who is quite a cautious kiddo, carefully made his way across a log over a stream. Foot before foot, he calculated each step with precision. His celebration on the other side was cut short, however, when he discovered that there was no alternate return route. He ran from one end of the miniature island to the other, back and forth. He was whipping himself into a little frenzy before my eyes. Watching my child experience anxiety and fear while being separated from him by a body of water? I clutched my toddler tightly to my body, darted across the log, slung my oldest around my neck, and carried everyone back to safety. Mom to the rescue!

No, not really. Instead, I swallowed my own emotions and calmly watched as my oldest succumbed to his inevitable fate – the log must be crossed again. And then came my favorite moment from my first single pandemic Mother’s Day (and hopefully last pandemic Mother’s Day ever. Let’s not do this next year). He took two steps forward, cried out in fear, and took two steps back. Two steps forward again. These were accompanied by more cries, but also more forward steps! Enough steps to get all the way across with a final triumphant leap back to the sand! I had managed not to interfere as my son found his own way across an obstacle, and the sense of pride that he experienced lifted him out of his gloom. “I feel so much better now!”

My children are now from a family of divorce. I want so much to build the resiliency in them that they will need in the coming years. It is surprisingly hard work to recognize that I can’t always be the builder. Sometimes the best thing I can do is hang back and let them do the work. Just hang back, relax, and remove my face mask so I can take a nice deep breath.

Oh right, Happy Pandemic Mother’s Day! In the midst of my parenting-through-not-parenting revelations, I had almost forgotten about Covid-19. Now, back to the quarantine shelter, where the dishes are piled up and the laundry piles are higher. Good thing I won’t be able to see them because there is about to be a bunch of Netflix in the way. Here’s to the end of a surprisingly bright and zesty day. I hope yours was too.