After a day of repeating “pick up your coat off the floor” and “put your dish in the sink,” I watched my 10-year-old transformed from disorderly deviant to well-mannered super child within seconds of our houseguest arriving. With the charm and personality of a behind-in-the-polls presidential candidate trying to secure votes, Savannah gave the guest an apartment tour that included demonstrations of the shower and thermostat. She even made the weary traveler tea.
“You daughter’s so mature,” the guest gushed the next morning.
I wouldn’t saying throwing your homework in the garbage and later lying about it mature, but okay.
I recently read a blog post where the writer, a single mom like myself, listed the drawbacks of solo parenting. The list included the obvious: lack of sex, money, no one to help with household chores, etc.
While certainly applicable to my life, the list could have been ripped from one of those pointless government studies. If asked what I need and crave most, it would be having somebody to share in making decisions. To me, a luxury item is a warm body I can turn to and utter those simple words: “What do you think, honey?” or better “You decide!”
I was aghast. Right there on York Avenue, on a sidewalk swarming with New York Presbyterian Hospital doctors on break and returning campers, I witnessed my “I’ll friend-anyone who talks to me” 10-year-old ‘dis a little redhead boy.
Posted in Mommyhood
Tagged Abraham Lincoln, camp, Dating, FDR Drive, kids, Love, New York City, New York Presbyterian Hospital, parenting, Single mom, Taylor Swift
My hands where shaking as I clawed at the clear plastic baggy that held my daughter’s emergency injection of solu-cortef. My luck the ex had wrapped it in masking tape making the damn thing impossible to open.
Finally, with my teeth, I ripped a hole in one end and managed to shake its contents on the bed. Trying to recount the steps the male nurse at the hospital taught me years ago, I quickly mixed the powder with the liquid, assembled the syringe, and drew the concoction with the long, thin needle. I felt like my heart was going to fly through my chest when I swiped the alcohol pad over Savannah’s thigh, stuck the needle in and slowly depressed.
When I finally withdrew the syringe, I did a double take. Did I really administer the solution?
I then called 911 and broke down and cried.
It was 6:10 p.m. when I got the call.
“Mommy, Kristen didn’t pick me up. I’m waaaaiting!”
Not the call I expected or wanted to receive. Now, because of the babysitter, I had to dropped everything, run out of work and try and fetch my kid before day camp closed.
Ten minutes later, as I sat in the backseat of the cab inching my way through rush hour traffic toward the West Village camp, I found myself fuming. Kristen, our college-student babysitter, started working for us earlier this summer when her mother, our previous babysitter, took a full-time gig. Her mother was punctual and dependable, which, having no backup, is paramount with me. I’m fairly lax. I’m not going to ask you to run errands and fold laundry, but, dammit, just don’t be a no-show.
Reading Dr. Samantha Rodman’s list of credentials, it is hard not to be in impressed. The Maryland mom is raising three children under the age of five, while working as a clinical psychologist, dating coach and maintaining her widely popular website http://www.drpsychmom.com. An expert in issues pertaining to parenting, dating, sex and relationships, she has written for such media outlets as The York Times, Washington Post, SheKnows and Huffington Post. Out later this month is her first book, How to Talk to Kids About Your Divorce, with Adams Media. (See Amazon)
In this installment of Take 5, I ask the doctor about her motivation for becoming a psychologist, along with insights and observations gathered from years of helping people navigate the parenting and relationship maze.
If you were to ask my daughter to rank world problems, I am sure having the pickle touch the grilled cheese is among them.