TheBanyanTree: some hard things about being a kid

[Julie Anna Teague]

Yesterday, I had to explain to the younger son, after his stomping,
screaming, door slamming rant, that I AM his "real mom".  And despite the
fact that I didn't give birth to him, I don't love him a smidge less than
the other child who happened to propel himself from my body with enough
force to give me hemmoroids for life.  And no, this little scene was not
going to get him out of his chores.  As his Real Mom (and lord knows at
that particular moment no one else would want the job) I was still
demanding that he march himself outside and check that the chickens had
water. 

Yesterday, I had to explain to the older son why it was that his father
was choosing not to attend his son's first ever wrestling match this
coming Wednesday.  The match happens to fall on his regular visitation
night with his dad--the night he's supposed to get a couple of hours of
his father's attention--so it was a double punch.  If we learned anything
from the Cross Country season, we know that his dad will not attend any of
them.  I did not mention that his, um, father (who prefers to call himself
the "non-custodial parent") has requested that I put, in writing, that he
is not responsible for anything regarding his son's wrestling practices or
meets, even if they fall within his visitation time.  It's inconvenient,
he says. 

I can find the words to tell my sons what makes a mother a real mother.  I
cannot find the words to explain why a father is no longer a real father.
But both cases require more hugs than words.  

Julie
jateague at indiana.edu