“I know I am going to have two gorgeous kids, I already have names for them. “
“Really, friend?”
“Yes, first born, a boy, will be named Seth, followed by a girl and she will be Jamila”
Chuckles
“Wow!”
It’s second year of varsity. My friend and I were seated at the res lounge, taking a much needed break from books and chatting up a storm. One of the nicest things about being girls is that we never ever run out of things to talk about. Yes, yes even I will admit the central point is always boys, as in boyfriends and everything in between (don’t judge that’s how we are wired). My friend had her life all mapped out; I envied her for that, I mean Seth and Jamila – those are beautiful names.
“But friend, wait, shouldn’t you be choosing names with hubby, never mind the fact that you are single now?”
“Oh well you know I will marry a very liberal, very busy doctor. He will be busy worrying about his patients and have little time to worry about kids names, come on now.”
Every time the conversation got to the part where she’s married to a doctor I could easily picture my friend acing the entire motherhood thing. My imagination would take me as far as seeing her leaning at the back of her land rover discussing school stuff with other mommies after dropping off Seth and Jamila at school. One parent will be begging her to take lead in organising an upcoming concert for the school, while the other will be praising her for her netball coaching skills. Meanwhle I will be walking in my office (will spare you details of my outfit) being the company CEO and all with my employees running after me frantically needing my signature. My answer will always be ‘Not now please, coffee first’.
It’s two-thousand-fifteen. I am not a CEO yet, nor is my friend a mother to Seth and Jamila or married to a doctor McNice, No. Instead it’s a beautiful summer Saturday in Johannesburg. I am driving around at toy gunpoint looking for a piñata, while the person holding a gun is sedentary behind me rapping singing “Running errands with my mom, what my mom run, run, I am doing something fun while I am doing something boring” (it’s a real song by the way it plays on Cartoon network or is it Nickelodeon?) If I sounded like I was complaining I promise you I wasn’t though I could have done with an extra hour of sleep before being woken up this morning. But of cause I could have looked for the thing online, but Mr ‘I want to be blind folded while hitting the pony, it’s going to be awesome’ behind me wanted to touch and feel the thing because it’s not the same online.
You would think that I would have gotten the hang of it now, having done the whole single mom thing (not by choice) for seven years, I would be a pro but no, there are days like today where I have to sneak in my writing while Mr ’it’s my birthday tomorrow therefore I have a right to order you around once’ is watching a movie.
Some people including my friends always ask me why I write about my life struggles. My answer differs all the time. I write because It’s one of the things that I enjoy doing. I also write because writing is therapy for me; it’s more of an outlet you know. I write about myself, my son, single parenting and other things because deep down I am hoping that somewhere another person will accidentally (my sons favourite word by the way) stumble upon this and find comfort in knowing that, parenting single or otherwise is not as hard as they make it out to be (Hey I am not advocating for people to go on some “let’s make kids” type of a situation here) nor is it easy but, it’s the subtle lessons in between everyday life that sometimes goes unobserved that are important.
Everyone is special.
Until we parents tell them otherwise, to children everyone is special and should be treated as such. Today I was told “You see mom, when someone tries to sell you something at the traffic lights and you don’t want it, you should not just drive away or pull up your window, instead just say, ‘No thank you’”.
Giving with an Open Heart
If it was up to my son, every person that stands by the traffic lights supplicatory or at the entrance of a shopping mall would get something from him all the time. He never understands why mommy won’t give that man two rands when it’s just in that cup holder, heck if it was entirely in his hands he would carry his piggy bank with him wherever he goes. This is a lesson we definitely need to learn from them, knowing that when: “One man gives freely, yet gains even more; another withholds unduly, but comes to poverty.” Prov. 11:24 (I didn’t mean to preach).
Being open to the possibility of a teacher being a student.
This is the hand that I have been dealt with and I am frolicking with it the best way I can. I am slowly warming up to the idea that children are here to teach us. What I didn’t know before I became ‘mom’ was that my patience, grace and tolerance needed a little fine tuning and I tell you minute by minute I can spot the difference, from the me prior to being ‘mom’ and the now ‘mom me’.
This post was written by Andiswa Machanyana. She blogs at Torn Jeans and Corporate Suits. Follow her on Twitter.
Chivone I know right..if only we could slow down i bet theres so much that we could learn from them (Angels)
Yikes Andiswa, for a minute there I thought you were referring to me (single parent, 8 almost 8 years now AND blog because I know somewhere someone can relate!)!
“Children are angels in agony. We constantly telling them what to do and how to do it instead of letting them be while we just observe and learn…”