We are all alloparents: Part One; a day in the life

It’s an often used phrase and something of a cliché that it “takes a village to raise a child”.

Alloparenting is, if I recall correctly, a term first coined by anthropologist Sarah Blaffer Hrdy (yes, her of “there is no maternal instinct, except, well, maybe it’s prolactin/oxytocin, but even then, who knows”.)

Hobo Mama wrote an amazing article about alloparenting here.

But I want to extend it a little. To me, alloparenting, in this day and age, is simply realising how tough it is to be a parent (usually mother); how badly the world as a whole treats children and why this is unfair and dangerous, and wishing to do something about it, for everyone’s sakes, by small individual acts.

I want to tell you about what it’s like trying to do a few normal, everyday tasks as an able-bodied single mother in the UK. And then I’m going to try and convince you why it’s everybody’s job to make these tasks easier for me, for my child, and for every other parent (single, partnered or whatever) and child out there. Finally I’m going to suggest a few ways in which to do this.

So bear with me please while I start part one. There may be some ranting. ;)

[Full disclosure - although I'm technically not "single" in that I do have a girlfriend, she lives in the USA and currently can only visit rarely.

Supermarket shopping and other delights

I’m a babywearer, so I don’t have the full joy of pushing a buggy with one hand and a trolly with the other. I don’t have to choose between leaving my buggy parked outside where someone can grab it and putting my baby in the shopping trolly. He comes with me, usually on my back, but sometimes he prefers to sit in the trolly.

I know I have a finite amount that I can carry in my hands and also carry a baby home too. Taxis are expensive (and also unlikely to have an appropriate child safety seat) and the bus doesn’t run from the cheapest supermarket back to my house. I have to buy only what I know I can carry.

This means sometimes spending more on smaller, lighter items when buying in bulk would be so much cheaper. Shopping online is not really an option because of the delivery charge and other reasons. I automatically spend more because of this.

I carry my child around on my back or in the trolly and he becomes bored. If, in the rush to get him and me out of the house, I’ve remembered (and how many of us forget to take shopping bags!) a toy, I try to placate him with this. Otherwise I’ll let him eat a punnet of grapes or blueberries in the supermarket, preferably one with a fixed price rather than by weight, so I’m not stealing. Although I have still received glares for this.

Thankfully the majority of supermarkets have toilets with babychanging facilities. I don’t like the word “babychange”. I prefer “age appropriate toilet facilities”. Because when an organisation or company doesn’t have these, they’re effectively denying a person a place to go to the toilet based on their age.

If my child cries, I have to stop the shopping. If I choose to take him outside, I have to leave my trolley behind. There’s no one to stand with it, there’s no one to offer to comfort or soothe him; there’s just me. If he wants to be carried but won’t go in the sling, I have to carry him and push a trolly, or push him around while he’s crying, ignoring his cries.

Have you ever seen the looks you get when your child is crying in a supermarket? People blame you, and only you, for not shutting that child up. The glares, the tuts, the out and out anger?

No wonder the supermarket is the place where you see people hit, shout at and generally behave horribly to their children. I would bet that most of these parents aren’t at all like that at home but the constant looks, the feeling that the need to appear disciplinarian, that people are expecting them to do something to shut the child up – that’s what tips people over the edge.

I know I respond very differently to my crying child at home to how I do in a public place like that. I try not to, and I would never ever hit him, but I must confess I have shouted once or twice in a supermarket, despite knowing it absolutely isn’t his fault and it’s the most boring place in the world for him.

Then there’s the queue for the till; a hellish nightmare if you have just one screaming meltdown child. The sweets are all displayed temptingly just to force you to either buy them or say “no”. Even on the way out of the suepermarket, when you finally think you migh be able to get home, the foyer is often full of “ride on” toys, which are a minimum of 50p for one ride.

The walk home with heavy bags takes it out of you, but there’s no one in the house to put the kettle on for you, to help unpack, to let you take the weight off your feet while they get on with the tidying that needs doing. It’s just you. On your own. And you’ve a child to feed first, too.

Then, other public establishments like banks where it’s considered polite to be quiet – difficult if you’re a child – cafés (yes, mums do like to have a nice cuppa tea and a sit down) where again, unless it really is super child friendly, you’ve a fight on your hands if your child so much as makes a peep; public transport where your child not only has to sit down and be relatively quiet but also has to sit still; where age-appropriate toilet facilities are non-existent (okay, in fairness, there are no toilet facilities at all on buses for any age) and where, if you want to go to the toilet, you have to take your child with you in addition to all of your bags and shopping.

And there’s more, much, much more; this is only the tip of the iceburg. It’s exhausting. And then you have to go home and do it alone too. And possibly go to a paid job, too, and then you have to be up in the night, often, and… well, it’s a wonder we don’t just drop down into a heap from tiredness. If I could, I would. But I can’t. And let’s not pretend my child doesn’t suffer, at least a little, as a result.

Unless someone helps. Unless the kind server in the bank has a toy behind her desk to keep my child entertained while I check my direct debits. Unless someone offers to keep an eye on my belongings while I go to the toilet on the train. Unless someone smiles and gives me a sympathetic look when my child is crying in a café and says, you’re doing a cracking job love, it’s hard sometimes.

And more. These are the tiny things, the small acts of kindness that make a difference. And this is alloparenting, in my opinion.

In part two, I’ll explore what happens to parents and their children when they are left to go it alone, and why “but you chose to have a child!” is a ridiculous and disingenuous thing to say to a parent who is struggling.

 

To Anji and Ruth

Anji – yes, it’s horrible when he refuses cuddles. I tend to find some other way of touching him in those circs – tickling him or poking him or shaking hands with him, because I really want to touch him, but at the same time, if he’s said ‘no cuddle, not today’ then I try hard to stick to it.

Ruth – there seem to be a lot of children who hate getting dressed and I’m totally with the idea of letting them run around the house with no clothes on if that’s what they want. But when it’s going to cause distress or harm in some way to my boy? I am going to explain why I’m doing it (I’ve done this since he was FAR too young to understand) and go on with it. He is getting to an age where he understands what I’m saying (for example “This is a car park so…” I pause, and he finishes “I hold your hand”. He doesn’t always *want* to hold my hand, but he knows that it’s the car park rule and accepts it.) which makes it a LOT easier!

Change Someone’s Story

It’s been an emotional summer.

As you’ve all read — ad nauseam — sending Sam off to college and into his new life has kept me a bit off balance. And on July 14, I  chose — finally, and after many restless, heart-wrenching days and nights — to publicly write about pieces of my life that I’d never before shared with more than a handful of people.

But I’m getting ahead of myself…

When the six of us returned from the glorious summer vacation that left our bank account empty and our hearts overflowing, an advance reader’s copy of Rachel Macy Stafford‘s Hands Free Life: 9 Habits to Overcoming Distraction, Living Better, & Loving More — accompanied by a “Hands Free” bracelet and a gorgeous print — awaited me at home. I couldn’t wait to dive in, was eager to craft my compelling review long before Rachel’s September 8 publication date.

But as lives are wont to do after a vacation (and in general), mine quickly spiraled out of control with organizational changes at work, freelance needs, my own publisher’s deadlines, our college boy’s impending departure, and the start of the school year for the other three kiddos.

Rachel’s book sat on my desk day after day, waiting patiently for me to catch up… just like Rachel herself would do.

I could hear her sweet Southern drawl in my head, “It’s okay, my friend. You’ll read it when it’s time.”

She always knows.

This weekend, we hosted a Labor Day gathering of dear friends who are more like family. We ate and drank and swam and laughed and cooked and cleaned and hugged. And today, when our friends had to return to their lives and their own routines, I sat beside the pool with Rachel’s book, tired, satiated, grateful, weepy with that bittersweet mixture of happy and sad (so happy for the time we had together, so sad that it was already over).

Emotional, yet again.

As I dipped my feet in the still and silent water — the same water that 12 hours before had been churning with life and laughter — I thought… with my oldest off at college and our respective kids at such drastically different places in life, will Rachel’s words still resonate? Will I still be able to glean lessons from her storytelling wisdom? Will I be able to handle words that encourage me to be a better mother, a more patient presence in my kids’ lives… when my oldest just stepped out into his own life, when my other three are close on his heels?

And then I began reading.

Here’s the magic that is Rachel: She writes just for me. And she writes just for you. There is always — always — something in her words that speaks directly to a heart in need. I was reminded of this when I turned to page 50 and read — just 24 days after publicly sharing my most intimate and previously untold stories — “This type of vulnerable connection, born of a place of deep pain and authenticity, is the kind of connection that is strong enough to transform individuals, families, communities, cities, and worlds.”

You see, Rachel is the friend who read these most intimate stories long ago and said, “This is what you need to write. These are the stories you must share. This is what the world needs from you. This is what is going to save you… and so many others.” And it took my breath away that she would recognize my most important work wasn’t in writing fiction, but in sharing the most raw and vulnerable pieces of my own personal narrative.

When I published “Muscle Memory,” Rachel was the first one to respond. She said, “This piece of your soul that you are offering took months, years, decades to be here for us all to read and for that, I celebrate this day. This is a momentous day. The magnitude of this offering, of this single piece of writing, is not lost on me. This is the beginning. This is truly the beginning and all your beautiful scars are going to impact this world in ways we will never comprehend.”

Beautiful, quintessential, ever-supportive Rachel.

In Hands Free Life, Rachel describes her sweet Avery as “The Noticer” and tells poignant tales of how Avery reminds her to stop and really see the beauty of the world. Like Rachel’s violin-playing days, that lesson might have needed a little dusting off, but I truly believe that seeing — really seeing — is Rachel’s most profound gift.

She sees lessons in the every day, she sees stories in unspoken words, she sees beauty in the broken. And not only does she see it, but with the power of her words, she helps the rest of us see it, too. Sometimes the lessons are hard to look at, sometimes they’re not what we hoped they might be, but she illuminates them for us with grace and kindness and empathy.

She is the living, breathing embodiment of her own Habit 9: Change Someone’s Story. Without Rachel’s encouragement, without her belief in me, without her friendship and her gorgeous hand-written notes of love and support, my story would be vastly different.

If you’ve read many of Rachel’s words, I imagine you can’t help but agree… because she’s most likely changed your story as well. That’s her own special brand of magic.

On page 172, Rachel contemplates why she’s chosen a cemetery as her favorite new walking space. She writes, “I wanted to leave the earth better than it was before…”

Kudos, sweet friend, on a job well done. You have accomplished that and so much more. You have created a legacy of love, compassion, hope, and peace for your family, your friends, your readers. In your quest to discover it for yourself, you have changed the conversation around what matters for millions of people all over the world.

Your words are a gift to everyone lucky enough to find them.

Your heart is a gift to everyone lucky enough to share a corner of it.

And as September 7 slowly rolls into September 8 — the official publication date for Hands Free Life: 9 Habits for Overcoming Distraction, Living Better, & Loving More — I celebrate both you and the millions of readers who get to experience this generous and life-altering gift from you.

Happy Pub Day, my friend.

New Kids on the Block

Mary Claire and I attended the mandatory call-out meeting for all eighth grade athletes yesterday. We found the junior high, signed in, and sat down among a sea of chatty new teenagers and their equally chatty parents.

“Do you see anyone you know?” I asked, casually trying to lighten the mood as we swam in a sea of strangers.

She rolled her eyes at me.

It’s tough — this new-kid-in-school gig. Two rows in front of us, ten long-haired, giggly girls talked and laughed and shared summer stories together.

“You can go introduce yourself,” I suggested.

Another eye roll.

Please offer her a smile, I silently begged. Just one. All it takes is one.

I looked around that auditorium filled with fresh, young faces and thought… who is going to offer a kind, inclusive hand? Who is going to mock my girl’s sassy, red Chuck Taylors? Who is going to ask her to sit at the lunch table? Who will capture her attention? Who will break her heart?

And I had to swallow back tears. Because in this world of pervasive self-preservation, sometimes we human beings are mean. Sometimes it feels safer to knock someone down than to help pick them up. Sometimes pretending someone doesn’t exist is easier than opening yourself up to potential heartbreak.

But you can’t discover new love and light and friendship in a cocoon. Taking a risk on someone might be scary, but isn’t it always — always — better than missing out on what might have been?

“Do all these girls look exceptionally skinny to you?” my daughter asked.

Tread carefully, I thought. Choose whatever comes out of your mouth next with precision.

“I think they look like eighth grade girls in a variety of beautiful shapes and sizes and hair colors.”

Eye roll #3.

“Are you nervous?” I asked my girl.

“I’m nervous about making the volleyball team,” she replied. “I don’t know how good these girls are or how long they’ve been playing. But I’m not nervous about school.”

“Not at all?” I asked.

“No, Mom. I’ve done this before. It’s no big deal.”

She is so brave, my girl. All my kids are. Three different schools in four years is no cake walk. Someday, they’ll look back and be grateful for the strength and tenacity they acquired during these years, but right now, they’re still just kids trying to find a place to fit in.

Mamas out there, please teach your children to smile at the new kids. Please let them know that it’s courageous and strong and brave and adventurous to reach out to someone you don’t know. Please remind them that behind the new girl’s glasses or the new boy’s fresh forehead break-out might be the best friend and biggest heart they could ever hope for — that an infectious belly laugh is just waiting for permission to make itself heard. Please help them understand that our shapes, sizes, and make-up choices don’t define us — that looking into a human being’s soul is so much more important than looking at her clothing labels.

I promise I’ll teach my kids the same.