Single Parenthood, Not The Fake Kind

This is my first guest blogger…THINK!!!!!!!!!!! …and thank you for sharing this story with us…guest blogger;)

*This is only the beginning to a blog that isn't public. I was asked to share it. I couldn't figure out the "custom" feature to the privacy function, or it would only be visible to a handful.*

  Parenting young children is hard work. Being the sole parent to young children is harder work. A rant? Maybe. Informative? To some. Maybe. A completely foreign perspective? To many. My purpose? To reduce a stigma and possibly reach a narrow minded, selfish, judgmental demographic which views itself as the epitome of perfection.

            There are many unique occurrences that leave a person to parent alone. Some are voluntary, some not so much. Divorce, wedlock, artificial insemination and death only name a few. I experienced the death of a spouse, four weeks after our second child was born. The hand that I had been dealt included new obstacles. Many I have overcome, yet many more await.

            Single parenthood can most easily be compared to being socially outcast. Let’s take a “Kids Eat Free” scenario as our first example, shall we? Most restaurants only allow one child to eat for free per paying adult. Hotels often observe this very same policy. Next, let’s examine a traditional childhood memory: riding a carousel. Seems easy, right? A parent stands next to their child, who has picked out their horse of choice. Simple? Not when you’re trying to convince your second child that riding on the bench, or in the sleigh, really is cool, and no, grannies aren’t the only ones who utilize these. Buffets? Out of the question. One can only carry so many plates. These are a few public reminders. There are also private ones. Recently, my five year old asked, “Mommy, what’s a widow?” I began to explain that it’s a lady whose husband had passed away. I was ready for the correlation. His response, “Well, that’s a weird spider! So, no black widows have spider husbands?” This is the same five year old who has stated, on more than one occasion, “I wish my dad never got in his car. I wish he had ridden with you, Mommy. You never crash!”

            To the individual(s) who feel the FAA should implement a new regulation barring parents of small children from flying with them: we gladly accept your donations towards a private jet for our future travel needs. I was once on a flight from Colorado Springs to Baltimore with a well-behaved baby and toddler. In my carry on were the cremated remains of a service member. Just a random service member? No, of course not, this is not some sick hobby of mine. I was transporting the remains of my late husband, the father of my children, to Arlington National Cemetery. Yes, the Air Force offered me an escort. I chose the option that would be less awkward for me, and also the one that drew the least amount of attention to my children and myself.

            Prior to this flight, my children had flown many times, to include intercontinentally.  We had a routine. My children did not cry out or otherwise annoy fellow passengers; in fact, they slept for the duration of the trip! As I took my seat next to an older, heavyset gentleman, I noticed him rolling his eyes and sighing at the sight of one adult and two children. He asked the flight attendant whether there were any open seats available on the plane, and explained that he would like to be moved as he did not feel that it was fair that the only two children on the plane were seated nearest to him. What he couldn’t hear were my thoughts. He didn’t look as though he were physically able to share an armrest. The circumference of his arm was equal to, or maybe even greater than, the thickest part of my thigh. I kindly asked him for the other half of my seat belt, as he was sitting on it and hadn’t even noticed! As he turned to retrieve it, I noticed that he had more dried food on his shirt than my six month old and two and a half year old, combined. Nice, right?! I accommodated his constant trips to the lavatory, his constant coughing/throat clearing and excessive flatulence. My kindness did not stop there. I set up his tray table with the drink he had ordered before he fell asleep, and reminded him of the e-reader that he placed in the seat back pocket and nearly forgot about as we were gathering our belongings upon arrival.

            My responsibilities do not end with my children. I still feel that I have a moral obligation to those around me. I don't like to see people struggle. If I can help, I do. Sometimes, helping others is a minor inconvenience to me. I still follow through. To this day, I wonder if the man seated next to me on that flight ever considered paying my kindness forward, as he never even uttered the words “thank you”.