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Early Years (2-6)

HE & HE When mom goes away By Lisa Alvarez Published: August, 2005

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We’ve all seen the comic manifestation in popular media. Scene: Dad dons a frilly apron, the children go wild, the household disintegrates as dishes are thrown into the washing machine and clothing is placed in the dishwasher. Starvation threatens the clan. Hapless father, now a sad she-male, abandons mother’s carefully crafted plans and pre-cooked meals, resorting to DVD and video games marathons and best behavior bribes of Disneyland. Mom pulls up in the driveway. Greasy boxes of take-out pizza and fried chicken buckets crowd the doorstep, emptied bags of potato chips blow around the front yard like deflated balloons. Soda cans crunch under her feet. She kicks them aside. As she enters, the family looks up with shame and relief at their rescuer, even as they stuff evidence of their collective failure under the couch. Mother is shocked, and stands, staggered in the doorway, her keys still in hand, as if she may very well decide to turn her back and return from whence she came: an afternoon with the girls, a visit to her sisters, an overnight conference in L.A. The studio audience guffaws, cut to commercial. I’d like to think I am irreplaceable, indispensible, that my two guys couldn’t do it without me. This idea flatters me. But I resist it. What’s entertaining in prime time is less so in real life. I want my little family to be fine when I step away for two hours or two days. I want them to be more than fine. These intervals are opportunities for father and child to have what many of us, growing up in a different era, did not: extended time alone with dad. In some ways, these periods shouldn’t be avoided; they should be cultivated, planned, deliberately embraced. Of course, when I do step away, for an afternoon, a day, a weekend, I do worry. I don’t want to burden my partner, even though he is the first to cheerfully point out, “This is my child too ­ he isn’t a burden. You don’t have to apologize.” Still, we do strategize, whether it is dad alone with the child or me. We acknowledge that, indeed, it is harder to be a temporary single parent and so plan accordingly. We prepare our child for the absence; we plan activities so that the default parent isn’t overwhelmed; we make sure the house is well-stocked with food and clean clothes; and we develop our own rituals, such as the phone call from the absent parent and the song we sing to each other on the phone. Invariably, I like what I see when I return. Two happy faces who have, indeed, missed me (“Yeah, mommy!”) but who have, in my absence, shared something special and grown closer (“We rode on the excalator!”). Father and son have done things together that perhaps I wouldn’t have with them: hiked to Holy Jim Falls, picked blackberries - and yes, eaten them without washing them first - made up songs too silly to recite here, crafted a cardboard rocket ship, planted our annual vegetable garden and, yes, ridden the escalator at the big bookstore in the mall, the one with a giant kid section and a train set. It’s less scary than the Ferris wheel. They have created memories that they’ll be eager to share with me on my return, but more importantly, will share with each other. Lisa Alvarez, an English professor at Irvine Valley College, lives in Modjeska Canyon with her husband and 3-year-old son.

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