Missing Men -- by Jamie

When I first considered becoming a single mother by choice, all the books and materials I read warned me about the importance of surrounding my future child with positive male role models. I figured that wouldn’t be such a difficult task, as I knew my generous, loving father would be greatly involved in the upbringing of my child, and I also had a handful of other terrific males in my life whom I could count on. For instance, I’d been assured that my sister's husband would be a strong presence in my child’s life, as he was a bit wary about my decision to raise a child without a father figure, and told my sister that he’d make sure my daughter always had him to lean on. I also had several good male friends whom I knew I could always rely upon, and assumed they would continue to be involved in my life after my baby was born.

When Jayda arrived, my father stepped in, as I'd predicted, and became a doting grandfather and the perfect male role model any mother could want for her child. And it wasn’t as if I could ignore the idea of having men in my child’s life even if I wanted to; from the start, my daughter appeared to adore men wherever we went. As a baby, she'd coo at the busboys when we went to the diner, and bat her eyelashes at our pediatrician during her check ups. When she started her gymnastics class at 18 months, she almost immediately threw herself into the lap of our attractive male instructor. And because of that early love affair, I made a great effort to keep Jayda involved in the gymnastics program, semester after semester after semester—partly because it was a great class, but more importantly because I wanted Jayda to have a weekly connection with a charismatic male teacher who aimed to improve her confidence. But when I mentioned this to one of my married friends—who had lost her own father at a young age—she laughed at me, and told me to relax and not try so hard. She said her own mother had made absolutely no effort to surround her with any positive male role models after her father had passed away, and she'd turned out fine...and you know what? She's right. She’s a strong, successful, well-adjusted woman—and a great mom, herself.

As it turns out, Jayda's uncle, who'd pledged his early devotion to her...well, he's never around. Yes, he does love Jayda in his own way, but physically, he’s more devoted to his job and his friends and his own life, and barely manages to see Jayda more than five times a year. And my once-cherished male friends? I barely speak to them anymore, myself—let alone rely on them for teaching Jayda about what good men should say or do to a woman.

I've always prided myself on having male friends. Just friends. True...maybe sometimes there was a flirty dynamic between me and a few of those guys, but in the grand scheme of things, we really were JUST friends. However, lately, I've felt let down by just about all of them. And it's not that I expected them to all be there for Jayda (though, that would have been nice)...I just expected them to always be there for me. Because while it's nice for a woman to have her girl friends—and good gal pals are certainly irreplaceable—male friends have their significance, too. Especially for strong, independent women—who, let’s face it, are the type of women who generally become SMCs. Because while I often acted a little tough around my guy friends, I was also able to let my guard down and be a little girlie-girl when necessary. And best of all, my guy friends were great about helping me with things. Fixing stuff for me. Giving me advice about things a woman like me knows nothing about: Car engines, mutual funds, hard drives, and a zillion other random-but-important issues and objects. And they did so in ways that are different than when a girl friend helps me out. I’m not saying I’m good at playing the part of a damsel in distress (far from it!), but sometimes a woman needs to have a guy take care of her…even if it’s just a guy friend. And I miss that. But most of all, I simply miss my guy friends.

But I guess not every man wants to hang out with a single mom. And, of course, it’s true, many of my former male friends and I don’t have all that much in common any more. Some of them used to love swapping dating stories with me—and since I’m not the serial dater I used to be, my stories aren’t as plentiful or exciting as they once were. Another former male friend used to drag me to see bands with him every week; I rarely have the time (or the babysitter) to do that, these days. But I wouldn’t mind seeing a show every now and then…if he’d actually ever invite me now! But what disappoints me more than missing the guys, themselves, is that these guys are missing out on the best thing that’s ever happened to me—Jayda. Oddly enough, instead of me needing these men as “good male role models” for my daughter—who I believe is thriving and doing just fine without them, thank you very much!—I feel like they’re the ones missing out on something. They’re missing out on the warm, witty, amazing daughter I’ve been blessed with…and the remarkable mother I’ve blossomed into because of her. And that’s a shame.

As Jayda’s mother, I can see a lot of myself in my daughter. And, similarly, we both like men a lot: We often turn our heads to take a second look at them, find many of them attractive and charming, and we certainly like to flirt with them. We know there are some good ones out there, and, unfortunately, some not-so-good ones. And all I can do is continue to encourage Jayda to become a strong, confident, intelligent woman—and hope she’ll make the right choices in the men she befriends. But as for “surrounding her with positive male role models,” I’m not going to force the issue. Jayda has plenty of people around her who love her—and it doesn’t matter whether they’re women or men—as long as she can count on them. And she can always count on me. That’s enough.

Generations -- by Robin

This past weekend, my 91 year old dad came to stay with us, as he does often when his live-in aide goes home some weekends. He sleeps on a cot in Seth's room, and I've always felt that it was a nice bonding experience for the two of them.


It's getting to the point now, though, as Seth gets older, that he's becoming less 'n less tolerant of my dad's snoring and getting up frequently to visit the bathroom. It's been waking him up, and he doesn't want him in his room anymore. So, we may move the cot into the living room. That would be a bit of a longer walk for my dad to the bathroom, but he could potentially manage.

I found myself sad during this stay. I miss what my dad was. He spends so much time complaining about how he feels, that it leaves me depressed. I want to treasure our time together...and his time with Seth....I just wish it could be a beat more upbeat....even if not perfect.

Is this what happens when someone gets old? Is it to be expected that their health becomes a primary topic of ongoing discussion? My dad says that when he goes to the senior center for lunch, everyone shares about their ailments. I guess it gives them some level of comfort to know they're not alone, but isn't it better not to dwell on it constantly?! If you do, then I would imagine it can take over your thoughts, and what kind of life is that?! Say it...get it out...and then move on.

I don't want to pass judgment. Who knows what I'll be like as a senior citizen?

I feel blessed to have my dad, but I have to be gentle with myself as well, and allow the feelings that come up for me. Even, if that means taking a break from listening to him. I just don't want to get angry, but sometime I can't help it.

My dad laughs when he talks about how many doctor appointments friends of his have...and he has his weekly share as well.

The weekend left me with tremendous guilt, which I know I don't deserve. I had the need to escape my dad at one point and took myself to the movies. Marc watched Seth, and my dad was napping. The break did me good.

A friend wrote to me that I should do something fun with my father. But, the problem is, he isn't up for much. He gets tired easily and frequents the bathroom. He does enjoy eating out, so we always at the very least do that.

When my dad returned home, I felt relief. He's in good hands with his aide, and I can speak to him on the phone as I do daily (more than once), and not feel quite as immersed in his negative talk. I'm blessed that my six year old is upbeat and makes me laugh. He is good company, and when he makes my dad laugh, and forget his age for a moment, I have visions of what my dad was like when I was young. It warms my heart because I know no one will love me like my dad, and there's alot to be said for that. And, I'm thankful that Seth knows his grandpa, snoring and all.

PS -- HAPPY, HEALTHY NEW YEAR!

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Interfaith Traditions -- by Cara

This is always an interesting time of year for our family. And a lot of work for me! See, my husband is Jewish, I am not, but we are raising our son to be Jewish. All of this is fine except for one major thing. My son is in love with everything Christmas, especially Santa Claus!

It all started when my father was still alive and my son was 2 and 3 years old. Since my father didn’t have the stamina to put up his own Christmas tree each year, as he became elderly, we would put one up in our home while he watched us decorate it. And my Mother-in-Law never wanted my father’s holiday to be forgotten, so she would cook a big Christmas dinner for all of us.

My son, even at this young age, took all of this in. Besides the fact that there are Christmas displays everywhere you look this time of year. And Christmas cartoons, movies, and songs just about everywhere. My son became completely enamored with the mystery of Christmas.

Every year, I try to instill both the religious meaning and tradition of Hanukkah in him. But it never seems to trump Santa. “Eight crazy nights!,” I exclaim! “Eight nights of gifts!” The lighting of the candles on the beautiful Menorah he made at religious school! Still, he wants to know when Santa is coming. “How many more days, Mommy?,” he’ll ask.

My father is no longer with us, but the tradition of putting up a tree and decorating it still remain. My son moved all of the items away from the fireplace so that Santa can have easy access into our home. I am wondering how many more years he will still be believing in Santa Claus? I was certain that once he started religious school, the mystery of Santa and his reindeer would be exposed. Didn’t happen. He goes to school with predominantly Jewish children and has mostly Jewish friends. But he cannot be swayed. I’ve brought him to Tot Shabbat services, Hanukkah lightings at our Temple, festivities celebrating Hanukkah! Still, he wants to hold on to the belief of Santa.

So, as we do every year, I put up the Hanukkah decorations first. Read him books about celebrating Hanukkah, make Hanukkah crafts and play “Spin the Dreidel” with him. We watch my Mother-in-Law make potato Latkes. We put on Jewish music celebrating Hanukkah. Still, it all doesn’t matter. He anxiously awaits the man in the red suit and the white beard.

I must admit, preparing for two different winter holidays is not easy. Hanukkah is a little easier, but dragging an artificial tree up from the basement, putting it together, decorating it, making cookies for Santa and wrapping presents for BOTH holidays is a chore. I’m secretly hoping that my son comes to the realization that there really isn’t a Santa Claus. My work load would certainly diminish.

But I’m not going to be the one to squelch my son’s fantasy. It will come naturally on it’s own. Then maybe we can all focus on one holiday, light candles, eat latkes, sing songs and be united in the tradition of Hanukkah. In the meantime, I really wish my son didn’t have to announce to his religion teacher what Santa would be bringing him this year!

Giving Thanks -- by Jamie

Although this blog entry won’t be posted until after Thanksgiving, I’m hoping I’ll continue to give thanks for all the wonderful things I have in my life long after the holiday has come and gone. That said, I’d like to start here.

As a single mother by choice, I put a lot of thought and effort into becoming a mother, and therefore, I feel very fortunate to be one. I’m especially grateful to Jayda’s sperm donor for helping me create her. But at times when I’m frustrated or disappointed with my daughter’s behavior, I need to remind myself to be thankful that my issues with Jayda aren’t big ones. I may stress over our reward system for potty training, what nursery school will be welcoming and challenging enough for Jayda, and how to get her to fall asleep without rubbing her back and holding her in my arms, but I am fortunate enough to have a healthy, happy, intelligent, and well-loved daughter—and in the grand scheme of things, that’s a lot to be thankful for.

In addition to being a mother, I’m thankful for having a mother—especially one who is so wise, loving, and caring, as well as a wonderful grandmother to Jayda. At a time when I’ve recently witnessed several of my friends lose their mothers, and have listened to others complain about, or battle with their moms, I know I’m very lucky to have a mother who is an amazing maternal figure—as well as my good friend.

I’m also thankful for my father, who has always supported and loved me, and has been there for me to lean on. He epitomizes the type of male role model I want Jayda to have in her life, and fortunately, he’s involved very deeply with her upbringing. He also exhibits many of the qualities I’d like to find in a mate for myself someday, and I’m thankful to him for showing me the depth of love and kindness that both Jayda and I deserve.

After recently listening to the trials of one of my teenage relatives, who laments over not having any good girlfriends, I’ve realized how thankful I should be for my girlfriends. I still socialize with several high school and college friends, as well as my best friend from elementary school. Just as importantly, in the past few years I’ve made some wonderful “mommy friends”—women with children Jayda’s age, whom I can confide in and count on just as much as my friends from my youth. I’ve never taken my friends for granted, but I suppose I may sometimes underestimate how lucky I am to have so many solid connections in my life. And though I still find it difficult to ask my friends for help when I’m in a bind, at least I know I have friends to lean on if I need them. And I’m thankful for that.

Last but not least, I’m thankful for Barney (Aaaargh…did I really just say that?!) for “babysitting” Jayda while I read my paper in the morning, for Folgers coffee for giving me the extra energy I need after Jayda’s 5 a.m. wake-ups, for Gold’s Gym for helping me release my stress (well, at least some of it!) in a positive way every morning, and for all the laughter I have in my life—be it Jayda’s raucous giggles, or my own squeals of amusement while gossiping with friends. These days, while I often find myself stressing over my finances, and my plans for the future, I’m grateful that my life, in general, is filled with happiness, and a wealth of good times. And thankfully, as a result, Jayda is a very happy person, full of lots of laughter, herself. I can only hope she’ll be that way for the rest of her long life. Amen.

Do I Want to Be a Grandmother at 50? by Cara

Every once in a while I go on to Facebook to catch up with the happenings of friends near and far. Invariably, I get one of those silly quizzes that pop up. What kind of dog are you? What does your name mean in Japanese? Just as invariably I take a quiz or two if I have the inclination and the time. I found out, incidentally, that my name in Japanese means, “Love Child.” Well, okay, whatever. At least it doesn’t mean, “Burning Sword.”

In any event, I received a quiz from a newly aquatinted friend titled,”Questions About Me.” It was a rather lengthy questionnaire, but after reading the questions and responses my friend had put down, I decided to take the time to answer the questions myself and pass the quiz back to her.

Many of the questions were rather benign, however I almost choked when I read one of the questions two-thirds into the questionnaire. “Would you like to be a grandparent at age 50?” AGE 50??!! I’m 46!! My son is 6!! That would mean that my son would have to impregnate some girl at age 10!!!! NO, I don’t want to be a grandparent at age 50!!! But this got me to thinking. When WOULD I want to be a grandparent?

If I had my son at age 40, and statistics and trends are pointing to later in life marriages and births, what age will I reasonably be a grandmother? I have every hope that my son will attend college. And I would be even more grateful should he decide to go to graduate school or go on to get a professional degree. Would he marry at 25? 30? 35?

My father was an “older” parent and had the joy of seeing my son born at age 86. He had three beautiful years watching my son through his baby and toddler years. And for some unknown reason, even though my father was severely hard of hearing, it didn’t matter one lick to my son nor to my father that they didn’t understand one another. They communicated in a higher form called love.

I think my father and my son had a bond that has continued to transcend his demise. And my son continues to reflect on him with fondness and yearnings of love. I would hope that my son might choose to have children at a slightly younger age than me. It would give me great pleasure to see my grandchildren grow for at least a decade! I could do a lot of “spoiling” in a decade!! (And, yes, I know that only food gets spoiled...but you get my drift!)

But, if my son has a child or children later in his life, as I did, perhaps I, too, could capture a bond of love that would transcend the corporeal. That would make me immensely happy too. Side by side with my grandchild, bringing me a leaf or a stone found on the ground and presented as a gift. Through love that is boundless. Sometime the innocence of the young and the old, brought together, can mean more than spending years trying to establish a relationship with a relative you have a difficult time getting along with.

Well, I have a “few” more years before I need to worry about becoming a grandparent. And incidentally, anyone who draws up a questionnaire with a question such as this, must be, oh, say, 20?

My Kid Oughta Be in Pictures -- by Jamie Levine

I think my daughter is the most beautiful girl in the world. Doesn’t every mother believe that of her child? But my adoring perception of Jayda has been validated time and time again by more objective people than myself. From her “gorgeous blue eyes” and “amazing curls” to her downright “Gerber baby” appeal, I’ve heard more compliments about my daughter than you can imagine.

Even when Jayda was just a few months old, she seemed to have a mesmerizing effect on people. Wherever we went, we were approached by strangers who were charmed by her smile, men who stopped in their tracks when Jayda batted her eyelashes at them, and, even other moms who would joke that my child “was going to be a real man-killer” when she grew up. I’ve actually had people on the street ask me if they could take Jayda’s picture, and was once stopped by a television producer who told me that Jayda would be great on camera because “she’s got the great looks…and the charm.” So, yeah, my daughter is beautiful. Really beautiful.

My father is one of my daughter’s biggest fans. When Jayda was only a few months old, he began his rantings that I “must get her into modeling.” And every compliment Jayda has received from someone in a store or a restaurant since then, has only fueled his fire. As a joke, for one of my father’s birthdays, I gave him a sweatshirt with Jayda’s picture on it and the caption: “Get this kid an agent!” He wears it constantly. But when he prods me to get head shots taken of Jayda or to find her an agent, I shrug my shoulders and suggest, “You do it. I don’t have the time – or the desire – to parade her through modeling agencies and on casting calls.” I’m also not so sure I want to place so much importance on Jayda’s appearance; my daughter is quite intelligent and funny as well, and I’d rather focus on those qualities. But my dad still dreams of seeing Jayda in a print ad. Or on TV.

This Tuesday (September 15th), I’ll be appearing on a local cable TV show called "Something to Talk About.” The segment is about SMCs (Single Mothers by Choice) and I’ll be appearing with another SMC, and speaking about our experiences. It’s a live show, with viewers calling in, and the host, who has seen pictures of Jayda, has asked me to bring her on the show with me. There’s just one problem: The segment starts filming at 8pm – which is Jayda’s bedtime. Generally, Jayda is well-behaved and charming when we’re out of the house and around other people (it’s just at home that she melts down and can turn into a real monster…lucky me!), but we’re never out of the house at 8pm. It’s made me wonder: What might Jayda be like at that hour in a studio? When she’s overtired, she’s quite manic and silly. Will she embarrass me? Make it difficult for me to focus on the topics which I’m on the show to discuss? Or, will she be my darling Jayda — and make me feel proud to have brought her on the air? I wish I knew.

My father, of course, has offered to drive me to the studio with Jayda – and to watch her while I prep for the show. My more reasonable mother has offered to give Jayda dinner and put her to bed while I drive myself to the studio and film my appearance alone. More than likely, I’ll do what’s best for my child – isn’t that what’s most important? But maybe, just maybe, I will give Jayda her 15 minutes of fame.

If you’re in the Long Island area, tune in to my appearance on “Something to Talk About” (Great Neck, NY Cable 20 & Verizon FIOS 37: Tues 8pm (live), Fri 10pm, Mon 5pm and Nassau/W. Suffolk NY Cable 20: Thurs 7:30pm). I’d love to know what you think.

POST VACATION

Wow....if I could have blogged during our vacation, it would have been such a great release, but I didn't have my compter with me.

It was great to get away, and actually had a really amazing experience. I had the opportunity to meet former President Clinton and Hillary, and to personally give President Clinton a signed copy of my book HOW TO MARRY A MENSCH(decent person). Very cool and quite surreal. It occurred to me afterwards that I should have suggested they pass it on to Chelsea, but perhaps they'll do so anyway.

Aside from this encounter, I celebrated my birthday by getting a facial and massage. As I get closer and closer to 50, it's hard to believe just how fast the years go.

And, I saw a newfound maturity of sorts in Seth this trip. He discovered the power of autonomy and exerted himself in a way I've never seen him do at home.

We vacation at Mohonk Mountain House in New Paltz every summer with family members, and have been since Seth was a baby. So, I guess, having grown up there, he has such a level of comfort and familiarity, that he feels he owns the place.

It began by him, along with my 14 year old niece, requesting a copy of our room key for himself. Of course, he kept leaving it in our room, and luckily the room number wasn't on it, in case he lost it outside the room.

Marc, my husband, went home two nights during the trip for a company workshop, and I was with Seth. One of the nights, he gave me quite a fright. He had been playing with a girl a bit older than him and didn't show up to meet me when he was supposed to. I wound up searching the resort and was on the verge of contacting security, when a friend of my sister told me she saw him. Turned out he had been playing in the girl's room, which was ok, except that he didn't tell me.

We bribed Seth to attend the morning session of camp by buying him a toy fireboat he could play with at the beach. Luckily, it worked, so Marc and I could at least get some down time or hiking time in before lunch.

Seth made friends so readily this trip, including a little girlfriend, who looked and acted like a female version of him. They were so totally cute. She doesn't live in NY, so we'll see if we see them again during a future Mohonk trip. We did take photos of them together. I'm curious to see his reaction when we get the photos developed.

As mature as he was trying to act, the five year old in him also emerged. There were a couple of minor poop accidents, losses of toys, and the most unreal pee accident. We had visited Woodstock one afternoon, and bought Seth a tye dyed rock 'n roll t-shirt.

One night he was too weary to put on his pajamas, so he decided to sleep in the shirt and short. Normally we prefer he wear PJs, but went along with it this time since it was vacation.

In the morning, we got quite a colorful surprise. Seth had been so exhausted, that he didn't go to the bathroom before he fell asleep. So, he had a pee accident during the night. When he woke up, the sheets of his bed were blue and purple, from the original white. The dye from the t-shirt had run and colored everything, including his stomach and arms. Just unreal!

We had a tye dye mess.

We threw Seth in the bathtub and scrubbed away, and quickly soaked the t-shirt and hung it in the shower stall, as it dripped further shades of blue and purple.

We were relieved, in a sense, that it happened at the hotel, since our sheets at home are patterned and we would not have been able to bleach out the colors.

So, I'd say our trip was quite eventful in more ways than one. While it's great to get away, it's good to be back home too.