Playing Without a Plan

By all definitions, my mom was a ‘single mom’ – my dad decided our family wasn’t his thing, so he got the lawnmower and my mom got my brother and I. A good deal, if I do say so myself – although perhaps our lawn may have suffered somewhat in the short term. But to us, she was never a ‘single mom’ – she was just Mom. Our mom. And I don’t remember the absence of my dad ever being an issue.

Even with no financial or physical support, my mom still managed to find a way to keep my brother and I involved in a ton of organized sports and activities – hockey, ringette, baseball, music lessons, summer camp… we definitely had our share of programs and events and I don’t remember missing out on anything.

But what I remember most about growing up isn’t the scheduled activities or organized events. One of the greatest gifts my mom gave to my brother and I is the ability to simply ‘play’. Playing without purpose. Playing without a 'plan'. We would spend hours playing on the front lawn – with neighbourhood friends or by ourselves – running, cartwheeling, watching the clouds, picking dandelion bouquets, riding our bikes, running through sprinklers, burying ourselves in leaves… and just generally being kids.

That's me rockin' the chubby cheeks & the red & blue swimsuit sensation!

Somehow Mom was always able to strike the perfect balance between giving us the freedom to see where our imaginations could take us, and still be there to be an integral part of our play. I’m sure sitting through yet another tennis-racket-strumming / pot-lid-drumming concert or watching us roll down the big green hill for the 187th consecutive time were not exactly at the top of her “to do” list, but she was always there. I’m sure she had better things to do than check out yet another ill-constructed fort or create another candlelight marshmallow toasting evening, but she was always there.

Admittedly, it was a very different time then. Yes, we grew up not only able to create our own fun but were actually encouraged to do so. Our days often consisted of a whole lot of nothing – and we loved it. We even had the freedom to actually get bored and figure out our own ways to entertain ourselves. We rarely had structured playdates but were always welcome to have friends over to play. I had years of swimming lessons – but remember being able to spend hours upon hours showing off our best ‘cannonballs’ into our pool and getting Mom to count who could hold their breath longest under water. I had countless piano lessons but it’s the hours of impromptu duets with my friends that I remember most. And who was our captive audience? Yep – thanks, Mom.

Over the years I remember people telling me how bad they felt that I wasn’t able to take part in certain programs, or attend certain events, or travel to certain places. But looking back, I don’t remember feeling badly about any of that. I remember sun-filled days, laughing hard and playing hard. I remember cartwheel competitions on the front lawn, bike riding until the streetlights came on, and coming back home dirty, tired and blissfully happy.

But most of all, I remember being encouraged to “just play” – without worrying about how well I was doing it compared to other kids, whether or not it fell into any sort of pre-determined curriculum, or whether or not it had any bearing at all on the adult I would one day become. We played because it was fun – and as kids, isn’t that the point? So thanks, Mom, for being the best kid-concert goer, cartwheel counter, fort builder and playmate a kid could ever have. We didn’t have a single mom – we had the single best mom!

“We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” George Bernard Shaw

Who's Your Daddy?

I’m pretty sure my son came out of the womb asking “Why”. Seriously. While most little kids his age were singing their “A-B-C’s”, my kid was busting out the “Y-Y-Y’s”! Unlike Dear Ol’ Dad, I can’t tune him out when he asks so I’m sure I’ve spent a disproportionate amount of time explaining everything from Why daylight lasts longer in the Summer to Why boogers are so slimy (good question!). The infamous “They” say that you’re supposed to encourage a child’s natural curiousity, so I’m pretty sure I’ve earned my Black Belt in answering questions.


I should have realized the questions were only going to get more difficult (although the slimy booger thing did stump me). But I figured I’d be able to handle it. After all, wasn’t I the mom who was able to somewhat explain the concept of the Civil Rights movement to my inquisitive little 5-year old after a million questions about “Martin Luther King, Jr. Day”?

I also should have known that the  question was coming…

“Mommy, who’s your Daddy?”

Nope, not in a funky, slang kind of way. He really wanted to know. Let me start by saying that he has been blessed with an absolutely amazing Grandpa – my stepdad – who is an awesome Wii partner / skating teacher / swimming buddy / and all around great guy. My dad, on the other hand? Not so much. For a number of reasons I don’t fully understand, he’s chosen not to be a part of our lives – we haven’t spoken in over 10 years. He didn’t attend my wedding and he’s never laid eyes on my son. I have sent cards and pictures every Christmas, and have even left random voicemails on occasion to try and set up “the talk”. Nothing.

So, as an adult, I can rationalize, justify, explain and excuse all night long (seriously, I’m pretty good at it!) – but having to tell my innocent little boy who is the centre of his family’s world that there is actually a person who has absolutely no desire to have anything to do with him… that’s where it gets me. I realize I’m a tad biased but it breaks to my heart to know that someone is missing out on the sheer joy and blessing of having the most wonderful, curious, intelligent, sensitive, funny, amazing little boy in their life.

So that’s what I told him. I looked into his inquisitive, beautiful brown eyes and told him that my dad was the one who was missing out. That sometimes people make choices that we can’t understand but they’re entitled to make them. And fortunately he’s surrounded by people who choose to love him more than life itself.

Was that the right answer? Who knows… but at least we’ve moved beyond boogers…