The Power of One

This evening our daughter quietly announced that she was the only single parent in her daughter's pre-school class. There was accusation in her voice, in her posture as she said it, a posture that said I'm different, I'm less. I wish she could see what I see, not less, but more, so much more.

These beautiful children snuggled in their mother's lap are happy. That is not by chance, it doesn't happen by chance, it happens because they have a mother who works hard at their happiness. A mother who gives up what it is she wants in order to give to them, to make their lives full, to make their lives complete and whole and rich. This is what I see.

I see her in the morning when I go in to her room to shut off the alarm, the alarm that never seems to be loud enough to wake her on its first try. Doesn't wake her or her daughter who often curls into her mother's side because that is where she sleeps better, sleeps sounder, sleeps safer.

I see the clothes she lays out for each of them, clothes that she has bought, that she has chosen for them because she knows they like the style, the color or the way they feel against their skin. I see her frustration at how long it takes her son to find his shoes or her how long it takes her daughter to fasten the buckles on her car seat, by herself. I see her smile, the only smile she allows to reach her eyes, the smile she wears when she looks at her children, really looks at them.

I see the way she spreads her paycheck, counts it and spreads it thin on her and heavy on them. Heavy on what they need, what must be bought, what doesn't come cheap. I see her gratitude for her daycare provider, a woman who loves my daughter's children as her own.

I see her at dinner, when her plate is fixed last, the food a little cooler than she likes it but on her plate longer than anyone else's because of the time it takes to prepare two plates before hers, two drinks before hers, seconds before her firsts are finished.

I see her evenings, evenings spent at home, at home preparing for the next day, the next day that will start with her daughter climbing into her bed, her alarm going off too soon, her son looking for his shoes, her daughter buckling herself.

I see all of these things, all of these things that happen before her workday begins, her workday that brings with it the demands of a busy office, a busy practice, a busy day.

I do not see less, I see more. I see more for her to do. I see her do more. I see her give more, more to her children, more each day. I see her give more to them and take less for herself. I see her and wish she could see what I see.