Romance for Real Women

            If you’ve read much of this blog, you’ve probably guessed that we don’t celebrate Father’s Day in my house. 

I have two darling children who seldom see their father.  That’s his choice, not ours.  Rather, it’s not theirs.  I would like nothing more than to firmly close the book on what I regard as the sorriest chapter in my life.

I suspect I’m not alone in being deeply ambivalent about my children’s involvement with a father who walked out on them.

On the one hand, I want them to know, really know, in their bones and in their hearts that everyone who has a close connection to them loves them. This is the basic security children deserve and I’ve told them for years that Daddy loved them. 

But Daddy rarely surfaces.  And, when he does, generally, it’s all about him.  He’s got a spare day.  He has an appointment nearby. He’s got a little time to kill.

Long ago, the kids became used to his casual disregard.  But being used to it, doesn’t take away the pain or the yearning.

I am the one who sees their wistful expressions when holidays like Father’s Day come and go without a word from him.

I am the one who copes with the disappointment when Daddy doesn’t acknowledge a birthday or an achievement.

And I am the one who is trying to raise children who understand the precious gift they are so that they in turn will pass on this fundamental sense of self to their own children.  Every child should have bone deep awareness of being special to their parents.  Every single child.

So, Father’s Day came and went in our house.  I know the kids bought something for him although they didn’t discuss it with me.

Their bright, expectant faces changed during the day to hurt and disappointment by bedtime when it was clear he wasn’t going to call.

And, oh, I’m so angry. I’d like nothing better than to sever all ties. I’d enjoy seeing see his name on the phone and not answering it.  I’d take pleasure in ignoring his occasional e-mails.  I’d love to slam the goddamn door in his selfish face. 

But I won’t.  I know that the next time he calls or drops by…whenever that may be…and announces he wants to see the children, I’ll let him.

Some of my darling friends have visited this blog and because they are my darling friends, they haven’t hesitated in sharing their opinions.

“But, Lesli,” one said, “it’s supposed to be about romance. You’re talking about your daughter.”

“That’s true,” I said, “but it’s called romance for real women. Real women have children and we have to train them not only to be real women, but to appreciate real women.”

That didn’t wash.

“But that’s not romantic.”

“Try being romantic if your daughter is in a snit about a bathing suit,” I returned.

She was mum.

I went on the attack. “Try having a romantic evening when she’s in tears because you didn’t buy the bikini.”

“Try having sex while your son is whining because he wants a tattoo.”

I would go on, but it’d start to sound as if I was feeling sorry for myself.

At any rate, we went on to discuss more important subjects like the new Hulk movie. But she got me thinking.

The construct of real romance consists of all the day-to-day influences impacting our lives and how we live and think about life.

To me, it’s romantic my son feels he can share his woes with my partner and that my partner can be trusted to deal with the tattoo issue gently.

It’s romantic that my partner tells my insecure little girl she looks beautiful in her swimsuit.

These things fan the still beating flames of a long relationship. They tell me something about him and not so incidentally help me handle sensitive domestic issues.

In the bigger picture, broad, societal attitudes toward marriage, sex, and children inevitably affect our own attitudes.

Is it important for real women to know that more than 30 percent of the nation’s children don’t live with either parent while almost 20 percent of children live with a single parent, usually the mother? Does this fact affect our view of romance? Our attitudes and expectations for a partner?

I think it does and I think we need to stay aware of them.

So, I’ll continue to report and comment on them. Just as I’ll continue to report and comment on trends in sexy lingerie, chocolate, jewelry and other things dear to my still romantic heart.

Mother’s Day is one of the sweetest holidays of the year. And not just because my partner has learned I adore good chocolate.

It’s the one holiday when the rest of the family makes its own rituals.

If you’re like me, and you probably are, women, mothers, are responsible for the rituals that mark the years for their children.

Thanksgivings may be at home or friends or family. You may decorate for the holiday or just concentrate on the food. But Mom’s the person who decides the where and with whom. Ditto for Christmas and birthdays. And, to Mom falls most of the work. (My Christmas tree has gotten to be such a chore, that two Christmases ago I obtained an arty looking branch from one of the dormant trees in the lawn and decorated it with dried fruit. When I presented it to the children as a different kind of Christmas tree, you can believe they were having none of it. Last year we were back to the three days to put up and two days to take down version.)

This is not a whine, just a fact. We do the work that makes the holidays special.

But not on Mother Day.

This is the day children, husbands and partners are free to conspire to show us how much they care.

In my case, I thoughtfully packed the refrigerator with eggs, milk, bacon and thick sliced bread…just in case breakfast was in the offing.

It was. And, it didn’t take me more than forty minutes or so to clean up, but breakfast in bed was worth every burnt pan.

I am far too frugal to allow my partner to treat us to big dinners. And I’m far too good a cook to pine for eating out when I can make an exceptional meal at home. We will be having one of those tonight.

However, I’m have not been above training my significant other in those things that I do find delightful, jewelry, books and lingerie among them and I suspect I’ll be in receipt of something along those lines tonight. I’m looking forward to it.

I started this off with the assertion that Mother’s Day is the one day mom steps aside to let the family decide the ritual.

I might have been mistaken.