I was raised by a single mum

For most of my childhood and nearly all of my brother’s, my mum was a single mum. Not a primary caregiver who shared custody. Nor a parent who received maintenance payments from an absent father. No, she was a 100%, full-time single mum who raised two children on her own. She was the mother, the father, the disciplinarian, the breadwinner, the cleaner, the good cop, the bad cop, the cook and the nurturer. It wasn’t an easy life. For her or for us. But it certainly wasn’t a terrible life either. We endured that life together and now, as adults can look back with an almost fondness in our hearts.

“Remember how poor we were Tan?” Mum would ask, smiling. And I smile too when I answer “Yes! How could I forget?” Because there’s something about shared struggle that really binds people and hearts.

We were a small, tight and happy family. The simpleness of our lives, borne out of the inherent lack of money and financial security bred intense gratitude for the smallest things. Fillet steak for dinner on my birthday and my brother’s first ever designer sneakers come to mind. But conversely it also developed a desire for a greater life and a hunger for security – both emotional and financial.

I talk about my mum being a single parent a lot. I do it because I’m proud. Because I understand just how incredibly strong and capable a person needs to be to fulfill that role with any level of success and competence. And I’m proud that MY mum is one of those people. I do it also because I wholeheartedly believe that being raised in a single parent family has shaped me as a woman, as a wife and as a mother. Some of it in my favour and some of it to my detriment.

As a woman I am empowered. I know, without any doubt, that if the shit hit the fan and our lives went to hell that I would be able to pull us through. I believe in me and I believe in women. My mum didn’t mean to raise me as a feminist, it was just the by-product of having such an incredibly non-reliant, kick-arse, can-do female role model. I value women. I value my girl friends. I value me. Seeing my mum unapologetically take on the world lit a fire in my belly. But the flipside is I don’t value men as much. I have a distrust of them. Though that is changing. With every year and with every test I subconsciously set for the men in my life, but it is still there. It’s a hard feeling to shake. Having sons helps. Watching and helping them grow into loving, respectful and reliable young men restores my lost faith.

As a wife I am mostly pragmatic and demanding. On the one hand I believe I don’t need my husband and I can do everything without him. On the other hand, I’m terrified that he will leave and I have high expectations of him to be an active partner and father. Perhaps testing him. Perhaps trying to convince myself that he’s a good man. Growing up I always knew I had to ‘find a good man’. And now that I’ve got one I almost dare him to prove me wrong. He hasn’t and the largest part of my heart knows he won’t, but the smallest part still waits. I am heavily involved with my in-law family, grateful for them and what they bring to our lives. I only had my mum’s side of the family when I was growing up and though I never missed my dad’s side I am profoundly aware of how fortunate I am to have two extended families to call my own these days.

I am far too emotionally invested in my home. We moved quite a few times when I was a kid. There’s no family home for me to go back to. My mum hasn’t converted my childhood bedroom into a gym. There aren’t any marks on any walls that show how tall my brother and I grew over the years. We were long-term renters so my dream was always to buy a big house, fill it with kids and stay forever. I am in my forever house. Even though it’s not sensible or affordable or even manageable at the moment. I am in love with my house and have an unhealthy and intense feeling of security there. Even the thought of selling it makes my stomach turn.

As a mother I am tough. But mostly on myself. I want to be all things to my boys. I want to be strong and capable like my mum. I want to teach them gratefulness by not giving them everything but I don’t want them to ever feel hungry. I want them to learn independence and resilience but I never want to not be there for them. I never want my work to be more important or necessary to me than being there for them. As the only income earner in our household, my mother’s numerous jobs were necessary to our survival as a family. It meant she was away from us a lot. Even as kids we understood that but we shouldn’t have had to and I don’t want that for my boys. I expect them to appreciate the privileged life they live, though they know no other life. I struggle with my absolute maternal need to give them the life I didn’t have and my fear that I am robbing them of ever understanding the value of disadvantage. So I am tough and contradictory. I sacrifice overseas holidays, designer clothes and new cars to send them to a private school but refuse to succumb to spoiling them with the latest technology, gadgets and toys. I tell them that our family and our home are the most important things in the world. I tell them that my main job as their mum is to help them get through life with their health and their heart and their happiness. I tell them these things in words because I’m not confident that they will work it out themselves and I need them to know these things. I tell them they’re lucky and I tell them I’m lucky too. Because if you hear it enough times, you begin to believe it. I tell them what a good man their dad is and I show them that I love him and he shows them that he loves me. We don’t hide our arguments from them. We tell them that it is ok to argue with someone you love. It is safe. Family can disagree and still be family. Together. I want my boys to always know the feeling of security. Emotional, spiritual and financial.

I love the woman I am today. It took many years to love her and to understand her but all my resilience and insecurity and contradiction combined makes sense to me now. And it all fell into place when I realised that I had it wrong. Coming from a single parent family was not something bad that happened to me. It was a gift and a life-long lesson in family, love, strength, self, vulnerability, courage and choice.

Being raised by my single mum was the best thing that ever happened to me.

What does a mum look like?

My mum looks amazing. She looks strong and proud and determined. She looks fit. She looks like a tiger, always ready to pounce, always protecting her cubs. She looks like a lady with painted nails and coloured lips. 

She looks like a kick boxer, always in her family’s corner. 

She looks like a dancer. She looks like a dad. She looks like a daughter who is sad without her mother. She looks like a child laughing with my boys. My mum looks like a racing car driver with her seat laid back and her gloved hands on the wheel. She looks like a bread winner. She looks like a model walking in heels with a strut I’ve never been able to imitate. She looks like a boss. She looks like a clairvoyant, calling on her intuition to predict the future. She looks like a clown holding court with her hilarious stories. She looks like a counsellor always ready with advice – sought or otherwise. 

She looks like an inspiration. She looks like an aspiration.

My boys’ mum looks like me. I hope they see a mum that looks like their protector. I hope they see a mum that looks strong and fit. I hope they see a mum with arms big enough for the whole family. I hope they see a mum with a heart that shines through her eyes whenever she looks at them. I hope they see a mum that is larger than life itself when they stand behind her for protection. I hope they see a mum that laughs with them. I hope they see a mum who’s not ashamed to cry. 

I hope they see a mum with magic in her kisses. 

I hope they see a mum who stands on the sidelines chanting their name and heading their fan club. I hope they see a mum who knows when to be quiet and let them shine. I hope they see a mum who is a mind reader that somehow knows what they’re thinking even when they don’t. I hope they see a mum who they will always want to hug. I hope they see a mum who is a master chef. I hope they see a mum that’s important to the whole world, and not just theirs. I hope they see a mum who is fair. I hope they see a mum who leads. I hope they see a mum who will follow their dream too. I hope they see a mum who is smart and has the answers. 

I hope they see a mum who’s not afraid to tell them that she doesn’t know. 

I hope they see a mum who thinks she’s beautiful. I hope they see a mum who looks for the beauty in others. I hope they see a mum who delivers on her promises – good and bad. I hope they see a mum they can respect. 

I hope they see a mum that they can point out to their friends and proudly say ‘That’s my mum’

What does a mum look like to you?

My mum hates my blog

It's true. Mum hates my blog. Well, she doesn’t hate it as much as fears it. She loves my writing and she loves that other people love my writing but she hates that people read what I have to say. She hates that I have a place, on-line, that I share stuff about me and my opinion and my loves and my hates. And she hates my blog mainly because of this post I’m writing right now. The one she doesn’t know I’m writing. The one about her.

When Mum finds out about this, which she will ‘cause her friends love my blog and they read it all the time, she’s gonna lose her shit. And when my mum loses her shit – the world knows. She’s that kind of mum. The outspoken kind. The opinionated kind. The awesome kind.

Being born in the 70s meant that my mum was young. It wasn’t the norm, back then, to wait until you had ‘done stuff’ before you had kids. You got married as soon as you could and had kids straight away. Which in Mum’s case was at the ripe old age of 20. Being born to a 20 year old in the 70s was a very different parenting dynamic than today. There weren’t books or websites or online forums or help-lines or social media communities or parenting shows. 

There was only this... On the job training. 

And, unbeknownst to me, it was during my mum’s on the job training that I cut my own teeth on being a mum. Today, 40 years after she started the ball rolling, I see myself parent in her style. It’s equally as terrifying as comforting. Terrifying because I hated some of what she did and comforting because what she did created some pretty impressive grown-ups [yes, I’m pissing in my own pocket].

  

I hated “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

I’ve got something to cry about Mum – that’s why I’m crying!

I hated “If you make that face and the wind changes, your face will stay like that forever.”

What was that parenting technique even for? To discourage kids from making ugly faces? And would that mean that if, after the wind changed and made my face ugly forever, I would have the chance to make it normal again by making a happy face and waiting for the wind to change again?

I hated “Because I said so.”

That's not a reason. Just like it wasn't an answer when I replied 'because I don't want to'. I hate even more that I say it to my own kids now.

I hated “You’ll understand, when you have your own kids.”

Because, of course, I do understand.

I hated "Do you want a smack?"
Yes please Mum. A hard one please and if possible, in public.

Yep, Mum said some stupid shit when I was growing up but it turns out it didn't ruin me. And as for the good stuff? Well that turned out to be the gift that keeps on giving... and I'm now regifting to you.

Lone's Life Lessons

#1 Always wear singlets in winter. It keeps your core warm which means the blood that pumps around your body is warm. Whether that's true or not, I still wear them to this day and my boys are in them whenever it’s cool.

#2 Always dry your hair before you go to bed. Or you will get a chill or catch pneumonia. Or end up in hospital. Anyway, I forget the reason but my kids are under the hairdryer every time they get out of the shower/bath.

#3 Always have a ‘hands towel’ and a ‘dishes towel’ in the kitchen and NEVER mix them up. It's a germ transfer thing. In my house, if the tea towel is visible then it’s a ‘hands towel’. The ‘dishes towel’ is on the rack under the sink.

#4 Always wear a dressing gown on top of your pjs if you’re not in bed. There can be no sitting on the couch [that people put their feet on and their bum on and their unwashed hands on] in the same pjs that you’re going to wear to bed later. It’s dirty and gross.

#5 Always have a rice steamer. It is the only way to cook rice.

#6 Always walk into a room as if you own it, even if you’re shitting yourself.

#7 Always protect your family.

#8 Never talk when Mum's favourite song is on the radio in the car. Either sing along or shut up.

#9 Always squat over a public toilet seat so that your bum doesn’t touch it and if you can’t squat, then LINE the toilet seat with toilet paper. This will reduce the risk of catching a disease like herpes or hepatitis or AIDS or the worst possible option – worms.

#10 Always overcook the chicken. There cannot be even a tinge of pink or you will get salmonella. Or worms.

#11 Always wash your feet before going to bed. Dirty and gross.

#12 Always have good girl friends in your life. Whether you’re married or not. They are the constant.

#13 Dance. Often. Well. Alone or out on the town. Just make sure you dance.

#14 Always be clean. Even if you’re tired. Even if you’re sad. Even if you’re broke. It costs nothing to be clean.

#15 Never apologise for who you are or where you've come from.

#16 Always sort your dirty washing into light colours, dark colours and whites. Towels on their own. Bedding on its own. Tea towels on their own. And if you leave them in the washing machine for 2 days, wash them again or they will smell like old vomit.

#17 Always shake the creases out of every piece of wet washing before you hang it on the line. You need to make it ‘snap’. If you hang it, like a boy, straight from the basket it will dry crunchy.

#18 Always steam your vegetables. Well, if you want flavour that is.

#19 Always make sure the kids are fed. Well.

#20 Never let your kids know you’re scared.

#21 Always trust your instinct. It’s all you have in the world when you’re all alone so listen to it and make it your friend.

#22 Always listen to your mum [if you haven't made friends with your instinct yet] She may do and say things you hate. She may be annoying. She may be too strict. She may be unfair. She may be too tough. But she knows your heart. She knows your smell and your touch and your face. She knows what’s best even when you don’t. Especially when you don’t.

My brother and I did it tough. With only Mum to raise us we missed out on a lot. The newest gadgets. The coolest clothes. The nice house. The new car. Travel. A father. A mother. Because what happens when there’s only one parent is that parent has to spread themselves so thin that you’re really being raised by half a parent.

Yet it never felt like that. My mum did the best and most committed job she could possibly do. Which may not make her the greatest mum in the world. 

But she’s the greatest mum in my world. 

And that, is all we can ever hope our mums to be.