The Salty Flood

It is a struggle caring for three small kids as a divorced mom. It is a hurricane of competing needs, from food to feelings, from colds to cleaning.

One of the tricks of single motherhood is how to listen like a 3-way radar since young children assume you should always be listening to the most important person in the room: Themselves. I am trying to train them to speak one at a time and take turns. And, I am hoping that by the time they are twenty, they will have caught on.

The oldest one gets more attention because, of course, he is more aggressive about the stories he needs to tell – and he is very excited about finally being in Kindergarten. He came home from school recently and recounted how someone had said something unkind to him on the playground. He was incredulous. Well, this just cannot happen! How could that kid say something so mean to me? What does he know? And, the adults did nothing to help me after that, either! (The drama was something to behold. ) He continued his story, saying that he was able to make it all the way to the afternoon holding this verbal affront in his heart. Finally he could hold it in no longer, and (drumroll) “I cried so hard that it flooded the school, Mom!” “My goodness!”, I said, “What did the adults do?!” “They called the Fire Department to clean up all those salty tears. It was a huge job!”

On his face was a wistful look as if wishing he could actually cause such a thing the next time some kid hurt his feelings. But as his mother, it let me know the depth of my boy’s hurt feelings, which might have been the moral of the story all along.