The Single Dad's Guide to the Galaxy: Parenting in the real world

by Roger McEwan

  The better you communicate with your ex, the easier everyone’s lives will be. This is a key part of having a great relationship with your ex.

  Get the logistics between houses sorted out quickly. The goal is smooth and stress-free changeovers as that’s in the best interests of your children.

  Don’t sweat if your children seem to be transporting everything including the kitchen sink between houses. It will reduce, and in the short term it may make them feel more in control.

  Counselling isn’t a soft option, even for Kiwi males. The most important aspect is to take in an open mind.

  Using a notebook to exchange observations and concerns with your ex works well when communication is difficult.

  The more time you spend with your children will help build bonds that will endure for a lifetime. Be careful though – it has to be quality time.

  Take extra care when forwarding emails to your ex. Make sure you aren’t putting your electronic foot in it.

  12. School Holidays

  If there were no schools to take the children away from home part of the time, the insane asylums would be filled with mothers.

  Edgar Watson Howe (novelist and editor, 1853-1937)

  During the coffee break at a conference I was chatting with a group of people and I manoeuvred myself strategically so I was able to politely ask a noticeably attractive woman, ‘So, what do you do?’ I know it’s a poor conversation starter but I’m not a natural social butterfly.

  She replied, ‘I’m a part-time teacher.’

  ‘Really,’ I said, ‘I didn’t think there was any such thing as a full-time teacher.’

  Before I offend those in the teaching profession, I do have the utmost respect for teachers. I’m delighted that there are people who love, or at least endure, days on end with children of all ages. From kindergarten through to high school, I couldn’t imagine a more testing work environment.

  But …

  Fourteen weeks a year of holidays, plus public holidays and teacher-only days. Wow, that’s some down time. Rog’s school regularly plans a teacher-only day on the Monday after the school holidays. Unless I’m missing something, school holidays are teacher-only days. It’s obviously only a theory.

  I have to scramble to make sure my children are cared for in the seemingly endless holidays. Life would be easier if I had the old-world luxury of a stay-at-home wife keeping the home fires burning, darning my socks and waiting for the children’s return from school. Thankfully today’s society is being dragged towards equality and few women are content with a role behind the often inflated ego of an ordinary man. It’s certainly not a role I’ll be encouraging Liv to settle for.

  JUGGLING

  I am luckier than many parents as being self-employed means that I’m in a position in which I can juggle the competing demands of work and home. Actually, strike the word ‘lucky’. I’ve spent years studying and I’ve been running my own business for a decade. I agree with whoever said that luck comes to those who work hard and don’t give up.

  Even being self-employed, I’m still forced to write off most of the school holidays when the children are with me. That’s seven weeks’ worth (Rose and I share the holidays fifty-fifty) and school holidays come around brutally quickly. Using my nanny for the whole week is too expensive and so I block out the week. It’s only when there are unavoidable work commitments that I drop the children at my mum’s.

  For those seven weeks I get little work done – and not working equals not earning. Add to that the increased costs required to keep the troops entertained and trips away and it can feel like my personal version of the Global Financial Crisis.

  When the six-week Christmas break loomed in all its glory I was torn between having a summer break and progressing my study. I didn’t want to shelve my research for half the holidays when I had the children, but I couldn’t work from home as the software I was using was on my university computer. I was pondering this problem one night when I was struggling to go to sleep when, eureka, I came up with the solution: ‘borrow’ my university computer. Brilliant!

  In bureaucracies there are two ways to do things. There’s the official way, which results in frustration, and the easy way. I needed to complete an ‘Uplift computer equipment’ form and submit it to the administrator, who would coordinate approvals. As many of the university hierarchy were already on holiday my chances were slim. At the risk of offending more people, you can throw most academics into the part-time workforce.

  The easy way was far simpler. I wandered into my office on a Sunday morning, with Rog and Liv to give me an innocent look, and some accomplices, and we picked up the computer and screen and uplifted it ourselves. Our action was in line with that common management saying: it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. I was therefore able to advance my study over the summer holidays when time allowed.

  Did anyone notice my computer’s absence for six weeks? Do you really have to ask?

  The major barrier to getting anything meaningful done in the holidays is the constant interruptions. I read that managers get interrupted every seven minutes on average and it must be similar for parents when children are around. It feels far more frequently, especially if Liv is hungry.

  ‘Dad, what’s for: breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, morning tea … ?’

  ‘Dad, can you: play, help, come here, get me a snack, pass that, hold this … ?’

  ‘Dad, what are we doing: now, later, today, tomorrow, at lunchtime, after lunch … ?’

  ‘Dad, I can’t find my: top, shorts, socks, game, pencil, bangle, bat, brain, sandwich …’

  It’s endless. I learnt a handy lesson very early as a parent: when you’re looking after your children and you expect to achieve a lot, you get frustrated and angry. If you expect to get nothing done and you actually achieve something, you feel elated. Managing your expectations helps.

  There’s also the tricky balance between not wanting the children on the computer all day and getting time for myself. I’m sure that if left unchecked Rog would stay on his computer or Xbox constantly if he didn’t need to eat or attend to the occasional call of nature. When he’s engrossed in a game, Rog hangs on for as long as humanly possible and then sprints to the toilet. Good job we have two – otherwise it could end badly.

  It isn’t because I don’t want to spend time with the children during the holidays. I love hanging out or tripping around with them, it’s great fun. But balancing work and holidays can be a trial. I know there are other options available, such as holiday programmes, which would allow me a full work day. However, Rog and Liv experienced one once, threatened rebellion and refused to attend the last day. This forced Rose, who equally doesn’t have a sock-darning partner, to take the day off. I’ve subsequently shied away from using them, though I’m sure there are good ones around. Maybe Rose was just unlucky.

  Despite the evidence and my own experience, I still optimistically plan to get lots of work and study done. I bring it home in folders which mainly sit in my office taunting me. There are periods of time when I can strike, usually early morning or late in the evening. It has to be quite late now as the children’s bedtime has extended as they’ve grown. I do miss the days of afternoon naps and having my angels asleep by 7.30pm. Studying requires long periods of uninterrupted concentration and so early in the morning before they’re awake is ideal. When they arise, bedraggled and enquiring about breakfast, I change to work tasks and try ignore them for as long as possible.

  Public holidays present a similar, albeit briefer, challenge. They certainly lose their gloss when you don’t get paid. So it’s difficult to join in the excited chatter about the long weekend. I’m usually planning on doing what I would’ve done anyway except there’ll be nobody else in the building. As public holidays approach I secretly hope they fall when the children are at Rose’s, and I reckon she does the same.

/>   Then there are all those ‘special’ days such as Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Easter and Christmas. They’re just commercial traps. Does anyone eat hot cross buns and chocolate only at Easter, or wait until Valentine’s Day to show affection? I make an effort for the children, I’m not the Grinch I make out, but they’re used to my relaxed view that celebrating near the date is okay. I once gave my brother his birthday present six months late – he probably thought I’d forgotten.

  Rose loves special days and she and the children celebrate with gusto. This works for us both and on one occasion allowed me the opportunity to head to the UK for Christmas without them. I’d taken them with me previously but so that I could leave with a clear conscience, I bribed them with the promise of spectacular presents on my return. They were more than happy with that – effectively it meant two Christmases. I kept my promise and bought more presents than I should have, mainly to allay any leftover guilt. It was my first Christmas without them but I needn’t have worried, they’d survived fine and were thrilled to dive into Christmas take two.

  UP, UP AND AWAY

  One memorable present I bought for Rog was a solar airship from the London Science Museum. Rog was keen to test out its capabilities, though the instructions said – in fact they stressed – that the airship should be flown only on windless days. In Palmerston North they’re reasonably rare, even in summer, and it took a few days of patience before the day dawned bright, sunny and calm. After breakfast the children and I headed to the school field for its inaugural flight.

  Like most toys, the appearance of the airship wasn’t as thrilling as it looked on the package but it was still impressive. It was a colossal thin, black polythene tube that, once inflated, used the sun to heat the trapped air allowing it to soar skywards. It was stopped from escaping by a string attached like a kite.

  As we readied the airship for flight I noticed that the breeze was freshening. This made things tricky but eventually we got it inflated. The sun started doing its job and we waited for the airship to fulfil its destiny and fly. Unfortunately, all it managed was to writhe barely off the ground like a giant black sausage on a barbeque. The day was already hot and it wasn’t a lack of solar power that was thwarting its flight. Rog and Liv danced delightedly around it while I waited and pondered.

  After half an hour the airship’s and my limit had been reached. I noticed a slight tear in the tube and so I decided we should deflate it and take it home for rest and repair. The children grabbed their scooters, my plan B, and we headed to the tennis courts with the airship in tow.

  ‘How are we going to deflate it?’ Rog asked seriously.

  ‘I’m going to attach it to the fence and let it deflate itself.’

  I secured it to the wire-netting fence that surrounded the tennis courts by pushing the handle through the wire netting.

  ‘I thought you said you were going to tie it?’

  ‘I said attach. If the airship tries to escape … ,’ and I demonstrated by tugging on the string that the handle couldn’t get back through the fence. It was like a lobster trap.

  ‘That’s clever, Dad.’

  I smiled and he ran off with his scooter to join Liv while I lay down in the sun. I’d only been back in the country for a few days and I felt like I was still high above the Pacific. I could hear the children playing happily and stretched out hoping to have a quick nap.

  No sooner than I had closed my eyes when I heard Rog yelling out in alarm. My brain was still foggy and it took a moment to register that the breeze had amazingly freed the airship. Really? I watched it gently writhing slowly across the playing field in disbelief. I struggled to my feet and stumbled into a jog to retrieve and re-incarcerate the rogue airship. It hadn’t got higher than a couple of metres and it had a tear in it, so I assumed it wasn’t going anywhere fast.

  I was wrong.

  As I closed the gap on the airship it was though it sensed danger and started to climb. Three metres. Four metres. Recognising the impending disaster I accelerated, but by the time I caught up with it its dangling kite handle was out of reach. I ran along underneath waiting, and hoping, for it to descend but it had other plans. Ten, fifteen, twenty metres … Halfway across the field, and as inconceivable as it seemed, it wasn’t coming down. In fact it was still climbing and wriggling delightedly in its new-found freedom. I stopped and was joined by Rog and Liv who had abandoned their scooters and joined the chase. We watched it soar higher and higher, over the trees, out of sight and away to far-off places.

  I was at a loss for words and Rog was far from impressed. We followed what I calculated to be its likely flight path but it was a futile effort. Like the Titanic, it hadn’t survived its maiden voyage and we never saw it again. I half expected to hear on the evening news that air travel around Palmerston North had been disrupted by an unidentified flying sausage. Rog reminded me for weeks that I owed him a solar airship the next time I was in London. I still owe it to him and he won’t forget. If I mention the airship today his face instantly sours. Maybe I’ll make it a twenty-first birthday present …

  THE CHIEF ENTERTAINMENT OFFICER

  It seems logical that looking after one child would be easier than two but it’s completely the opposite. When my children are together they play, work out games and generally keep each other amused. Yes, they have the odd dust-up but that just comes with the territory. They can play with the box of Hot Wheels cars and track for hours, and now they’re older, with their interests separating, they play multi-player computer games together. When one is away the difference is striking because all the attention is focused back on me. It’s fair enough and we do have fun, but it means I achieve far less than I hope or plan.

  Looking after Rog and Liv in the holidays has become easier as they’ve grown. They love sleeping in, pottering around the house, playing on their computers, watching TV and generally staying in their pyjamas all day. That suits me down to the ground. They’re aware, because I keep telling them, that I’m not the chief entertainment officer, at least not all the time. If they get too ratty with each other, or with me, I say loudly, ‘Next holidays I’ll probably have to consider a holiday programme, at least for my most annoying child.’ They know I’m all talk, but they slink away into the shadows – for a while.

  When we’re holidaying at home I like to get the children out of the house at least once a day. Going for a walk is a favourite of mine. At first their facial expressions suggest a distinct lack of keenness, though I suspect they like them once we are underway. The bonus with walking is I get the chance to chat to them about whatever comes to mind. I love finding out what’s going on inside their heads. It’s often hard to fathom, but it’s always interesting. Occasionally, mainly from Liv whom Rog nicknamed ‘Bean-spiller’, I may get a titbit or two of gossip. This was sometimes valuable in the early days when Rose and I kept our cards close to our chest.

  The shortest walk is around the block for an ice cream or down to the lagoon to feed the ducks. The longest walk we tackle is around the nearby gorge called, unsurprisingly, the gorge walk. Suggesting this walk brings out facial expressions in the children ranging from bewilderment to resignation. This may be due to the time I playfully took a couple of short cuts and we missed our turn-off. The result was an extra half hour back-tracking. As we slogged our way back up the hill we had recently descended, I explained to them that we’d all learned a valuable lesson about sticking to the track and how this may save their lives one day. They weren’t fooled or impressed, especially Liv who was busting for number twos. I tried to convince her that finding a quiet place and using some soft, luxuriant ferns was what you did in the bush. She was having none of it. Clearly she’s going to be a metro girl.

  The school holidays are fun, but like parents across the globe I’m pleased to see the end of them. As the children drag themselves back to school, the majority of parents high five quietly out of sight
. This is because the real world, that hungry furnace that demands time and money, has been put on hold and I now have to sprint to catch up. With the children back at school I jump back on the economic treadmill, whether I want to or not.

  The school system may not have changed for over a century but the world certainly has. Therefore I feel duty bound to update the quote from Edgar Watson Howe that started this chapter. I have made it both politically correct and applicable for today, albeit a tad clumsy:

  If there were no schools to take the children away from home part of the time, the psychiatric hospitals would be filled with a mix of married and single, heterosexual and homosexual, mothers, fathers, family, whanau and other primary care-givers.

  Reflections

  The antiquated school system was not designed with you and your children’s life in mind. You have to set up your own systems and processes to make it work smoothly.

  Make sure you plan your holidays to suit everyone and not only work for you.

  When you’re looking after your children don’t expect to get any work done and you’ll be delighted if you do.

  When you attach a kite to a fence, attach it. Boys, in particular, have memories like elephants.

  If you’re trying to make a good impression with an attractive teacher, tact is required around the hours they work.

  If you find yourself at home with your children in the holidays, just go with the flow and have fun. Soon your children won’t be children.

  13. A Woman’s Touch

  If you want a golden rule that will fit everything, this is it: Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.

  William Morris (designer, writer and activist, 1834-96)

  When I transformed from a married man into a single parent I didn’t realise I was embarking on a rare social experiment – the creation of a functioning family environment devoid of a woman’s touch. Cathy let me know what changes she thought needed to be made but I didn’t change anything apart from her insistence that I put locks on the toilet doors. The locks apart, my home has been designed and decorated with only this male’s touch.