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

by Roger McEwan

  I was shocked and disappointed. The children were, however, fine. Living close to their schools meant it didn’t take long to get home and use the emergency key which I’d installed for this situation. It also comes in useful when I walk to the pub and forget my keys, which I did twice before installing it. They then locked themselves in and remained holed up for two and half hours until I arrived home. Please don’t paint this into a picture of two terrified and abandoned waifs. They had consoled themselves by eating biscuits and making a milkshake. They were fine.

  I pondered what action to take. Sam was a fantastic nanny, but this was a major lapse. Even if she’d been in an emergency I would have expected her to contact me. It was about then the synapses in my brain started firing and dragged back my conversation with Sam the previous week.

  ‘Remember I’m on holiday when you next have the children,’ Sam said as she was about to leave.

  ‘Yep, you’ve told me a couple of times.’

  ‘I know but you’re very busy at the moment.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.’

  Oops. It’s lucky I can’t be sacked as Dad. Hand on heart, that’s the first time since the children were born that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. And although they acted exactly as we’d planned, it was an admirable effort on their part all the same. The one aspect that hadn’t worked as planned was they were meant to ring me on my mobile. Somehow Rog had rung the wrong number twice, leaving messages that must have bewildered some unfortunate person or caused them to go charging home only to discover they were on a wild goose chase.

  All’s well that ends well, but it’s not a situation I plan to repeat. I now keep all the children’s appointments, and who’s picking them up, in my work diary and this has meant all events are in one place. There’s been no recurrence, so far, and that shows that I can learn from my experiences, which is one of the important themes in this book.

  There was no point swearing the children to secrecy. The next time we visited Grandma we were scarcely in the door before the story came blurting out. Thanks for that, blabber mouths.

  Reflections

  When you’re a single dad you have to be organised. Being on top of things makes everyone’s life easier.

  Children can be very resourceful, and this is to be encouraged, but let them develop this skill without an expensive trip to the dentist.

  Maintaining a supply of practical items in the car makes sense but you need to keep them refreshed. Five-year-old wipes don’t work very well.

  Have emergency procedures for when things go awry and make sure your children understand them. Hiding a key that your children, and you, can use in emergencies is a great idea.

  Mistakes are opportunities to learn so don’t beat yourself up if something goes wrong. You can beat yourself up if you repeat the mistake.

  Listen to your nanny closely.

  6. Childcare

  If your kids are giving you a headache, follow the directions on the aspirin bottle, especially the part that says ‘Keep away from children’.

  Susan Savannah (author)

  One of the first hurdles I encountered as a single dad was after-school care. Rose and I both needed to work, as literally overnight we’d both become SITCOMs – Single-Income Two Children Oppressive Mortgage. A work day that stopped around 2.30 to pick up the children wasn’t going to work.

  For after-school care Rose and I had used a friend and near neighbour, Susie, who had three boys of a similar age. She picked up all five children (rather her than me) from kindergarten and school and looked after them until 5pm. Their home was set up for children and they loved pets. In fact they had three Rhodesian Ridgebacks, each of which took up the same space as a person. It was slightly unnerving to see my diminutive little ones stretching up to pat a dog that must have thought they resembled chew toys. Nothing untoward ever happened and the dogs were well cared for and well behaved.

  The only trouble we experienced concerned Thursday nights for about two months. During this time, and only on Thursdays, peace on earth did not have a hope in our house until Friday, around 3am. The culprit was Liv, who was two at the time. Every night except Thursdays we popped her down and she gently fell asleep like the angel she resembled. But on Thursday nights it was pandemonium. Not only wouldn’t she sleep but she howled and screamed, unnervingly resembling Linda Blair in The Exorcist.

  The first time this happened Rose and I acted like the responsible parents we are. One of us would pick her up and gently calm her until the alarming shade of scarlet drained from her face. Once settled, we would tuck her back into her cot and sneak out the door. This worked a treat most nights but not on Thursdays, when she would resume her howling with renewed vigour. I couldn’t help but be impressed with the wee mite’s stamina and vocal power.

  We checked everything: nappy, thirsty, hot, cold. We tried everything we knew. Nothing worked. The only course of action left was to shut the doors between her and us and wait her out. No baby monitor was required. In the next room, Rog thankfully slept through these episodes oblivious to his sister’s predicament. Goodness knows what the neighbours thought. In the suburbs you generally knew how well your neighbours were getting on and, uncomfortably, how often.

  One Thursday Liv was protesting loudly and vehemently as usual while I ignored her in the lounge. In amongst the usual noise I heard a large thump, which seemed to be the movie-esque sound of a body hitting carpet. I listened intently but the usual cacophony had been replaced with silence. I raced in and found Liv, wide-eyed, lying on her back on her bedroom floor. We stared at each other and I don’t know who was more surprised. Liv, standing on her tip toes, could only just reach the top of her cot. She would look like the cartoon figure Chad staring over a wall.

  I picked her up and sat on the floor cuddling her. I was amazed at the effort that must have been required to haul herself out of her cot. It was obviously possible, but before that moment I would have bet against it substantially. I’m not sure how long we sat there, but eventually she drifted off to sleep. With a long drawn-out yawn (from me that is), I popped her back in her cot and ever so gently tucked her in as though she was unstable explosives. She lay there, peaceful and asleep. I left her room on tip toes and shut the door with the lightest of clicks.

  I got two steps into the lounge when the howling started once more.

  Rose and I naturally asked Susie what she did on Thursdays. We thought it must be sugar, food colouring or something different in Liv’s day such as back-to-back horror movies. But apart from being taken grocery shopping, Susie did nothing out of the ordinary. We were at a loss as to what to do when, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. I was thankful it was over and put it into the mysterious happenings category with the grassy knoll, Harold Holt and Roswell.

  NANNIES

  Let’s return to the issue of after-school care. As Rose and I were changing the children’s school we also needed to organise new after-school care. Unfortunately, the existing arrangements with Susie wouldn’t work logistically. It wasn’t lost on me that in addition to any anxiety the children were feeling as a result of the separation, we were adding a new school and new after-school care. In hindsight it looks as if we were stress testing our children’s resilience. But while there were issues, there proved to be nothing major or lasting – thankfully, or maybe luckily.

  The new school year was rapidly approaching and we needed to get something organised. Through a friend of a friend Rose and I met Megan who, along with her husband and two children, had recently emigrated from Zimbabwe. Megan was a French teacher with a degree in law but they had only been in New Zealand for a few months and she wasn’t keen on diving back into full-time work immediately. They were warm and friendly with a wonderfully eclectic house and over coffee we organised for Megan to pick up our two when she picked up her two and look after them until 5pm.

 
This arrangement was perfect for me as Megan lived only a short walk away, which made picking up the children easy. It didn’t work as well for Rose, though, and halfway through the school year she decided to change and get her mother to provide the after-school care. Using my ex-mother-in-law was not an attractive option and so I continued with Megan. My relationship with Rose’s mother thawed over the years but back then it was, in polite language, frosty.

  Although using Megan worked well for me, when Rose changed it also changed some of the subtleties of the arrangement for the children. It became clear that for the children to thrive when they were with me I needed help based at my house. They were still finding their feet in amongst all the change and, even being in a house as lovely as Megan’s, it wasn’t their own home. I felt that’s what they required. I needed a nanny.

  The male and female concepts of a nanny appear to be different, causing nannies to have acquired a reputation, unjustified no doubt, of being dangerous to relationships. Years earlier Rose and I had considered hiring a nanny and she had talked about having a male one for that precise reason. The thought of a male nanny seemed wrong to me even though conceptually there should be no difference. Cathy had similar stories and thoughts in relation to nannies. During her marriage her husband was, it seemed, over-keen to hire ‘pretty’ nannies and happy to overlook any shortcomings in their credentials – such as an absence of childcare experience.

  Despite this urban myth that males can’t be trusted around nannies, my motivation for hiring a nanny was genuine and there was no cause for concern. All I was interested in was someone reliable who was great with children. Being easy on the eye wasn’t a requirement.

  I placed an ad in the local Student Job Search website. My logic was that female students looking for work as nannies should be reliable and would be keen for the work – or, more accurately, the money. I checked the other ads and most people were offering $15 an hour, so I offered $17.50 an hour. This propelled my ad to the top in terms of financial attractiveness. It doesn’t take much to make a difference and at three hours a day every second week, the extra $2.50 an hour wasn’t going to break my bank.

  Three people expressed interest immediately but it was Sam’s CV that stood out. A second-year accounting student (I normally dislike accountants on principle), she had previously nannied for a former colleague who lived in Whanganui. A quick email confirmed Sam was lovely, reliable and extremely capable. The deal was sealed by the line in my former colleague’s email – But please don’t employ her, as I don’t want to lose her. Sorry, but my rate was higher and when it comes to money size definitely matters!

  Sam was as good as her CV looked and she nannied for me for three years. As soon as I enjoyed the benefits of a nanny I could scarcely comprehend how I’d coped before. She looked after the children until 6pm during the week, allowing me a full work day. This let me keep my sanity and, most importantly, it worked brilliantly for the children. They could come home and flop on the couch, watch TV, raid the fridge or, as a last resort, do their homework. All in the comfort of their own home.

  Sam supported by her friend Haley and then Brooke were wonderful nannies. Maybe I’ve been lucky to have had such kind and responsible nannies. Though I was paying slightly more, which allowed a better choice, you still probably need luck when hiring twenty-year-olds. I think choosing students is a sound strategy as they tend to be people with drive and ambition.

  FAMILY

  For many recently separated parents the additional expense of a nanny may be prohibitive. If you’re in this situation then being able to call upon friends and family may allow you to develop a similar arrangement. I would encourage the odd bottle of wine or box of chocolates to say thank you in the absence of cash.

  In my case it was my mum who was an invaluable component in my childcare arrangements. Having a family member able and, crucially, willing to look after the children is a godsend. Without her availability, often at short notice, work, study and fitness (and sometimes the pub) would have all been much harder to coordinate. It must run in my family as I remember that as a child if I was at home sick, my grandma (my mum’s mum) would come over to do the washing. She’d then come back in the afternoon to bring it in and fold it. ‘Just in case it rained,’ she would tell me as she brought in orange juice and biscuits.

  On Monday evenings I normally drop Rog and Liv off at Grandma’s for dinner and I head off to karate or the gym. When I return, shattered and sweaty, I find happy, well-fed children and a takeaway home-cooked meal. It doesn’t get better than that. Close though is pizza night on Friday. My mum comes over and orders pizza, allowing me to carry on working, studying or hitting the gym. I drop her back home and then tuck into the leftover pizza. And as by Friday I feel I’ve earned it, the odd beer goes well with pizza. That’s one, three …

  It isn’t only after-school that needs to be organised with military precision. Mornings can also be a challenge. To run my business I sometimes have to be on the road early. For a number of years I had a client based in Dannevirke, about an hour away by car, who scheduled a weekly 7.30am breakfast meeting. I was able to attend because my mum would arrive at 6.15am, leaving me free to disappear before the children were awake. I made sure everything was organised – breakfast was laid out, school lunches were made, school bags were packed and a cup of tea poured. That left my mum to have fun, supervise teeth cleaning and wander with them to school, which she loved doing.

  This worked almost flawlessly but I hadn’t factored in the mischievous child element. After three meetings in a row there was a voice message waiting from my mum. One or other of my dear children, probably decided by scissors, stone and paper, didn’t feel well and as Mum couldn’t walk one and leave the other home alone, they were both off sick for the day. I would arrive home to find one child trying to look poorly but failing dismally and the other looking like the cat that had got the cream. Clever ratbags. The children and I had a ‘chat’ about this state of affairs and it never happened again.

  The help Mum gives me is even more indispensable when the children are legitimately sick. I’m certain parents, not just single parents, understand the total disregard children have for well-constructed plans through their thoughtless and untimely sicknesses. It throws the world into chaos. On the occasions my mum isn’t available, I usually resort to heading into work armed with toys and chocolate muffins with my sick child in tow. I hide them in an unused office, promise it won’t be long and cross my fingers. This tactic usually buys me an hour or two, which is often all I need to get the day back under control.

  All the childcare measures that I have in put in place have made life smoother for everyone. I empathise with single parents who have no family support and have to do everything. It must be a limiting situation. As a single dad, having a responsible nanny and a supportive mum has made the world of difference to what I am able to achieve and to the children’s happiness. Without this support maybe I would have lowered my expectations or drunk more and got bitter and twisted. I’m glad I haven’t had to find out!

  Reflections

  If you can afford to hire a nanny, do it. You’ll be astounded at the difference a nanny can make to your life. Targeting university students makes sense.

  It’s often said that you get what you pay for and paying a little more than the competition will result in a happy nanny who wants to keep the job. It also feels good to help someone along their educational journey.

  Having the same after-school care in both houses is ideal. Whatever the arrangements, make sure they work for your children, not only for you.

  Family support makes life much easier. If you don’t have family available, try buddying up with other single parents.

  Make things as pleasant and easy as possible for whoever is looking after your children, especially family members. The odd box of chocolates or bottle of wine goes a long way.

  Never underes
timate your children’s ability to work whatever care arrangements you establish to their own advantage.

  7. Fashion

  Fashion is what you adopt when you don’t know who you are.

  Quentin Crisp (writer and performer, 1908-99)

  Clothes provide a range of issues for the fashion-semi-conscious single dad. It stung me when I read Josh Wolf, the author of It Takes Balls, referring to men who have let their wardrobe decline leaving one going-out shirt. I’m not that bad but there have also been times when I wasn’t far off. His comments weren’t a direct hit, but they were a decent glancing blow and wake-up call.

  Making sure you’re presentable should be a priority but you also have to consider your children. Until they wrestle the responsibility off you, which can be anywhere between ages five and eighteen, what they wear is down to you. I’m not sure what other parents do but in the absence of a helping feminine eye I have adopted a relaxed policy aligned to the French term of laissez-faire. Basically I let the children choose. This has resulted in some interesting selections but so far I haven’t had to make them change apart from insisting that more or less clothing be worn depending on the weather.

  My strategy is that the children will develop good judgement over time. It may sound like I’m abdicating responsibility, but when you consider the alternative – that I lay out their clothes each day – I think letting the children choose makes a lot more sense. Especially in the long term.

  Although I haven’t overturned a clothing choice I have needed to ask a few searching questions on occasions.