Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations

by Jessica Vivian

  Chris: Still an excuse and I can empathize, but listen. You look a mess because YOU DON'T HAVE ANY REASON NOT TO. Getting your wardrobe together isn't a priority because you have nowhere to go. I know what it's like when you're broke and can't afford to go anywhere. I get it, but you NEED to spend at least $20 a week on some fucking clothes. When I broke up with Nate, I dated thirty men before I met Mike and then I dated fifteen or so more after that. Just to get out. Just to have a reason to wear pants because otherwise, you know our lazy asses ain't puttin' on no goddamn pants. I also miraculously lost a bunch of weight and my hair was looking good. You have to fake it. You have to get up, get dressed, put makeup on - I don't give a shit that you don't like it, you're 31. You need to just do it, and then you will have gone through so much trouble that you will have to find a reason to go out and be seen. You always said, "I'm not photogenic," but you never let anyone take a picture of you! How would you even know!? You're shy now. That's bullshit. You used to sing to strangers in Waffle House and ask random people you didn't know to the movies just to make a new friend. Fuck that. Seriously, shut the fuck up.

  Me: Point officially taken.

  Sistas without Mistas

  I’ve been single parenting for about three years now. I have a lot of help. And even with all that help I’m still overwhelmed. But what I’m doing is nothing compared to what some of my homegirls are going through.

  Here’s the thing.

  When a kid goes and shoots up a school, or robs a Circle K and it’s time to examine the child’s past and figure out why the tragedy happened, it’s really easy to settle on and/or blame the “single parent household.” And you and I know that usually (but not always) the single parent household is a “single mom household.”

  We hear that children of single parents are more likely to live below the poverty level, are more prone to suicide, teen pregnancy, violence, obesity, depression, yadda yadda.

  After the Sandy Hook shooting, my Facebook feed was littered with generally bitter comments toward single moms. It’s always the same old thing.

  The women being blamed for “not keeping their legs together.” Black single moms almost universally being assumed to be on public assistance while driving Escalades.

  Yes, it happens, but not as much as you would like to believe.

  Even during the Presidential election, when pressed for the possible reasons behind gun violence, a lack of moral code and single parent households were both potential reasons.

  Even some women I love and respect are quick to jump on the “single moms eat up all the welfare and ruin ‘murica” bandwagon.

  No offense, but a lot of us single moms thought we’d be CEOs of our households until we died, crafting and fretting over cloth diapers and organic baby food. Sounds like heaven.

  But instead we found ourselves alone and now we’re just trudging through.

  The math necessary for success is pretty unbelievable.

  I think I could probably walk into a job making about $10/hr with my background in hospitality and rooms operation. So if I worked full time at a local hotel, I might bring home $400/week before taxes. The cost of before and after school care for three children – which I would need to work a day shift – is about $150 dollars per week on the low end. Factor in gas and food and rent and electricity...

  I’ll stop there.

  If, like me, your ex-husband is not paying child support, you’re even more royally screwed. People say “but there are systems in place to help you get child support!”

  Yes BUT

  In my case, my ex has no address (couch surfer), no employer (self) and no driver’s license (he bikes) so it is not likely he will be “found” by the system anyway. Not for a very long time.

  The waiting list to even speak to a person about child support was four to six months long. I am on the list, of course.

  If you never thought you’d be on any government aid or support, the process can be daunting.

  The paperwork and wording is strange and if you fill something out wrong, there is a good chance your case worker will assume they’ve “caught you” in a lie and your aid will be suspended and you will be under investigation.

  Because of the “welfare queen” stereotype, many case workers are jaded. They talk down to you. They assume the worst about you. They make you feel like shit for your situation. They lecture you on your life choices. There is no dignity in applying for government assistance.

  Oh, and many times, once a single mom gets a job, her food stamps are instantly canceled or dramatically reduced. If there is no friend or loved one available to watch kids for free, that “income” simply goes to childcare and bills with little to nothing left over for sufficient groceries.

  Some of my single mom sisters are ten to fifteen pounds smaller every time I see them. I know better than to ask what their diet regime is. I already know it’s “poverty.” They are going to sleep hungry so their babies are fed.

  We had Year of Pancakes.

  I misunderstood a question on some paperwork when applying for food assistance when I first left him. They canceled my assistance and I was under investigation. I had no one to watch my kids after school (not even one day a week – with several of the kids' family members within five minutes) so I could only work the hours my children were in school. I was blessed to have an employer flexible enough to allow me this. So I was working from 8:30 until about 2 pm, Monday through Friday only. After bills and gas and laundromat there was little leftover for food. Beans and rice and pancakes became our staples.

  Pancakes taste like poverty. Still.

  It feels like single parents have two options:

  1) Bust your ass to earn enough money to keep a roof and pay bills but your kid grows up parent-less because you are always working. You are forced to put your trust in “loved ones” and near-strangers and hope your child is never hurt or molested.

  or

  2) Be there for your kids... and starve.

  We don’t want our kids to be statistics. We don’t want to be on government assistance. We don’t want latch-key kids.

  If we, as a society, don’t want these troublesome kids-of-single-parents dumped into the populace all poor and bitter and dangerous then we have to support single parents. We have to set up systems of co-operative existence until single parents are thriving.

  In my secret group on Facebook, single parents from across the U.S and Canada are taking the first steps to a co-operative single parent network.

  We watch one another’s kids for free. We send each other clothes when we can’t afford any. We share eggs, or a frozen ham, or we buy extra band-aids. We pay each other’s bills if the utilities are about to get cut. Boxes of hand-me-downs, cloth diapers, and baby slings are being shipped across the country from mama to mama. When a mama is in the weeds, we rally. If every mom puts a dollar in the hurting mama’s Paypal account, then that mama can feed her babies, or get her car out of the shop, or buy a winter coat.

  It’s beautiful.

  It’s the only way we are going to thrive.

  The only step beyond this is full, on-site support.

  I have a grandiose vision:

  I picture a piece of land. I picture small shared cottages or dormitory style housing. I picture multiple single parent families bunking up together and swapping child care and living off the land as much as possible. I picture outside volunteers doing workshops on self-sufficiency – car care, money management, discipline strategies. I picture free or reduced counseling for single parents and their children so we don’t make the same mistakes again, and so we can heal the wounds inflicted on our children. I picture single parents staying on site long enough to finish that degree, or save that money, to be able to leave the property able to self-sustain and THRIVE with dignity.

  I do not have the slightest idea how to turn my idea into a reality.

  Here’s what I do know:

  I know the
re is a homeless mom with three kids frequently settled in her car in the Walmart parking lot nearby. The local homeless shelters are over capacity. We have, on several occasions, delivered toiletries and food to her and her family.

  I know there is a woman very close to me who is suffering both mental and physical abuse and who has gone to local shelters for battered women but since her income wasn’t sufficient enough to live off of after the time allotted by the shelter, she is stuck with the abuser until she finishes school and can get the hell out.

  I know there is a woman living in government housing whose 14-year-old neighbor was shot and killed by a stray bullet. She is not safe in her surroundings, but she only earns enough money to pay $500 for rent. She has nowhere else to go.

  I know countless more former wives and former stay-at-home moms trying to enter the workforce for the first time in five, ten, fifteen years – waiting tables, cleaning houses, and flipping burgers and sometimes having to beg their employers to let their toddlers come to work with them because they don’t have family or money for a babysitter that day.

  They don’t need judgment, blame, condescension or pity. They need help. They need just a little time and a little breathing room.

  I know that it is easier to raise a child than to repair an adult.

  And I know that with enough brilliant minds we could do something amazing.

  But my heart is too heavy not trying. I don’t have land. I don’t have financial backing. I don’t have the slightest idea how one goes about creating a co-op on a large scale.

  I do have a superpower, though.

  I’m a conduit.

  I can connect lovers and sharers and doers and idealists and together we’ve managed to save a dozen women and keep another few dozen afloat.

  It’s just that I have this funny problem of believing people can rise up and succeed and grow and thrive and be amazing after they’ve fallen.

  Even me…

  Milkshake

  I just wanted to share a small view of the amazing men reaching out to me through dating sites. Please note that my profile specifically states that I am not looking for a hookup:

  “Hello I am Joseph (Joe) and I look like a pirate, and yes avast ye matey I`ll be boarding soon. How about a couple of porn movies, and you and me, and see if we can make each other happy? I love oral sex, and my beard would feel nice between your thighs instead of a rough unshaved face. But you know we might fall in love, only all we need to do is try. What do you say?

  Seriously,

  Joe “

  “I am an older white male , and i like BLACK-FEMALES .. I have a private-place in Escatawpa Ms.... Nobody licks a clit better than me . I am 100% discreet . I want face , and body-pics .. If we meet , and you like me , how often can you visit me ?? Can you spend a night ??

  “I like my women like I like my milkshakes, thick and chocolatey.”

  I am Jessica's utter lack of amusement.

  Wolverine

  Every now and then, my ex-husband calls to talk.

  He doesn't ask to talk to the kids, unfortunately. He wants to talk to me.

  He rambles about his “clients” and about what's going on in his life. I'm never completely sure why I answer. But last night's conversation was amusing.

  “It's kinda hilarious how little women are interested in me. I think I reek of, like, pathetic. Like they can tell I'm a mess.”

  “I attract some gross ones myself,” I answered. “I think I'm just gonna swear off.”

  He took a deep breath and then started.

  “You remember that scene in that one X-men movie? Jean Grey had turned into Phoenix. She was just floating there and tearing up EVERYTHING with her powers. She was all glowy and badass and, just, hella powerful. That's you, chick. And I have this feeling that there is only one dude – someone like Wolverine with a metal skeleton – who can even, like, touch that shit. The rest of us just turn to dust.”

  “...Wolverine killed her,” I said, “He got close to her and he stabbed her through her stomach, dude...with his claws.”

  “Yeah,” he interjected, “...but out of love!”

  The List

  I feel like I have trudged through the septic sludge of my issues with men.

  I can safely say I am no longer in that weird, terrified, I-am-too-damaged-I-will-mess-it-up phase.

  I feel healed, rational, sensible – no longer like the addict in recovery cautiously avoiding temptation at any cost for fear of relapse. I’m okay now.

  But being okay is not enough. I like growth. I like to push.

  I’m addicted to the emotional violence of metamorphosis. It’s kinda my “thing.” So I said to myself:

  OK, Jess. You are comfortable being alone, sorta, but you miss companionship. You dated a little and you learned what you don’t want. So what the hell do you want?

  CBL swears by a list, and for good reason.

  Years and years ago, destroyed by heartbreak, she made a pact with herself. She made a list of ten or so “must haves” and several “extras.” She dated each man for six weeks. If after six weeks the man did not meet nine out of ten requirements then the relationship was over. Completely over. If a man met nine out of ten requirements she would marry him. And guess what?

  It worked.

  She and her husband have been together for 20 years.

  She admits, openly, that she was not in love with him when she married him. But they worked hard and despite recent major marital trials are still the happiest married-with-children couple I know.

  They love the hell out of each other. They complement each other. They accept each other. They push each other. They support each other. They’re the real deal.

  So, under her tutelage, I wrote a list of my own.

  Actually, I mostly plagiarized it from another mama in my single mom co-op group, but whatevs, it was good. It’s a start. And it’s a much better start than the vapid list I wrote when I was seventeen that was all about dark hair, smelling good, and being hot while wearing glasses. Bless.

  Basically, I used her starter list and then fleshed it out by thinking of the qualities of my best friends. I’ve had the same two best friends for 25 years. What qualities do they have that, despite fights, deaths, marriage, divorce, babies, addictions, and distance, we still love each other?

  We still talk on the phone for two to three hours at a time, and it doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time – 24 hours of 24 months.

  So here is my updated list in no particular order:

  1. Self sufficient – living on their own, on their own dime.

  2. Relatively intelligent – close to proper use of grammar, does not speak in “txt”

  3. A bit of a minimalist - I’m a jungle woman, we all know this. I will always choose a cottage and a garden over a McMansion and a media room.

  4. Orphaned or parents live in foreign country – This is not a deal breaker, but I cannot imagine having even more in-laws or getting enmeshed in another family.

  5. Likes lots of sex

  6. Is not allergic to cats – I have one. I’m no cat lady. I also like dogs, so pups are welcome.

  7. Good sense of humor – I can’t tolerate people who aren’t funny. Isn’t that sad? I feel like such a snob, but I really don’t like to be around people who aren’t funny. ‘Tis what ’tis.

  8. Likes to travel

  9. Food adventurous – For me, willingness to accept and try foods from different cultures indicates a humility and lack of ethnocentricity that I find appealing. It means a person really, really understands that we are all just humans. We are all connected. What is good enough for someone in a small village in Ecuador is good enough for me. There is nothing “better” about our way of life and, by extension, us. And there is little more intimate than accepting food into your body openly and with trust.

  10. Respects my boundaries with my kids - They are my kids. I have
also written down goals and objectives for what kind of people I want them to be. I am open to suggestion, but I am not open to someone undermining me.

  11. Positive, upbeat, jolly - Okay, look. There are people out there who are so proud of how sarcastic and cynical they are. I think those people are lame. I do not like these people, typically. I don’t want any “Debbie Downer” types. I do not want to know why this or that is a bad idea, or about infectious diseases in the sea water when I want to go to the beach. In my experience, people like this can find millions of intellectual reasons not to do things and not to speak to people and not to go places – not my favorite.

  12. Creative - He must write, sing, act, read, paint, cook, work with wood, dance around his living room, or appreciate any of the above. This shows me that “soul” health is as important as physical and mental.

  13. Emotionally available, but not clingy - I will not play Wendy to another Peter Pan. Ever.

  14. Financially secure

  15. Responsible. Bills are paid on time. If said man has children, child support is being paid.

  16. Dark hair – Just a current preference. I also really like gingers.

  17. Upward curving ween - CBL said to be specific.

  18. Sexually dominant - Again, specific. But really sort of important. I call the shots. I run the show. I manage a house. I dictate everything. I choose what we are eating, watching, reading, doing, all the time. I am tired of being the boss. I need relief. You get where I’m going with this? I think I can stop here...

  19. One of my sister-friends pointed out that I probably need a man with his own goals and hobbies who “worships from afar.” This is true. I don’t really want to be enmeshed and blended with another person. I don’t want to lose myself in a relationship. I require a lot of independence and freedom. I feel more loved when I have freedom. I don’t want to be one of those couples who have no individual friends. I compartmentalize. That won’t change.