Hey Queens (and honorary queens, you know who are!), Net here, back in the battle zone of single-mom life. This week's skirmish involved weaponized tears, a bouquet of guilt, and enough teenage angst to fuel a rock concert (minus the mosh pit, thankfully).
Let me set the scene: Maya, my usually stoic 16-year-old, approaches me after school with the emotional intensity of a raincloud about to burst. Clutching a flyer for a horseback riding camp that might as well be a brochure for Narnia (complete with talking horses and mythical creatures, judging by the price tag), she unleashes the waterworks. Apparently, Prince Harming, bless his manipulative heart, promised to send them all to this equestrian paradise this summer. Newsflash, honey, that vacation was about as likely as me winning the lottery while simultaneously being struck by lightning (and surviving, because hey, a girl can dream).
Now, I'm all for supporting my kids' dreams (within reason, and preferably within my current bank account balance), but this "camp" cost more than a used car. Trying to explain the difference between "wants" and "needs" proved about as effective as using a feather to herd cats. Enter little Lily, my sweet 11-year-old, who, sensing weakness (and the potential for more ice cream), joined Maya's emotional cavalry. Cue the multi-child meltdown, complete with accusations of me being the Grinch who stole Christmas (or in this case, summer camp).
Next act? Prince Harming, the knight in slightly tarnished armor, arrives on the scene (coincidentally, right after receiving a frantic text from Maya, no doubt). He swoops in with a practiced charm that could sell used gym socks, showering the kids with apologies and promises of "making things work." Then, for good measure, he throws in a bouquet of lilies (my favorite, how convenient) at work, complete with a lovey-dovey note reminiscing about our "first date" and "dazzling smile."
Let me tell you, folks, by the time I saw those lilies, I was seeing 75 shades of red (and none of them were romantic). Prince Harming's attempt to play the hero is about as believable as a chihuahua trying to guard a steakhouse. He's the one who created this financial chaos (hello, not contributing for the past 16 years!), and now he wants a gold medal for pretending to care? Honey, the only thing he's winning is the award for "Most Likely to Use Children as Emotional Pawns."
Look, I get it. Divorce is messy. Kids get caught in the middle. But using their dreams and manipulating their emotions is a low blow, even for Prince Harming. This queen may be fighting a solo battle right now, but I'm a warrior, not a doormat. My kids will learn the value of hard work and delayed gratification. And as for Prince Harming? Well, let's just say his charm offensive is about as effective as a wet firecracker.
Stay tuned next week for "Single Mom Hacks: How to Turn Ramen Noodles into a Gourmet Meal (and Other Budget-Friendly Shenanigans)." Remember, queens adjust their crowns, they don't let them get trampled by a Trojan Horse made of tears (or guilt trips disguised as bouquets). Now, pass the wine (and maybe some therapy)!