*This is a guest post as part of the Motherhood Collective*
This is only my second Father’s Day as a single mum and in some ways I find it harder than I do mother’s day. It’s easier not to be celebrated, not to wake up to breakfast in bed or even a card, than it is to celebrate a man I so strongly dislike, who hurt me in ways I previously thought unimaginable.
It’s hard to peruse through the hallmark cards declaring, ‘the best dad ever’ and ‘number one dad’ and not wish there was a card for ‘doing his best dad’ or ‘trying to redeem himself dad’.
It’s hard to explain to a 5 year old why I buy daddy a card but he doesn’t buy me one.
It’s hard to enthusiastically bring out the craft supplies and encourage your children to draw a picture of the newly established family unit that you’re not a part of, just the three of them.
What I’m trying to say is, it’s hard not to give in to being bitter.
I’m choosing this year to take the day to celebrate my children and the compassionate and thoughtful people they are becoming, demonstrated in the way they have celebrated the day.
The way they carefully chose a piece of pottery to paint and Arthur suggested, ‘we could do a mug, he likes coffee. Let’s do green, it’s his favourite colour’.
The way they worked together, slapping the most horrendous shade of green paint all over a mug and the way they spent the morning working on a card.
Most of all I’m celebrating the excitement they feel at the prospect of being kind, giving a gift and making somebody happy.
These are all things to be proud of, so yes I’m bitter but I’m also a bit smug about how excellent these tiny humans of mine are turning out to be.