T A B L E++T A L K

They're more annoying than Barney and they're coming to a TV near you. Let the "Teletubbies" bashing begin in Table Talk

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R E C E N T L Y

Women beware women
By Katie Roiphe
Our ongoing national catfight has revealed an unpleasant truth: Women have always betrayed each other
(04/03/98)

Second Thoughts: Nice Guys
By Sallie Tisdale
In the wake of the Arkansas schoolyard killings, a mother ponders guns, children, and the adults who bring them together
(04/02/98)

Straight-laced sisters
By Lori Leibovich
Liberal journalist Elinor Burkett met the enemy -- conservative women -- and found that they were, well, a lot like her
(04/01/98)

Drama Queen Candidates
Gum-chewing kissers, egomaniacal cheaters, line-dropping Olympic losers ... and the women who endured them
(03/31/98)

Making sense of Jonesboro
By Lori Leibovich
Harvard psychiatrist Alvin Poussaint talks about what makes children kill
(03/30/98)

ARCHIVES

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Mamafesto
By Camille Peri
Why it's time
for Mothers Who Think

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BY DIANE LORE | It was the first night of our reunion. My 3-year-old son, Ian, ran into my arms. I kissed and tousled his hair, happy to reclaim him from The Other Side, where he had spent a month with his daddy and grandmother. That night, we started rebuilding our routines: bath, book, bed. Finally, I tucked him in and turned off the light.

Hours later, he woke in tears. As he snuggled in my lap, I asked him what was wrong.

"I don't want to be here," he said. "I want to be with Mamaw and Daddy."

I did the right thing. I told him that it was OK to miss his father and grandmother. That I loved him, and they loved him and gee, everything was right in the world. He sniffled a few times, threw his arms around my neck, kissed me and then toddled back to bed. But this is what I was thinking as I babbled about all that togetherness: You little traitor.

It was the first time such a thought had crossed my mind, although mothers both single and married say it's inevitable. My best friend, in a feeble effort to console me, pointed out that her youngest child, the one she left satisfying, full-time employment for, turned to her once while the family was leaving for the playground to say, "No, Mommy, you stay. I just want Daddy to go."

At some point, we end up being the fun police: terminators of good times, enforcers of rules and regulations. And even though we share wonderful moments with our children, we suddenly find ourselves transformed into good-for-you commodities, sort of like oatmeal.

For single parents, that burden is especially hard. I always get a full accounting of Ian's visit with my ex-husband, who lives with his mom. The month-long party begins with an armload of new toys. It continues through the days with a diet of Trix, dinosaur pasta and yogurt. Ian knows every cartoon channel on cable (favorites: "Scooby Doo" and "Speed Racer"). Bedtime is optional, with Daddy preferring to keep Son up late so he can see him after work.

In short, Ian is well-loved, but reared differently than at my house.

I was raised with the focus and structure of a reading teacher and a reporter, and I'm constantly hounded by internalized mother-guilt to provide a similar format for Ian. My mother created sand trays for me to practice my alphabet. She hand-made costumes for play. She enrolled me in floral arranging AND karate one summer.

So Ian and I trek to the library, visit the museum and search for bugs in the backyard. We have cleaning, reading, dinner and bed times.

But I wonder whether my child's getting quite the kick out of all of this that I intend. After all, there's the wailing and rending of clothes when he discovers (again) we don't have cable.

Bedtime becomes a battle, as I try to work him back down to a 9 p.m. sleepy time after his month with his dad. Often, all the good of the day evaporates as I, weary from work, snarl threats to my beloved son about the consequences of peeking out of his room AGAIN.

And those are just the irritations. One morning I burst into tears because I thought Ian had just told my mom that I wasn't any fun because I made him follow rules. As it turned out, it wasn't me he was complaining about, but his preschool teacher, Miss Angelique.

My tearful reaction, followed by my wave of relief, just caused more angst. Typically, I see myself as a competent person, a steady woman who handles most of life's curveballs with a modicum of sanity. Before I had children, I sneered at couples who seemed to be more concerned about being buddies with their kids than parents. Hard choices and discipline were part of the bargain.

But what I didn't bargain for was feeling competitive about his affection. Married moms, after all, might not be preferred at times, but children tend to see them as part of the larger Parent, a melding of the good and bad of a couple. Single moms, who have either been abandoned by their children's fathers or consciously decided to go it alone, also have it easier when it comes to their children's loyalty.

N E X T+P A G E: Fine, go live with Dad

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