Single Moms Need Bob the Builder

 Last April, the awesome blogger Wealthy Single Mama wrote a much-viewed post entitled, “Single MomsNeed Alpha Males.”  The post totally resonated with me, since I’m not ashamed to admit that, hell yeah, I want an alpha male on an ongoing basis.  In fact, it gives me a little frisson of naughtiness, to admit openly that despite the fact that I’m an Ivy League grad from the 80s--who spent hours in dorm rooms and dining halls discussing feminism, whether men should hold doors, and who should do the housework--at this point in my life I really want a man who has good throwdown.  It’s kind of like the smugness you feel about being a little politically incorrect, like you’re being bad and just a wee bit shocking.  As I think about the whole alpha male thing, it makes me start humming this Julie Brown song from the 80s, notwithstanding the fact that I find education and intelligence to be necessary characteristics for the guys I date.  In fact, the “throwdown” dimension totally doesn’t negate higher degrees, as I can picture those aggressive MBA guys and hedge fund traders from SATC.  

But I digress…So, yes, it’s a no brainer that I now seem to like men who could be characterized as strong leaders on some dimensions, or even as bad boys, even if I know it’s not always the wisest thing to do.

But what surprised me is how much it also gives me a thrill to be with Bob the Builder (or in some cases, Handy Manny, heh heh heh).  As a single mom, I take on every role in the household.  I’m CEO, COO, CFO, and CTO, as well as Counselor in Chief.  I’m Chief Planner and Strategist, Spokesperson, Head Organizer, and Educational Coordinator.  I’m a Tutor,  Personal Shopper, Equipment Manager, and Party Planner, as well as being a Laundress, Housekeeper, Manual Laborer, and Yard Worker.  And all the while I’m trying to raise physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy kids with high-enough self-esteem who don’t get into too much trouble and will eventually be able to support themselves, possibly help me in my old age, and maybe even get college scholarships.  Yes, it may be challenging and stimulating, but it’s also exhausting and overwhelming.   It takes a lot of time, juggling, research, coordination, and trial and error.  It’s stressful, and I get sick of it at times.  

 So, when someone I’m dating is handy around the house, and I get to sit by and be the little woman while he flexes his muscles putting up shelves, I’m more than grateful.  If he brings his own tools to the house, even better.  I can watch and learn, and be glad that I didn’t attempt to do whatever it was that needs being done on my own.

My son’s first daycare provider, Martha, was a single mom.  I remember when she finally got together with, and in fact married, a guy who had those skills.  He said he was going to teach her how to redo the floors in her house.  They came to our house for dinner once, and I remember how her husband measured a wall for us and how Martha just sat by and watched, with a view towards learning, but also with respect.  That resonates with me now, because I recognize that look.  It’s a look that reflects a feeling of, thank God, I can step down.  I don’t have to be alpha for this one instance.  I can immerse myself in being a learner, in not being the one who takes chances or risks (and if you mess up something in your house, believe me, it’s going to cost you).  I can be a simpering, doe-eyed creature from the 1950s, wearing a circle skirt and a sorority pin.  I can be responsive instead of being the decisionmaker.  I can let go.  I don’t have to lean in.  Holy fucking Christ, thank God almighty.

So, the guy I’ve been dating, Red Flag Guy, is a self-declared MacGyver at this stuff.  So far he has hooked me up to broadcast tv, fixed my dishwasher (which my handyman had said was kaput), brought over and installed a new refrigerator, installed and hooked up my new stove (which he found for me in the first place), inspired me to buy new pillows, and changed my old toilet seat. A friend of mine observed that this is RFG’s love language, that he shows his caring by doing acts of service rather than by declaring his undying love, calling himself my boyfriend, or even hinting at anything that’s more than what we have now.  That’s okay with me for now (and, as they say in Blade Runner, we never know how long we have).  It’s not ideal, but I have a great time with him, and he’s smart, fun, and nice to me.  See exhibit A:

 

And the Hagerstown Hunk (I’m no longer calling him by the more insulting nickname I had previously and meanly bestowed on him) installed shelves in my daughters’ room.  And Neighbor Boy, who most definitely was not alpha, helped me paint my tv room and removed a door for me when I had to get a freezer through it.

I honestly don’t know how to express my gratitude to my current guy, except for just expressing it, buying him dinner sometimes, and taking other obvious measures.  It’s more than just a stove or a dishwasher or broadcast tv (which was huge, in the absence of cost-prohibitive cable and just before the Superbowl).  It’s someone taking on the responsibility for one concrete task in one facet of my turbocharged life.  It’s someone, in fact, taking care of me for a discrete project for a limited amount of time.  And it feels awesome.

So, is this whole shebang anti-feminist or somehow politically incorrect?  I would say a) it is what it is, and b) who cares?  I’m no longer sequestered in an ivory tower, on the cusp of adulthood, discussing what-ifs while eating pupu platter and salad bar tofu and expecting to marry a well-degreed and appropriately earning granola guy.  I’m happily living life in the real world, with real people around me.  I’m overwhelmed, and I need to triage.  If someone steps in to help me, all the better.  The issue of who pays for what is trickier, and I would feel a little funny about a guy who paid all the time (although for the first couple of dates he should certainly pay).  In this case, I’m happy to let someone step in and help me, with the idea that he feels good about doing it too.  And hopefully I’m reciprocating in some way, even if it’s just by gracing him with my charming, eye-pleasing, and unique company.

So, people, can we accept and even enjoy this kind of assistance without feeling like we’re betraying some ultimately superficial code of womanhood?  Yes, we can!