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What’s a tight corner, anyway, when there is hardwood under the kitchen linoleum and college tuitions ahead.
It is charming and solid, though it needs a new roof and front path and bathroom vanity, testaments to the pressure of income, the continual weighing of worth.No single mom wants to fail them—provide less, teach less, support less, be less—but it is in our minds that we might. Another time they ambushed us as we walked to the driveway to get into the car.So we struggle, and over the long term, we impart to our children that struggle can be good. The kids were young, so I made up stories: someone trying to sell us roofing services, someone mistaking me for someone else.They are supposed to abuse drugs, get pregnant, and end up in prison rather than grad school. (We also have a plumber if we need him.) Looking at the gear in my car trunk, a mechanic once asked if I was a gym teacher.One-fourth of them are supposed to experience the kind of emotional havoc that renders them useless forever. My kids have seen me write for a living at home, tutor, teach classes, and sew purses at the kitchen table so that I could be available to them after school. When they were in elementary school, they put 4.58 in an envelope and gave it to me. I took one of the dollars and wrote on it: “This is my birthday present from my wonderful daughters who are selfless and sincere and my very special comrades.” I gave the rest back to them and told them not to ever worry. Growing up in a house of girls, they’ve learned about independence, about teamwork, about climbing on ladders and lifting couches and fixing (OK, attempting to fix) leaky shower faucets. Female strength is worth nurturing, and it just happens organically in an all-gal house.