The Single Ladies Project

On Sunday, I went to my parents' house for Star Trek Sunday. Well, it was Star Trek Sunday, but then it became Alias Sunday and now it is Battlestar Gallactica Sunday. Whatevs. I went to my parents' house for my Sunday Tradition. I do laundry (I don't have laundry facilities at my rental house), eat dinner with the folks, and watch DVDs of old television programs. It's extremely relaxing, and I totally enjoy it. Except when I get home. Because inevitably, I have 50 lbs of clean laundry to lug into my house while the glass door slams up against me, the wind howls, and I fall or drop something and want to SCREAM. Sunday always goes well until I have to go home. It's an effort.

So this past Sunday, my father came to pick me up. My driveway was clogged with SNOW, so he drove over here to get me. When it was time to come home, he lugged out my laundry for me to the car. When we got to my house, I looked at him and said, "Are you going to come in to check the toilet?" So he carried in my laundry and turned the water back on in the toilet and checked it out for me. The new toilet? Not black. Not black at all. Works like a freakin' champ. But my neighbor and I share water, so sometimes we run out of it at inconvenient times. That Sunday, the neighbor had called to alert me of the situation right in the middle of a really good Battlestar episode. So Pa brought me home and we turned off the toilet for a while. When we came back home, the water pressure was fine, so he turned the toilet back on.

The point of all of this?

I knew how to turn the toilet off and on. I knew exactly how to do it. I didn't need Pa to do it for me, but I wanted him to. I also didn't need him to carry my laundry in, but I let him. And both of these things? Made me feel AWESOME. Sunday was a good night, indeed.

Before Christmas, my sister and I wrote a post on BlogHer about changing family traditions. One commenter said I could make my sister's life easier by having her ship all of her presents to me and then wrapping them for her. I didn't respond to this comment on BlogHer because after a while, I regretted ever writing the post and just wanted to stop talking about it already. But the comment burned me because all I could think about was who was going to wrap my presents? My sister has a husband and a child to help her wrap things. Why should I take the additional burden to help her? (Stops to insert: Not only would I wrap my sister's presents, I would drive down to Missouri and pick her up and drive her to Alaska if she wanted me to because I love her. But that isn't the point of this post.)

As a single, childless woman, I also get a lot of suggestions about how I should offer free babysitting to my friends so they can run errands. (Yes, I've done that before and I will do it again.) I am also warned in advance about certain times I shouldn't call due to meal times or bath times. I know better than to call certain friends on the weekends because it just won't happen. I have one friend that will only talk to me if she is at work because the kids aren't around. And then there are the thousands of dollars I've spent over the years on bachelorette gifts, engagement gifts, wedding showers, weddings, baby showers, baby birthdays, and kid birthdays. I'm dreading when all of my friends' kids graduate from high school. Lord help me.

So after the whole Christmas debate, I was talking to my sister one night and I let it out: "I just want someone to HELP ME. Just once in a while! I DON'T WANT TO CARRY IN MY OWN GROCERIES EVERY TIME!" Bless her heart, she remembered. She remembered carrying her own groceries every time. She got it. She suggested I register myself like Carrie did on Sex and the City for gifts. I laughed. But later that week, I called my parents and asked them to help me carry in sh*t from Target that would have taken me like an hour to bring in myself. And bless their hearts--they did it. They came over and unloaded everything and it was done in 5 minutes. I. Was. So. Grateful.

My parents often bring up my garbage can from the bottom of the driveway when they stop by. My father scoops off my front stairs whenever he is here. And my neighbor! GOD BLESS THE NEIGHBOR! The guy who lives across the road scooped my driveway 4 times in 3 days last week due to all of the storms. I didn't ask him. I don't even know his phone number to thank him. (I will soon--don't worry.) But beyond the neighbor and my own parents, I'm often left in the cold when it comes to "help." I have to pay people to help me or do it myself.

A few weeks ago, my mother mentioned that if my father were to die, she wouldn't know how to run the corn boiler. I explained that I would come over and turn it off and find someone who would appreciate it. She also mentioned that she had my father tag all of the switches in the fuse box for her because she didn't know what they went to. I had flashbacks of going into dark basements over the years to turn back on my fuses when they blew. And crawling through my insanely large and drafty attic in Farmhouse Villa to turn on a fuse because for some crazy reason, the box is in the attic on the FAR wall. Boo.

But the thing is, I know how to use the fuse box. I know how to turn on and off the water. I know how to change my furnace filter and fill the U-pipe with water and a whole host of other handy things even though I've never owned my own property. I know all of these things for two reasons: A.) my father taught me and B.) I've never had a man who did these things for me. No, not even the Great Chicago Ex knew how to use the fuse box. (Sigh.)

My mother was raised to be financially guarded. Her father died at 66 and my Gran had to take care of herself until she passed away in her 80s. So my mother has always beaten into my mind that I need to have a retirement account and money to take care of myself until I'm old and withered all by myself. But as far as the little things like the fuse box? She's clueless. I found this completely fascinating. I realized that not only should women know how to find their own checking account, they also need to know how to put air in their car tires, fix a broken window, and turn the water off in their own homes. Just in case.

I told Ma that if anything happens to Pa, I will help her. I will help her do it all, and so will my sister and brother-in-law and even my little niece. She felt better, and the conversation was over. But I was still thinking about it. Tick, tick, tick, went my brain. Whirl, whirl, whirl.

When I lived in Chicago, there was a company that allowed you to Hire a Husband for a day. If something broke around your house, you could pay like $50/hr to have some dude come fix everything or move something or rewire that lamp. I found this concept amusing because I'm used to doing these things on my own. My father's engineering DNA allows me to fix minor things quite easily without a manual. So no, I don't need a man to come fix something, but I would like someone--man or woman--to throw me a bone and carry in my groceries or at least hold the door for me while I do it. I hear a lot about helping single mothers or married women ease their burdens, but what about the single, childfree girl who just needs someone to pick up her crazy pills from the pharmacy because she is too busy working?

I am truly blessed to have my parents, but they won't always be around. And if I don't find a life partner, I might be facing the rest of my life trying to get that one pain-in-the-a$$ corner of the fitted sheet to stay all by myself. When I am tired or lonely or busy, who will help me out? I'm hoping to bring awareness to this by writing about it on my blog. Give the single girls a hand. Even the stubborn, old ones like myself. No, I don't need any help. Um, yes I do. I just don't want to admit it.

So in honor of all the single ladies who don't have a ring on it, think about your single girlfriends as you read this post today. Is there some small way you could help them? Could someone use a card? Could someone use a buddy trip to the grocery store? Could someone use a borrowed husband to fix a leaky faucet? You don't have to move mountains to help a friend. We all know that the smallest gestures are the ones that are most appreciated. When my old Ma randomly lugs my trashcan up the driveway when she stops in, I almost cry every time even though I don't show it. It's just small things like that. They show you realize that everyone can use a hand once in a while, no matter how independent and strong that person may seem. Sometimes, we just want someone else to turn the water back on.

Wherever she is, find her today. Your single friend. Send her a sweet email. Bring her mail in when you stop by. Ask her if you can bring her anything from the store while you're there. Give her a hug just because. And then maybe if you're lucky, she'll offer to babysit.