My three-year-old Chinese beauty stood on the middle stair descending into the swimming pool; one hand gripping the handrail, the other stroking the top of the cool water. She was adorable in her little black pigtails, yellow, pink and orange swimsuit and fat little innertube ready to buoy her once she chose to get into the water. But for Chloe, fun meant being with people, so there was again seeking out a playmate among the crowd of swimmers in the hot afternoon sun. And where was I? I sat under a nearby shade tree watching her. I wanted to get up and go to her, to hold her hand as we stepped into the pool together to bob, to practice bubble blowing for her next swimming lesson, to play "chase" and "underduck", but I couldn't do that. As a single mom of two children, I had a strategy for all of us that day. I had decided it would be best to watch Chloe vigilantly as she stood on the middle stair, hoping beyond hope that she had paid attention to her swimming instructor, while I supervised my infant daughter Robin who played and crawled restlessly next to me under that tree. I really hated that moment: a moment like many others I had this past summer. This, for me, is probably the most difficult aspect of single parenting; not being able to be in two places at one time; not being able to fill every one of my children's needs by myself. I don't know when I actually realized the truth, that I was not "supermom" and that we have two biological parents for a reason. I do know that during the process of my two adoptions many people told me to build up my support system, to be as close to family as possible.

Most of the time we do just fine. It is possible to become organized just enough to get everyone bathed, dressed and fed before leaving for childcare, preschool and work. We single parents know we have to set out the clothes the night before, that our children will grow up eating cold breakfast cereal (or toaster waffles on a really good morning), that taking even one phone call during the routine will set a precedent for the rest of the day. We know all about the sacrifices of money, time, and energy. But these sacrifices are given willingly; they are fine. What hasn't been fine for me is when someone else gets to be with Chloe and Robin. If I am going make the sacrifices, then I at least want the whole reward of my children. I have had to learn, however, that it just doesn't work that way.

Of one thing I am certain; Hillary Rodham Clinton was right, it does take a village, or a support system, or whatever you want to call it, to raise healthy, well- rounded human beings, and for we single parents this is especially true. It is not, however, just a matter of having time away to recoup and refresh ourselves. It is also a matter of allowing children an opportunity to observe multiple points-of-view about life and the world in which we live.

So how are villages of support created? For me it was establishing a set of criteria I wanted to adhere to and then finding those people who would best be able to understand and maintain that criteria while in care of Robin and Chloe. We are now members of a church with many international adoption families who nurture one another. We actively participate in our regional Families with Children from China and Families with Children from Vietnam from whom I receive an enormous amount of emotional support. Our incredible childcare provider lives three houses down and is always responsive to my pleas for relief. And all of my extended family lives within a twenty-minute drive: a very nice setup. Kate Mattos, President of the Capital Area Families with Children from China, in her article Thoughts on Single Parenthood suggests that a single parent should, "Realistically assess your support structure. Prepare for emergencies." She inquires about family members helping out and cautions not counting on aging parents and busy siblings to give all that might be needed. Mattos encourages being straightforward and getting a real commitment from family and friends by asking for help in small doses so that no one member is overwhelmed.

Watching Chloe hold onto the swimming pool handrail that day was a reminder of how tightly she holds onto me; figuratively as well as literally. Like that handrail, I am her security, her sense of safety that allows her to reach out into the world, like the pool water she stroked that afternoon. But what if I wasn't available anymore, what if that handrail suddenly disappeared? What made Chloe's position at the pool that day even more precarious was something she knew, appropriately, little about. I experienced a health problem over the summer, a mystery disease that has since cleared up, but which remains undiagnosed. Never before had I truly understood what a support system was really all about. I have since come to understand just how vital it is that I have a well-established, reliable, committed "village" ready to take on the responsibilities of rearing my children should something fatal happen to me. I have reconsidered my original guardianship plans and contacted those who are designated to take Chloe and Robin should I die. I asked hard questions like whether or not they still wanted to take on the responsibility not only of Chloe but also of Robin. I asked for a commitment that the children's cultural, religious, and formal education be conducted in the manner that I have established and feel is paramount to their self-esteem as international adoptees. I gave opportunities to change the plan; a chance to back out just in case it was no longer merely a formality. Nothing actually did change in my will, but I know everyone involved was given a wake-up call about the reality that my little family may actually need to utilize our emergency plan.

No, I couldn't swim with Chloe that day, but shortly after she began to stroke the water Tony and Sairetha, citizens of our "village", came to the pool area with their young son Matt, and all three of them helped Chloe enjoy herself atop their raft, pulling her here and there, laughing with her, waving to me to show that it was all right. And after a short while it was all right. She was having a great time, and I could breathe more easily knowing that both of my children were safe. I can keep a vigilant eye on my daughters. I can choose whether or not we will even go to the pool or anywhere else, and I can allow others to help shape and form these children. Ultimately, it is not only wise to let others help, it is crucial. I am not perfect, I need help now and then, and I cannot promise that I will not die. It was good that Chloe chose to play with Sairetha and Tony: it helped her to establish just a little bit more independence. It is my responsibility, though, as Robin and Chloe's only parent, to ensure not only their daily needs are being met, but also their long term security. There are many wonderful people who have a vested interest in my children, and quite frankly, it is a relief for me that our "village" is now firmly in place. In a way, we all together are the "handrail," and we are in place for the times Chloe and Robin wish to reach out to the cool waters before them.

Caroline F. Daniel is the single parent of Chloe (3), adopted in Hangzhou, Zhejiang Province, PRC, and Robin (11 mos.), adopted in Ha Noi, Vietnam.

October - November 1998 Chosen Child Magazine 9

© Adoption Today

Credits: Caroline F. Daniel