It was Friday night and Seth and I were snuggled on the couch with the kids watching one of our family favorites, Sing! For those of you who haven’t seen the movie (it’s worth watching once you reclaim some of your time), Rosita the pig was a beautiful singer. But with the passage of time and the birth of many piglets, Rosita had completely lost touch with this important pastime; her life was entirely consumed by her identity as a wife and mother who unclogs toilets and gets dozens of piglets fed each day. In the narrative, though devoted to their family together, Rosita’s husband failed to really see her. When she bravely seizes the opportunity to participate in a singing competition, Rosita rediscovers her voice, along with a greater sense of personal fulfillment and purpose. Her knockout vocal and dance performance at the end of the movie draws a standing ovation and enthusiastic cheers from the crowd and her little ones, and even more so when her husband storms the stage and kisses her passionately.
At this heart-swelling moment of the movie, Ben, my then-six-year-old, turned to me and said, “Rosita found her Unicorn Space!” I swelled even more and put my hand to my heart. Ben, my son, had finally put it together.
Though he’d seen the movie many times before, this time, after hearing my side of countless phone conversations with interviewees and passively listening to many of my casual conversations about Unicorn Space with friends like Carrie, the real-life embodiment of Rosita, Ben understood what it looks, sounds, and feels like to witness someone express themselves fully, and also how valuable it is to reclaim that essential part of yourself. The next morning at the breakfast table, Ben asked Seth and me if he might start taking singing classes. “I’d like to start a band,” he said innocently. I looked over at Seth. That’s the ‘extracurricular (non-sports)’ card,” I said with a wink. “You wanna take it?”
“I’m in.” He turned to Ben and leaned forward. “Buddy, you are my witness that Daddy now holds 23 cards and ten regular re-deals. Tell Mommy to put that in the book.”
“Mom,” Ben asked, “who’s the hero in your book?”
Ever since I’d begun writing, Ben had wanted to know—what kind of book is it? Instead of boring him with a category description like personal growth or gender studies, I’d explained it simply: “It’s about the dynamics between moms and dads . . .”
Ben jumped in, “You mean like how superheroes battle?”
“Yeah, sort of like that.”
This description had satisfied him for the past six months. And now, Ben wanted to know who was the hero.
I looked across the table at Seth and smiled. “We both are.”
After much trial and error, engaging in regular dialogue, negotiating with intention, and re-dealing cards, my husband and I are playing fair. And by watching us, our kids are learning what it means to have an equitable and collaborative partnership, one where both Mommy’s and Daddy’s individual time is respected and valued, household work is shared, and everyone in the family is encouraged to feed their unicorn.
A win-win-win.