Single mothers read this
Today, I took my son for his Entrance exams. As I sat there, I found myself drifting back to my own school days. I remembered how it used to be a "team operation." My mother was the heartbeat of the morning—preparing the food, packing the lunch, checking the water bottle, and asking that one final question: "Have you taken everything?" Meanwhile, my father was the logistics manager. He’d be outside checking the car, heading to the petrol bunk, making sure the tire pressure was perfect. He knew the route; he handled the "outside world" so I could just focus on the paper in front of me. But today? Today, I was both of them. I was the one packing the lunch. I was the one at the petrol bunk. I was the one navigating the traffic and the one calming the nerves. And when I got home, I was the one calling the plumber to fix a broken pipe, a task my father always handled without me even noticing. Someone easily said you are overacting as if you are writ...