I credit my son with saving my life. He has done and will continue to do so. I remember a conversation with my sister weeks after the in vitro procedure that resulted in my perfect little man. I remember saying to her that when you are a single person with no children, you are naturally very self-centered because there is no one to think of and make decisions for except yourself. It is not snobbery or selfishness because it is not usually intentional. It is just the natural way of progression when your life consists of one person. I am also not calling this a character flaw. It is what it is.
The conversation with my sister was this, "I am tired of having only myself to care for and to love." And then... Aiden was born. And he saved my life... in more ways than one.
Suddenly, looking at this little perfect pouty-lipped face in the hospital bed, I spent the 3 hospital days thinking of what I wanted for this child and how we were going to get there together. I did some real soul-searching that first night (okay, maybe the second night... the first night I think I just crashed hard after 36 hours of hard labor) and found that there were holes in my life that needed to be repaired, cut out or filled.
In the last 20 months, I have gained an even stronger connection with God, I have changed my language (no longer like a sailor...), eating habits, exercise routine, work schedule, and schooling. I havegladly given up the high-powered career that I once fought 70 hours a week for. I have given up cheese and butter. I have become friends with Mr. Treadmill (although I still classify him as a villain). I have prayed more than in the rest of my years of life combined.
What I am will be a direct reflection of what my son will be - or at least what he will consider to be normal. I hope that by the time my son can look back on his childhood, he will say that his mother had fun, patience, healthy habits, and a strong spirituality.
A good friend of mine said, "Your son has taken the hard edges and softened them. Relaxed the stress lines in your personality." What a beautiful compliment for my son.
And that is why I have done what I have done. I am doing it to say thank you to the son who saved me.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Choice
There is a online parenting community to which I belong. There are many groups within that community and one is specifically for single parents. I have found over the last 19 months of single-parenthood that I have little or nothing in common with many of the single mothers in that group. Today I made the momentous decision to cut the cord that is the Single Mom Group.
I have questioned, over the last 19 months, why the only topics that can be discussed on the aforementioned board include the hatred of the following: the ex. The baby-daddy. The ex's family. Custody battles. The ex's lawyer. Being tired. Being poor. Being alone. Being celibate. Working. Depression. Kids that get on the nerves.
So, in celebration of being a single mother, I will shout from the rooftops that I love, love, LOVE! being a single mother. I love the screaming toddler. I love cuddling with my sweet boy after a long day at work. I love the dishes, the laundry, the mess, the diaper changes, the tantrums, the bills, the stress, the sleepless nights. I love it all. I wouldn't trade it for the world.
There were days that I would reach my level of stress. One day, I stepped outside my meager, small apartment to have some peace. Then, I realized that this is the life that I was born for. I could choose, yes, choose, to be stressed or revel in every minute of this life with my beautiful boy.
I chose that day to fix his Thomas the Tank Engine fourteen, fifteen, sixteen times and not lose patience. I lay on the floor with my son and played. I was the bossy engine, Spencer, and we played and played and played.
My own single mother who raised ten children alone once said, "Our lives are a culmination of our choices." After she passed away, I have thought that phrase nearly every day. I am where I am because of my choices in my life.
I chose to eat poorly and not exercise, so therefore, I am overweight. I chose the career field that I work in, so I am stuck in a field that may never pay well. I chose to being a single mom, therefore, I am that choice and everything that comes with it. I can choose to be upset about it, but in the end, it is my own choice.
And it is my choice to react how I will.
I choose JOY!
I have questioned, over the last 19 months, why the only topics that can be discussed on the aforementioned board include the hatred of the following: the ex. The baby-daddy. The ex's family. Custody battles. The ex's lawyer. Being tired. Being poor. Being alone. Being celibate. Working. Depression. Kids that get on the nerves.
So, in celebration of being a single mother, I will shout from the rooftops that I love, love, LOVE! being a single mother. I love the screaming toddler. I love cuddling with my sweet boy after a long day at work. I love the dishes, the laundry, the mess, the diaper changes, the tantrums, the bills, the stress, the sleepless nights. I love it all. I wouldn't trade it for the world.
There were days that I would reach my level of stress. One day, I stepped outside my meager, small apartment to have some peace. Then, I realized that this is the life that I was born for. I could choose, yes, choose, to be stressed or revel in every minute of this life with my beautiful boy.
I chose that day to fix his Thomas the Tank Engine fourteen, fifteen, sixteen times and not lose patience. I lay on the floor with my son and played. I was the bossy engine, Spencer, and we played and played and played.
My own single mother who raised ten children alone once said, "Our lives are a culmination of our choices." After she passed away, I have thought that phrase nearly every day. I am where I am because of my choices in my life.
I chose to eat poorly and not exercise, so therefore, I am overweight. I chose the career field that I work in, so I am stuck in a field that may never pay well. I chose to being a single mom, therefore, I am that choice and everything that comes with it. I can choose to be upset about it, but in the end, it is my own choice.
And it is my choice to react how I will.
I choose JOY!
Friday, January 7, 2011
Holiday Blues
I live in an apartment filled with other single mothers, like myself, and due to an active church life, I was able to socialize with many of them during our church hours. December seemed to slow down exponentially to us, as a whole. One would think that the holidays would speed by in a flurry of hustle and jingling bustle. Not so.
The majority of us had a slow, plodding, anxious December - and for good reason. One mother wisely commented that there was no reason to stress about the parking at the mall because she had absolutely no money that could be spent there. None of us did. WalMart, maybe, but never Toys R Us. Her logic was sound. "I buy a $6 Barbie at WalMart or a $20 Barbie elsewhere and in three weeks, the hair is just as tangled and the mini-plastic shoes are just as destroyed by the dog. They will forget they wanted that Barbie or that game. They will play with what will be opened. I will have guilt for not providing for their every whim, then in January I will congratulate myself for teaching my children about gratitude for smaller things and for not increasing my credit card debt. All will be well."
So, I ask, now that January 7th is here, do your children still mention that toy they didn't receive? Yeah, mine doesn't either.
The majority of us had a slow, plodding, anxious December - and for good reason. One mother wisely commented that there was no reason to stress about the parking at the mall because she had absolutely no money that could be spent there. None of us did. WalMart, maybe, but never Toys R Us. Her logic was sound. "I buy a $6 Barbie at WalMart or a $20 Barbie elsewhere and in three weeks, the hair is just as tangled and the mini-plastic shoes are just as destroyed by the dog. They will forget they wanted that Barbie or that game. They will play with what will be opened. I will have guilt for not providing for their every whim, then in January I will congratulate myself for teaching my children about gratitude for smaller things and for not increasing my credit card debt. All will be well."
So, I ask, now that January 7th is here, do your children still mention that toy they didn't receive? Yeah, mine doesn't either.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Single Mom begets Single Mom
Yesterday was my mother's birthday and, had she still been alive, she would have been 68 years old. My little son and I went to the cemetery to see the stone reminder of Grandma. My son has never known this Grandma, but she has such a profound influence on his life that he will never understand.
My mother was a single parent. Raising ten children alone. No shared custody, no child support. As a small child, you do not think about this scenario as being anything other than your world. Your existence is your norm and it does not sink in that this woman may be incredible, unselfish - Super Mom with a blazing capitol M. Maybe I thought as a teenager that her hairstyle was slightly outdated or that mopping the kitchen floor by hand was foolish. I know a sister was very vocal about the state of the laundry room in constant disarray - which, by the way, she now has five boys of her own and no semblance of order in her own laundry - and a mother that would return the slights with a "one day you will understand".
And we do. Now we all do. I have one child instead of the mighty army of ten and my hampers overflow, my dryer running at the dead of night to play catch-up. I realize that truth that I could not grasp then. It was much more important to my mother to be a mother first. Laundress, accountant, maid, cook, gardener, and employee were never as important as Mother.
Last night, I could not, in good conscience, put my son's toddler behind in his filthy highchair one more time and we parked it on the kitchen floor, surrounded by a rainbow of MegaBlocks, and ate our dinner. He ate as much as a bird, but enjoyed the homemade bottled apples and the small bird-bites of spaghetti from the spoon. I played with the blocks and we made a tower. I put the dirty dishes in the sink and there they stay until I deal with them.
I will never regret the dirty dishes. I will regret every moment that I could have been on the floor playing instead of cleaning, typing, checking Facebook, or talking nonsense on the phone.
I realize that I, like my mother, understand this concept.
My mother was a single parent. Raising ten children alone. No shared custody, no child support. As a small child, you do not think about this scenario as being anything other than your world. Your existence is your norm and it does not sink in that this woman may be incredible, unselfish - Super Mom with a blazing capitol M. Maybe I thought as a teenager that her hairstyle was slightly outdated or that mopping the kitchen floor by hand was foolish. I know a sister was very vocal about the state of the laundry room in constant disarray - which, by the way, she now has five boys of her own and no semblance of order in her own laundry - and a mother that would return the slights with a "one day you will understand".
And we do. Now we all do. I have one child instead of the mighty army of ten and my hampers overflow, my dryer running at the dead of night to play catch-up. I realize that truth that I could not grasp then. It was much more important to my mother to be a mother first. Laundress, accountant, maid, cook, gardener, and employee were never as important as Mother.
Last night, I could not, in good conscience, put my son's toddler behind in his filthy highchair one more time and we parked it on the kitchen floor, surrounded by a rainbow of MegaBlocks, and ate our dinner. He ate as much as a bird, but enjoyed the homemade bottled apples and the small bird-bites of spaghetti from the spoon. I played with the blocks and we made a tower. I put the dirty dishes in the sink and there they stay until I deal with them.
I will never regret the dirty dishes. I will regret every moment that I could have been on the floor playing instead of cleaning, typing, checking Facebook, or talking nonsense on the phone.
I realize that I, like my mother, understand this concept.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The Economy of Women
Women are amazing creatures. Forget "Men are from Mars". Women are so very different from men. Well, most women are so different from men. Women are a versatile, kind, compassionate, sharing group of beings. Like I said, most women fit into this category.
We have this...this thing that we do. A way we are. A way we behave. I call it the Economy of Women.
The Economy of Men goes back to the founding of, well, of whatever we are. You need a goat? No problem, Caveman Joe. I will give you a goat. It is worth 6 black rocks and 2 sticks. Caveman Joe gives the rocks and sticks and takes the goat. Even Steven. You need a house? Pay me $190,000 because that is what it is worth.
Women, I have observed, have an economy all different. You need some bread? Here, have some bread. And jam. Butter too. You can't pay me for it? No problem. When I need something you can help me out then.
My neighborhood is not the most wealthy. In fact, most of the residents there live on government subsidies or live on very little. One of my new-found friends has a daughter who is severely physically and mentally challenged due to birth issues. She is in a wheelchair and is an amazing young woman. My friend devotes her life to her daughter, but has next to nothing in the way of wealth.
We were at a meeting for church when she announced that her handicapped daughter, who is sixteen, had been asked to the Homecoming Dance by a huge hunk at her high school. While we were all excited, my friend shyly smiled that her daughter, yes her daughter, was going to be happy and cared about for one night. Then I realized that this woman, who is barely getting by, was responsible for getting a dance dress, jewelry, etc. of which she has none and no possible way of providing them.
The other women realized it, too. And I watched as the Economy of Women was set into motion silently and with as much grace and compassion as I have ever seen. It was done in such a way as to keep my friend's pride in tact. The following statements were made by the 8 or 9 women sitting around a table.
As we sat around talking about the amazing night this Saturday would be, I realized that these women didn't want to play dressup with someone's child. They were helping this woman do something for her daughter that she couldn't do herself. My friend was a big gooey ball of appreciation and relief. Her daughter would look great, be pampered, and would be the belle of the ball.
Not a penny expected in return. And our hearts were allowed to grow by talking and sharing and sacrificing just a little bit for the greater good.
So, on Saturday, she will wear my dress. She will have shoes by someone else, hair by yet another friend, and so on.
The Economy of Women, through years and years of "evolution" and "modernization" can not be defeated. We are here to bring balance to an ever-more financial world.
And we expect nothing in return.
We have this...this thing that we do. A way we are. A way we behave. I call it the Economy of Women.
The Economy of Men goes back to the founding of, well, of whatever we are. You need a goat? No problem, Caveman Joe. I will give you a goat. It is worth 6 black rocks and 2 sticks. Caveman Joe gives the rocks and sticks and takes the goat. Even Steven. You need a house? Pay me $190,000 because that is what it is worth.
Women, I have observed, have an economy all different. You need some bread? Here, have some bread. And jam. Butter too. You can't pay me for it? No problem. When I need something you can help me out then.
My neighborhood is not the most wealthy. In fact, most of the residents there live on government subsidies or live on very little. One of my new-found friends has a daughter who is severely physically and mentally challenged due to birth issues. She is in a wheelchair and is an amazing young woman. My friend devotes her life to her daughter, but has next to nothing in the way of wealth.
We were at a meeting for church when she announced that her handicapped daughter, who is sixteen, had been asked to the Homecoming Dance by a huge hunk at her high school. While we were all excited, my friend shyly smiled that her daughter, yes her daughter, was going to be happy and cared about for one night. Then I realized that this woman, who is barely getting by, was responsible for getting a dance dress, jewelry, etc. of which she has none and no possible way of providing them.
The other women realized it, too. And I watched as the Economy of Women was set into motion silently and with as much grace and compassion as I have ever seen. It was done in such a way as to keep my friend's pride in tact. The following statements were made by the 8 or 9 women sitting around a table.
"Oh! Take my new camera so the colors of her dress really pop!" said woman number 1.
"She doesn't have a dress, yet. I am not sure what she will choose." said my friend.
"I have the most beautiful black velvet with rhinestones along the color. It would fit her, I bet." said woman number 2.
"If she is wearing black, let me make her boutonnière. I have all those Fire and Ice roses that I won't get to using. They would be perfect in contrast." said woman number 3.
"Do you have someone to do her hair and makeup?" said woman number 4.
"I was going to take her to Great Clips. I don't know how good they are but..." said my friend.
"No, No! Bring her to my salon. It would be amazing! Drop her off at, say, 10am?" said woman number 4.
And on and on it went.
Dress.
Shoes.
Jewelry.
Acrylic Nails.
Transportation in a fancy limo with wheelchair access.
More fancy pictures.
As we sat around talking about the amazing night this Saturday would be, I realized that these women didn't want to play dressup with someone's child. They were helping this woman do something for her daughter that she couldn't do herself. My friend was a big gooey ball of appreciation and relief. Her daughter would look great, be pampered, and would be the belle of the ball.
Not a penny expected in return. And our hearts were allowed to grow by talking and sharing and sacrificing just a little bit for the greater good.
So, on Saturday, she will wear my dress. She will have shoes by someone else, hair by yet another friend, and so on.
The Economy of Women, through years and years of "evolution" and "modernization" can not be defeated. We are here to bring balance to an ever-more financial world.
And we expect nothing in return.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Guilt
I have guilt.
There are some things that I can not have happen during my day. I will fall into a guilt-ridden pool of shame behind my desk if I am reminded of my little man playing elsewhere without me there. When I drop of Mister (my son...) to the babysitters, it is about 6am. He is always asleep and snuggles into the babysitter when we make the arm-to-arm transition. There are many mornings that she will take him back in to snooze with her until her family needs to be awake.
It's okay. Don't think about it. Start your car. Drive to work.
During the day I am so busy, I rarely have an issue with missing my son because I have no time. Then, something will happen and I will miss him so much more and race home after work to hug him. This morning on the way to work, my normal morning show was not delivering, so I channel surfed. I heard just a phrase of Phil Collins' "You'll Be in My Heart."
My day is ruined. At least until 2pm when I can ditch this place and head back to my boy.
There are some things that I can not have happen during my day. I will fall into a guilt-ridden pool of shame behind my desk if I am reminded of my little man playing elsewhere without me there. When I drop of Mister (my son...) to the babysitters, it is about 6am. He is always asleep and snuggles into the babysitter when we make the arm-to-arm transition. There are many mornings that she will take him back in to snooze with her until her family needs to be awake.
It's okay. Don't think about it. Start your car. Drive to work.
During the day I am so busy, I rarely have an issue with missing my son because I have no time. Then, something will happen and I will miss him so much more and race home after work to hug him. This morning on the way to work, my normal morning show was not delivering, so I channel surfed. I heard just a phrase of Phil Collins' "You'll Be in My Heart."
My day is ruined. At least until 2pm when I can ditch this place and head back to my boy.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
How do we do what we do?
My family growing up consisted of eight children and a single mother. She was not always single, but after many years of marriage and many children, my parents could not stay together. The why's and how's are all greatly debated in my family, but both parents are no longer with us, so we have stopped the argument. Suffice it to say that my mother raised us alone.
She was an amazing woman and many people asked her how she raised such a family who are all college-educated, law-abiding citizens. Her answer was always the same, "What is the alternative?"
So, I ask the single mothers around the world, how do we do it? How do we survive on little or no sleep, scrape mashed potatoes from every surface within dinner distance, and change a "sauced" diaper, but find time to read to our little monkeys, bathe them, and connect with the very little souls that we fell in love with when we held them in that hospital bed for the first time? How do we teach them manners, but instill in them the sense of independence? How do we keep our tempers, see our hands and faces age, sacrifice so much, and love it?
The answer might be the same as the one given by my mother years ago, "What is the alternative?"
The persistence of knowing or hoping that our children will be more than we could ever be keeps us going - keeps me going, anyway. I want my son to eat better, study harder, and laugh louder than I ever did.
Because, what is the alternative?
She was an amazing woman and many people asked her how she raised such a family who are all college-educated, law-abiding citizens. Her answer was always the same, "What is the alternative?"
So, I ask the single mothers around the world, how do we do it? How do we survive on little or no sleep, scrape mashed potatoes from every surface within dinner distance, and change a "sauced" diaper, but find time to read to our little monkeys, bathe them, and connect with the very little souls that we fell in love with when we held them in that hospital bed for the first time? How do we teach them manners, but instill in them the sense of independence? How do we keep our tempers, see our hands and faces age, sacrifice so much, and love it?
The answer might be the same as the one given by my mother years ago, "What is the alternative?"
The persistence of knowing or hoping that our children will be more than we could ever be keeps us going - keeps me going, anyway. I want my son to eat better, study harder, and laugh louder than I ever did.
Because, what is the alternative?
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