The List or Nobody Likes Rotten Zucchini

There is one thing on my phone that I go to more than Facebook, Instagram, or my email. It is The List. That’s right – The List, as in a proper noun. In my house, if someone asks me to fix their train set or remember that the football tshirt order form is due August 9 (fyi), they know it will happen if I add it to The List. Zucchini* doesn’t rot in my fridge, forgotten after I buy it with the best of intentions, because I have added “make zucchini bread” on The List. I don’t know where we’d be without The List.  Probably shirtless eating moldy zucchini watching a broken train set.

The List has been with me for years now. It started out innocently enough, probably a last resort when I couldn’t find a post it. I opened up my Notes on my phone and just started typing a bunch of things I needed at the grocery store. It has since grown to 58 different sublists (no lie – movies I want to see but will forget about, vacations I want to go on someday when I’m rich, my friend Amy’s great corn recipe), but still, there is just one The List – the master of them all. If anything is going to get done, including this blog, it will start off on The List. Even the Squirrel said to me the other day, “Add it to The List!”

Now some people have accused me of being too organized or “controlling.” However, most of those people have benefitted from The List themselves; they are able to randomly throw information in my direction and just count on it getting done. “I need new shoelaces.” Just out there in the universe, expecting new shoelaces to magically appear in the next 24 hours. Waiting for me to grab onto those words and tuck them away for when I go to Target later. Woof. It’s a lot of responsibility to remember everything and since I’m not a robot or a post it note, I carry it around on my phone.

The pressure of maintaining and checking The List periodically throughout the day can be exhausting. I check it first thing in the morning – what needs to be done within the next 24 hours? Then I check it throughout the day – what needs to be done this hour, this minute? I check it at the end of the day – can I cross anything off? What needs to be added? I just realized I don’t own jumper cables – add it to The List! Does The List ever get fully done? Of course not. At the very top of The List is “change address on stock.” I have needed to change my address on this one share of stock I own for the past four years – that’s what happens to the items at the top of The List. On The List, being at the top doesn’t mean you are the most important or urgent item; in fact, if you make the top of The List, it just means that more and more has been added after you and your priority level goes way down. It’s unconventional but The List never promised to be rational. It just promised to be thorough and overwhelming.

The List is becoming a cherished member of the family. We refer to it with reverence. I realize now that what started as a glorified post it has now become my security blanket. Not having to mentally remember everything for everyone is reassuring. I carry The List with me everywhere I go and I look at it when I’m feeling bored or need a pick-me-up, because surely there is something on The List that I could get done quickly to get that little boost you get when you cross something off. The List makes me feel successful and needed. Send email to the teacher. Check! YES!!! Feel those endorphins!

But The List has a dark side too. It teaches the future men in my house that instead of being responsible to remember things themselves, they can toss it to Mom, who will add it to The List so they don’t have to worry about anything. Oh the freedom of never being responsible for your own needs. The List also can be an escape for me, giving me a second to tune out the world but look productive at the same time. Since The List has no end, it can also serve as a stressor by reminding me just how much I have left to do in the day/week/month/year/decade. By Sunday night, I almost always feel like a loser.

So what to do? Well, I’ve been working on lightening my social media and sugar consumption lately. I’m not sure I have the bandwidth to give up my security blanket too. Besides, who will remember that the dog needs medicine or that the kids are low on lunch money or that I need to send birthday cards out this week? And how can I send birthday cards unless I get stamps first – add it to The List! Perhaps I should try to cut down the number of times I reference The List each day, but even that would require a notation in The List – “Review The List only 4 times today.” That sounds as bad as giving up coffee. So for now, I’ll hang on to my security blanket – it makes me feel competent and needed. And to balance the fact that it is a crutch for my Moose and Squirrel to avoid remembering things THEY need to do, I might have them start their own lists (lower case) – I am an expert on creating lists. “Coach the boys to start their own to-do lists.” Check!

*Next time I will use a vegetable that is easier to spell as an example. Zucchini? Is it double “c” or double “n”?

Step Stools versus Sweat or Even Very Smart Squirrels Shouldn’t Climb on my Counters

One of the best times with kids is when their personalities start to shine. I SWEAR that Squirrel was messing with me three days after he was born. He had just come off his feeding tube and we were trying to nurse and he just wouldn’t wake up. The nurse was saying if he didn’t eat at the next feeding, his feeding tube was going back in. I looked down to that little face and pleaded, “Baby, you gotta wake up and eat.” And I swear that sweet little angelic face smirked at me. I looked at the nurse and said, “Did you see that?” She said, “It looked like he smiled…” To this day I know that this was the Squirrel’s first time he screwed with me. And incidentally, that was one of the last meals he’s missed.

So this summer we had a huge fight that stemmed from climbing on my counters. Now that I’m a single mom, I’m a little more sensitive to my loving babies destroying my house because I’m the only one around to pay for repairs. Nothing like a single income to make you start paying more attention to how long a certain Squirrel takes a shower (over 20 minutes and that’s before the golden locks are washed!) or how a certain Moose likes to kick his soccer ball around my living room.

I walked into the kitchen and found my Squirrel climbing onto my counters to reach the highest shelf in the cabinet. I shooed him down and that is all it took. We went round and round about how he could get a chair or step stool to reach what he wanted but I didn’t want him climbing up my counters to reach things. Oh the indignation! I pointed out the obvious reasons for my irrational request –

His Logic
He has always climbed on the counters.
My Logic
He is bigger now and might hurt the counters.
His Response
So now I’m calling him fat!? (Well played)

My Logic
He could get hurt if he falls.
His Logic
He knows what he’s doing!
My Response
It just takes one slip. (Scoff)

Finally Squirrel looks me in the eye and says, “Sometimes life doesn’t need a step stool. Sometimes you gotta climb.” Mic drop. I looked at him and said, “That is one of the coolest things you’ve ever said.” My Squirrel knows a good thing when he hears it and played it off all nonchalant like he says great philosophical things all the time. I said, “You are right – sometimes you do have to climb. Sometimes you have to reach your goals and you can’t take the easy way to do it.” Feeling as though he has won this battle, he replied, “So you see, that’s why I climb on the counters.” Not so fast. “Um, no you still have to use the step stool – your metaphor is for life, not counters.  But I really liked what you said. That was so cool.” He slumped off, puzzled that his fight had fizzled out because I was too busy to think about his words to argue about how he needs to get off my counters. 

The Squirrel is dead on. While it is smart to find the easy way to accomplish a task, sometimes the hard work and sweat is what makes the outcome so sweet. Why drive 26.2 miles when you could run it? Why look at pictures of beautiful forests when you could go hike them? My experience has always shown me that when I work hard for something, I appreciate it so much more. Now whether the Squirrel realizes that his beautiful philosophical statement meant that creativity, perseverance and hard work are the keys to success, I’m not sure. But he’s really on to something.

Squirrel works hard to find the most challenging way to accomplish a task. He looks at situations in a totally unique way and finds the most creative, and sometimes poorly thought out, way to get things done. Moose works his tail off at sports. He goes in early to practices and stays late. I have been working on myself for years so I can bring my best to my babies and those around me. I didn’t know 7 years ago that I would need all of the tools that I have been building for this moment. It would be easy to skip this messy step in parenting as we adjust to our new normal and “use a step stool” and just let us all quietly crumble in our own ways. But I’m reading the books, chatting up the therapists, talking to the kids constantly and having quiet time of my own for deep reflection. Is this easy? No, it is one of the harder things I’ve done in life. But I know it will be worth it. Anything worth doing is hard. The few regrets I have in my life so far have been from taking the easier way instead of the healthier harder route. I am trying to learn from those mistakes.

I listened to a podcast recently that said our positive outcomes to our negative choices are apparent in the now. They are short term gains but with long term negative consequences. But our outcomes to our good choices, the hard choices, are more evident in 6 months or more from now. So when we make a choice, we need to think about how it will affect us in 6 months, not in an hour. For example I’m trying to feed my body better and frankly, it has made my days drag by to not have a sugar rush every few hours. (Don’t even ask if I’m giving up coffee. That is a ludicrous suggestion.) But when I want that Oreo and milk at 9 p.m., I think, will Jenny 6 months from now appreciate it? One Oreo isn’t going to impact me much today but the habit of reaching for sugar instead of just resting with my thoughts will become evident 6 months from now. So the hard work Moose puts into his sports now will hopefully pay off later. The creative ways the Squirrel attacks problems may have short term consequences but future Squirrel will keep learning from his wins and failures and will one day use those lessons to find ways to solve the world’s problems that we haven’t even considered yet. And if I keep doing the rumbling as a parent, asking the hard questions and staying present in the moment, we are all going to come through this messy season in a better healed place, glued together stronger than before as we move forward. Sometimes you have to climb, even if a step stool is easier. Unless it is my counters. Stay off of my counters. The step stool is within reach.

Love Is a Hard Skill or The Blog Where I Say Hope, High Road and Rise WAY Too Much

Recently I had the opportunity to hear the Executive Director of Character Counts speak. He was talking about passion and made the comment that love was a hard skill. Not a skill that is hard to do but that love is hard skill, like accounting, finance, engineering – the opposite of a soft skill. According to the interwebs, a hard skill is acquired and enhanced with training, repetition and practice (by this definition, scooping ice cream is a hard skill – if you don’t believe me, you didn’t work for my boss at Baskin Robbins.) And this just really resonated with me. Maybe because I’m in a season* where I am being challenged to up my love game**.

These last two years I learned what was love and what love wasn’t. I had to make some trust falls and hope people caught me, and the important people did. Some of the people I love the absolute most in this world need me to be there more than ever but they aren’t making it easy and I’m not my best self right now either. What I now know for sure is that if you are not constantly learning how to love and challenging yourself to be better - to love others better, to love yourself better - then you aren’t growing; you are just a stagnate pool of weird algae emotions. And nobody likes swampy feels.

My babies are going through one the hardest changes in life and need me to love them through it. And it can be so hard, so hard. They need my patience and my grace more than ever. They need me to rise above what I want to say and take a higher ground that some days is higher than I can reach. My Squirrel is testing me and I epically fail regularly. I go to bed at night and review all the ways I messed up and just hope that I can get up and be better for him the next day. Despite swearing off of parenting books, I am now reading one on how to help your kids deal with divorce – I wish I had read it sooner because guess what. He’s textbook – it’s just that his normal right now is challenging and scary for me. He is asking me to love as he pushes me away, and while it is easy to say you love everything about a person, the true test is when that person dares you to love him as he wrestles with his emotions. No matter what, I get up and stand by him again every morning. I recognize that the single act of trying again fresh each day is the love he needs right now. He is pushing me beyond the parent I am and I am growing and loving him better for it. Despite our battles, he will learn that he can’t get rid of his Mama, no matter how much he tries.

My Moose loves me and wants to protect me. I see that he wants to be there for me emotionally and that is so sweet. It comes from a good place. Easy love is letting him be an adult before he should and using him as a support system. But I’m still the Mama and that means I’m the one who does the supporting. The love Moose needs is me being gracious to people that have wounded me, trying to model rising above and letting him relax and be a kid. What did Michelle Obama say? When they go low, we go high. It is so much easier to say than do. Taking the higher road sucks. The oxygen is thinner up here and it gives me a headache. The high road is asking to hear all about the weekend I didn’t have with my babies with nothing in my heart but the hope that they had fun. No jealousy and no judgement. Lord help me. I am only human and sometimes I am just not proud of what that human heart feels. But loving my babies means that I have to be a better person than I feel like being for their sake.

Speaking of the Lord…trusting God to have my back requires me to trust in a love that is faith based – hoping beyond hope that things really will work out because of this concept of God’s love. It’s not easy, that’s for sure. It’s downright scary and not natural for me. But I am trying to accept a love I can’t understand. I am trying to grasp that someone might love me beyond my faults and have my best interests at heart. I am trying to understand and accept an unconditional love that does not ask me to be perfect or to prove myself worthy. So many of my relationships in life have felt like perfection and hustle were the cover charge. I am not used to asking for help without giving something in return. I am practicing this thing called praying, hoping it lands true.

Finally, I am practicing loving myself. Shit this is hard. For so long if I wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t worthy. And if you know me, you know I am far far far away from being perfect. If I could just hustle harder, be quiet, take care of all things, then maybe I’d be loved. And what I have learned is that I sacrificed myself to earn love – that’s a choice I have to forgive myself for. I have to love myself and that is all that I need. And I don’t have to be perfect to love myself. Now this isn’t easy. I’ll admit I’ve been having some more challenging days with this lately and just feeling kind of down. To kill some time while I was waiting the other day, I was deleting and filing old emails and I stumbled upon one I wrote to myself. If you remember back in February, I called it the Love Month and I decided to write myself a love letter. And there was a whole email in my inbox, written to me, from me, expressing my love for myself. Holy cow I could not have found that at a better time. I read it twice that day and I plan to read it at least once a week because I said some things that I needed to hear. If you can’t love yourself properly, you can’t expect others to do the same. If I could leave you with one action item today, it is this – write yourself a love letter, pouring it all out about what an amazing person you are. You never know when you are going to need to read it.

Love IS a hard skill. If we are lucky we are constantly stretched in our capacity to love. One of my favorite sayings is anything worth doing is hard. And love is worth doing. I believe that when we are given chances to grow, it means we will be asked to use those skills in the future. At some point we will be asked to rise up and, if we have been paying attention, we will have the new life tools necessary to be of service to someone who needs our help. I have had so many opportunities to improve my love muscle that my future must be full. I can’t wait.

*Oh my gosh I hate the phrase “season.” And yet, here I use it. #toomuchtherapy

**The new dating show on CBS coming up this fall. Insert eye roll here…

Dating Profile Fail or Which Way Do I Swipe

It has come to my attention that I may want to date again sometime. The last time I went on a date was in the 1990’s, you know when the internet was still a baby and we thought flip phones were the best thing ever made. I remember back in college someone sent me virtual flowers and it ended up being a website with a picture of roses on it. He was so proud and all I could think of was “What the fuck am I supposed to do with a picture of flowers? Give me the real thing!” Now I find myself in 2019 and freshly single and 20+ years older than I was when I got married. How does someone even meet people these days? I’m way too old for the bar scene and I don’t feel confident picking up someone in the grocery store. Where else do I frequent? Target? The gym? Kwik Star? Costco is classy right? I feel like I’m going to be pretty limited.

There are apps for dating now and all I know is that swiping right is different than swiping left. Unfortunately years of teaching aerobics where I had to mirror my participants means I mix up my right and left consistently which might be problematic. What also frightens me is that my teenage Moose still laughs at me because I can’t figure out Snapchat (“just tap it, don’t swipe it!”) – if I can’t get out of a story in Snapchat, how will I ever figure out online dating? I’ve had more than one embarrassing moment asking Moose to get me out of the Kardashian story I’ve “accidently” clicked on. And then, let’s say I figure out how to work the app, which one do I choose? Match? Bumble? Tinder (no)? Farmer’s Only (no)? Coffee Meets Bagel (this has potential)?  

Then there is the pressure of presentation. I’ve gotten tips like, don’t use your real name and advice about what types of photos to use. My selfie game has gotten better – I always look better if I take the picture from above, which is fortunate because I’m 5’1 so most people are looking down on me, which gives me a much better looking chin so it won’t feel so much like false advertising. I’ve got about 30 extra divorce pounds I’m carrying around that I’d love to shed – these were originally baby weight but I’ve upgraded them to divorce pounds now because if you’ve been reading my blogs lately, you know there have been a lot of donuts. A lot. Perhaps the pictures wait until I am in a more flattering state…

And how do you start a profile? A profile? I’m not even sure where to start…

Tired mom of two boys, one of which hates her most days
Over 40 yo woman with limited time looking for someone who would like to read on the sofa next to her
Like cats?
Doesn’t eat steak so I’m a cheap date
Can’t ride a bike but likes to listen to podcasts

What if I let my kids help write it?
“She is pretty nice unless you make her mad. She makes you come in for bedtime at 9:30 p.m. and says if you are hungry, you need to eat a fruit or vegetable first because if you are really hungry you will be happy to eat either of those and won’t complain they are not a Poptart. Also she makes you wear sunscreen even if she does not. She does like to listen to the music loud in the car. And she swears. A lot.”

I’m not sure the kids would be the best people to write up my profile. The last time the Squirrel wrote something about his mom at school, he mentioned that he loves me because I buy things for him. That is not the kind of man I want to attract.

Maybe if I just start with a list of wants and turn offs in a relationship?

Wants	Turn Offs
Kind	Dishonest
Funny	Uptight
Intelligent	Humorless
Responsible	Irresponsible
Trustworthy	Angry
Honest	Smoker
Driven	Aimless
Active	Golfer*

*Okay, golfing isn’t a deal breaker. As long as we understand that this will be a solo hobby because I don’t golf and don’t want to because I hate it. At least until my idea of Tackle Golf catches on – combining the elements of football with golf. Picture it - while the golfer is lining up to take the shot, a full defensive line is charging down the green. Better get the shot off before you are sacked! Now that is golf I will watch!

And let’s say I make it to the point where I actually get asked on a date. What does one even do on a date now? My social calendar is usually one of two things – running after my kids at their events or going to the gym. The more I write the more I realize I’m a pretty boring person! I know that Netflix and Chill has a whole different meaning than binge watching the Office with my kids. Do I have to go to the bars now? That’s not a big thing for me and besides, after about 2 drinks, I don’t make good choices. And dancing? I love dancing but nothing makes me feel old and fat than a Zumba class. I’m not sure that’s the mentality I need if I am meeting new people. And honestly, I’ve seen myself in the mirrors at Zumba class. It’s not pretty. Can we just read books at Freedom Coffee? Or catch a football, basketball or soccer game? And I need to be home by 9 p.m. because that’s my bedtime.   

So here’s the thing. I don’t think I’m ready to get out there yet. A few months ago I wrote that I wanted to take a hiatus of a year after the divorce is finalized to figure out who I am now. I don’t know if I will need a whole year off  but the fact that I can’t write a dating profile because I’m not sure what I like to do or what kind of person I’m looking for (not a golfer or a smoker) is a pretty good indicator that I’m not quite ready to date yet. But what is cool is that I realized I’m not looking to fill a hole in my life. My life is full and awesome right now as it is. I’ve got two great kids, amazing friends and family and just enough free time now to read a book or watch a R rated movie. I'm actually enjoying getting to know myself again. I know I’m not seeking a father to my kids - they already have one. I don’t need someone to pay my bills - I can do that myself. I just want to have fun meeting new people and learning a little bit more about the world out there. I want to be inspired by other people’s experiences and have new ideas to think about. I want to make some awesome new friends along the way or at least walk away with some great stories. And that’s the kind of attitude I think I’ll need when I’m ready to move on. In the meantime, it's way past my bedtime if I want to get up to hit the gym tomorrow morning. #supercoolfunsingleperson #not

Dating Profile
I love to laugh but don’t like mean-spiritedness. I like to dream big and am always looking for new challenges but not looking to fix someone. I want someone who makes me think and grow. Dishonesty is a deal breaker. I love books, exercise, health, donuts and writing. I am scared of fish and most dogs but spiders don’t bother me. I am looking to have fun and meet new people. I want someone with a big heart, kind but with a sense of humor. Oh, and must be okay with swears.
867-5309

The Year of the Child or Pass That Polar Bear a Donut

Fuck. Squirrel and I are at it again, having another knock down drag out fight. I don’t even know what the topic is because it doesn’t matter. He is right and as always I am wrong. Oh my gosh I am so beyond exhausted from these fights and worse, I am frightened that my child is going to be an angry person for the rest of his life. There I said it. I’m afraid I have fucked him up by getting a divorce.

Contrary to what the Squirrel believes, I tried everything to avoid getting a divorce. Hell, I’m Catholic – Catholics don’t even let you take communion if you’ve had a divorce and they make you promise that NO MATTER WHAT you won’t get a divorce. (Fortunately I’ve switched churches because this is not healthy on so many levels – I’m not even going to get started on how this practice abandons you in your worst time of need.) However, for whatever reason, the Squirrel blames me for everything divorce related and HATES me for it. I have ruined his life and things will only be good again if his father and I get back together, which we are not. Ever. Like Taylor Swift song never.

Welcome to my reoccurring battle with the Squirrel. While the Moose has quietly (and unhealthfully) internalized his feelings, the Squirrel has taken them all out on one person – me. In my better moments I see this as a compliment – I am the safe spot, the security blanket, which means I am the one he rails on in his insecure, anxious and angry moments. In my not better moments, I am down. Does this child not realize that I too have taken a beating this year and am trying to become whole again? I cannot take more hate directed towards me, especially from someone I love beyond the universe and back. And the Moose?  He doesn’t want to talk to me about things that bother him because he’s trying to protect ME, his mom. He’s got his roles reversed – I’m the one who takes care of HIM. I am doing my best to make this as good as possible for them and failing. I just desperately want to hope that if I put on my best Mary Poppins, they will act like nothing has happened. Cue the laugh track. My therapist has dubbed this the “Messy Middle” stage. Messy, my ass. It’s the Sucky Season.

**The next two paragraphs have been redacted Robert Mueller style because my Squirrel has asked me to not share some of his “finer” moments. Let’s just say if war was art, they would be his masterpieces. Honestly, he gets props for his level of finding creative yet exquisitely cutting ways to take me down. Like a surgeon with a sharpened blade. Slow clap. I’m actually kind of proud of him for going all in. If you are going to do something, do it well. But while I am comfortable sharing my worst self with the world, my sensitive Squirrel is not and I respect that. So let me just say that we had an epic fight recently that made me realize I’ve got to up my parenting game.**

The Squirrel found the chink in my armor. He knows that I would do anything for him and the Moose and that my time with them is more precious than ever. That doesn’t mean he gets out of homework or manners, but it does mean that threatening my time with them by saying he wants to go to a different house than mine because he’s mad at me takes me straight into fight or flight mode. And this mama bear has never flown from her cubs – she will always pick fight when given the choice. And now that the Squirrel has discovered my weakness, he knows he can use it against me. Or so he thinks.

You see, for weeks I couldn’t eat because the thought of breaking my children’s hearts by telling them I was getting a divorce swallowed me like a sad whale. Sure I looked good but I was wearing a size grief in jeans. For months I couldn’t sleep for fear of not having my kids as much as possible after the divorce. I did not sign up to be a part-time parent. In fact, I have been the 100% parent 100% of the time since the Moose was born. Every cell in my body screamed against what I knew would have to happen. And while I knew that having the boys less could be good for me from a balance perspective, I have always been more than willing to give up my mental and physical wellbeing in order to be there for them all the time. I’m not saying this is healthy but I think a lot of moms feel this way too.  

My friends recently assigned me the polar bear for my spirit animal. I was pretty sure that this was because it has a fat ass and lumbers around. Let’s be real. I have been eating a lot of divorce donuts and skipping the gym way too much lately. I own that. They swear that’s not why. Instead its symbolism/traits are strength, endurance, acceptance and surrender. It also has a deep strong protective nature, meaning it will do everything in its power to take care of its loved ones. Enter my cubs, the Moose and Squirrel. Okay, that I can agree with.

So where does this all put me? As much as I need it to be the Year of Me, I’m going to have to share this with the Year of the Child. You see, my babies are going through the stages of grief as much as I am. I can get frustrated every time the Squirrel tells me that my new last name is wrong or I can recognize he is going through denial (one of the first stages of grief) and look at him and say, “having a tough time with the divorce right now?” My Moose can become a statue sometimes and I can let it go and give him space. And he’s a teenager and maybe that’s what I should do, but I don’t. I ask the hard questions like, “was I inappropriate back there?”, “is there any way I can personally make this better for you?” and “what is the story going on in your head?” I may not always like his answers but I am getting better at accepting them with an open heart because I’m far from perfect and I too am learning to navigate this new terrain. I’m not going to be better at this if I don’t learn from my mistakes. And I make a lot of mistakes. I am not a Zen Jen, at least not yet.

One of the side effects of divorce is that I do have less time with my kids than I am used to. Wow, that sucks. But instead of wallowing in it, I’m going to try to make the best of it. I recognize that I’m going to need to Mom harder than I ever have before, and frankly, I’m licking my wounds too. So those days I don’t have my babies? That’s Jen time. That’s where I do my healing and my resting. So far I’m terrible at the resting part and instead am nesting into new open spaces in my home. But that’s a form of healing too – making this space mine, a place where we feel safe, a place that radiates love and feels like me again. Friends, I found my college CDs and have been blaring Alanis Morrisette and the Dixie Chicks throughout the house. It feels good (and old, oh so old.) And on those many days where I have my babies? That’s the Year of the Child. While way too often I fail, I am trying to remember that this is their year to heal too and I’m going to need to bring my A game as much as possible to help them through this new season of life. And if I do this right, instead of fucking them up for life by getting a divorce, hopefully they will learn how to adapt to change, accept new situations, see that things that are buried are actually planted, and that we will bloom with love and laughter again. They will learn that when things look bleak, we are a team that supports each other even when it is ugly and hopefully that gives them a sense of security I could not have created without a major life event. You can’t become resilient without adversity. And this polar bear is resilient, fat ass and all, and is teaching her cubs to be the same. Now if she could only switch to a fish-based diet instead of donuts, she’d be in really good shape. But she hates fish so maybe just more fruits and vegetables. One thing at a time. It is the Year of the Child after all and they really like their donuts.

It Takes a Village or "Alone" Time

This is month I’ve had my first weekends without my babies in, well, 14 years? There have been a few work trips here and there and less than a handful of kid-free vacations. But these are my first weekends alone. Totally alone. And as the first weekend drew to a close, I realized that I had kept myself so busy I didn’t have a chance to dwell on the silence. I moved things around the house, expanded into newly open spaces, got groceries, mowed, figured out the internet, nursed a stomachache, decorated my bedroom, did tons of laundry, read and binged on Netflix. As I was driving to the gym, I thought to myself, “I can do this alone thing. I can handle single parenting.” And immediately I realized how wrong I was. I mean, yes, I’m a competent person and while it is exhausting, I can nail single parenting. I know this in my bones; I can do hard things. But what was wrong is that I have not been alone at all, even when I’m the only one in my house.

You see, one of the best things about this year has been how I’ve had to learn to ask for and accept help. I’ve had to say yes when I normally would have declined offers. This is so hard for me. I’ve always felt that to ask for help was a sign of weakness. I should be completely self-sufficient and not have to ever ask for help. Help is for the weak and I am not weak.

Oh how misguided. This year I’ve reached out and my tribe has formed around me. My parents show up with money and casseroles. My brothers text and call to give me moral support. Packages show up in the mail, like my new swear book and Zen as Fuck journal. I’ve gotten gift cards and handwritten notes from friends who are just thinking of me. I’ve gotten texts from friends checking in with encouragement and hugs everywhere - even from my friends where we have a no-hug pact. I take each of those hugs now willingly. And no matter how boring I am, my best friend answers my call every time I call her. And I call her a lot.

Even complete strangers, like Duncan at Century Link, have been more kind than they need to be. And as I am needing more help than ever, I find these gestures nothing less than beautiful. Maybe I’m just feeling a little fragile as I fight to be strong, but the smiles and kind words bring tears to my eyes. We worry about the cruelty in the world, and trust me, it is there, but so is immense humanity.

A perfect example of this was my first “alone” weekend. I got off work and went to the gym, knowing my babies were going to head to their dad’s. I wanted to keep busy. After the gym, I decided to hook up my new modem, which of course required a phone call to Century Link. Connie from Century Link and I had a great conversation. Once I got that done, I had some gas left in the tank, and being by myself, decided to mow my yard for the first time ever. One blister later, I had just finished up. It wasn’t pretty but it was done. And I checked my phone. There was a text from my neighbor, inviting me down the street for cocktails. It could not have come at a better time. And while I’m normally more on the shy side, I said yes. On my first Friday night alone, I wasn’t at all – I was smiling and laughing with a group of great people.

Just these past few weeks, my parents bought me a much-needed weed eater, a cordless drill and committed to making me a casserole weekly for three months (if you are reading this Mom and Dad, I have this in writing.) My friend invited me to a much-needed girls’ night. I’ve gotten texts congratulating me on mowing* for the first time and giving me pep talks. I put out an SOS to the neighborhood about how I don’t know how to work a mower and seriously, someone was at my house in 2 minutes to show me how.  Another neighbor came down and changed out my outdoor lights for me because it is not Christmas time anymore and the red and green lights have to go. My good girlfriend sent me one of the funniest videos ever about Maycember that had me giggling in the kitchen. I have been so blessed and surrounded by love when one would think that would be the opposite of how I feel right now.  

So single parenting for me isn’t really single after all. In fact, I feel like I have more support now than I did when I was married. Maybe I was putting all of my eggs into one basket – who knew that basket had a hole in it. But what I really think is that now I am more open to accepting help and friendship and everyone has responded in kind. I can’t think of a better lesson. I am in an amazing place right now. It isn’t easy; in fact, it can be downright hard. These past few weeks have been great – full of smiles but also full of all out sobbing. But what I know for sure is that I am not alone at all. They say it takes a village to raise a child but I think it actually just takes a village period. 

*So much about mowing. But this is something I’ve never had to really do before and it gave me a lot of anxiety. And frankly, if your lawn is mowed, it looks like you have your shit together…at least on the outside from the street-view.  

A Mother’s Day Letter to my Moose and Squirrel or What I Don't Tell You

Dear Moose and Squirrel,

Here we are at another Mother’s Day. This one came sputtering down the road, coughing smoke, with a flat tire, covered in rust. It has been a bumpy year to say the least. And you may be looking back on this year and thinking to yourself, as a Mom, I’m going to give her a C-. This certainly hasn’t been her best year – she really hasn’t wowed us much and she seems a bit touchy. Oh my loves. It has actually been a pretty spectacular year. You see, I’ve spent most of this year working harder than ever to just maintain status quo for you. If I have done my job well, you will think that this year hasn’t been amazing, but in the background, it has been my swan song. And as much as I want you to feel like life is normal as we transition from a family of four to a family of three, this backfires on me when I need just a little gratitude, or at least for you not to complain to me all the time about how you don’t have a brand new four wheeler or when you fight with each other over who has to walk the dog.

As soon as I knew you were speck in my belly, I have been protecting you. I ate all the right things, I gave up all the bad things. I rearranged my work schedule for you and used all my vacation to attend your school events, no school days and to drive you to camps. Do I sometimes point out the sacrifice I made of giving up coffee for two years for each of you while I was pregnant and nursed you? Yes. But there are so many things I have done to protect you that I will never tell you about.

You see, you are still living in your house, in your neighborhood, in your school district, because I knew that was important to you. You see nothing different other than your father doesn’t live with us anymore and you feel bad for him. You don’t see me, scrambling on the other side to give you that sense of normalcy. You don’t see the tears I’ve cried, while moments before I reassured you this will be a happy home again, built on trust, honesty, love and laughter. You don’t see how scared I am because I’m afraid it will make you worry. You don’t see how I’m double checking my new budget after you go to bed to make sure I can keep you in swimming, because I know that swimming is good exercise for you, even though you “hate it,” and it is “child abuse” except that you love swimming and laugh during practice. You don’t see how hard it is for me emotionally to give one of you difficult answers to your hard questions and give the other one of you innocence while you take your anger and sadness out on me. And in the midst of this, I am still excitedly sitting down to go over all of the new changes in the new season of Fort Nite with you and ordering you the new Marshmello helmet you want. Because Moms know that the show must go on and the ringmaster sets the tone. And by golly, the tone in this house will be one of healing our hurt and moving forward into the light.

If I’m doing my job right, you only see that for you, a large part of your life hasn’t changed. You come home to a house full of food, toilet paper, and the normal chaos. You come home to homework, rules and lots of “no” answers, which you hate no matter how good for you it is. You don’t see the fear, work, struggles and sacrifices I am making for you to not notice a difference. And maybe one day I will tell you. But for right now, all I’m asking for this Mother’s Day is a little grace. It’s been a tough year of protecting you and while you may not notice anything herculean, I have never worked harder for you to think I’m doing nothing special.

Love forever and always,

Mom

P.S. If I could ask for just one more thing, it would be really great if you could remove your wet dirty clothes from your sports back packs when you get home. Unlike a piece of chicken, wet towels and sweaty socks do not improve when they marinate. Thanks!

P.P.S. One last thing! If you could also please eat more fruit and vegetables. I think you know why.