So, you want to date a single mom?

Let me start by saying there are two kinds of single moms.

1.  The kind that are doing it right, the best way they can.

2.  The other kind.

An easy way to tell the difference:  if they are out every night, dressed to impress, dropping everything to get your attention - there's a kid (or twelve) somewhere who only ever hears "I'll be back" from the woman who barely glances in their direction.  I'd advise you to avoid this type of woman for multiple reasons, but do what feels right to you.

Now, assuming you've chosen the first kind of single mother, you're going to need some insight you can only get from a mama doing it on her own.

1.  You're not number one.  Sure, you're cute and charming and can do things for her no one else can.  You are a prize, no doubt.  But she already has a number one (or several) and that position will never be reassigned.  Ever.  Nope...not even after you do that one thing she really likes.  Best you can hope for:  a distant second.  

2.  She's busy.  Maybe you're a single dad who sees his kids a couple days a week, maybe you're a doctor with a full patient load, maybe you're IronMan.  You're still not as busy as she is.  Until you've started every single day at 4 am, finished a full (non-mother) days' work by noon and still have ten hours of raising children and keeping a household running ahead of you, you can never know how busy she is.  Yes, she'd love to stop in the middle of her Wednesday evening and join you for drinks. I mean, she would kill for it.  But she has soccer practice and dinner and homework and...well.. You're already bored just reading the list so we will stop there.  Suffice to say, she'd make time for you if she could, but she won't take it from her kids.

3.   Be prepared to be patient.  In every way.  

On her blessed weekends free to give to you, she first has to coordinate with the father to pick up the kids.  He'll be late.  Just to be inconvenient.  She can't control that...be patient when she's late for the reservations you made.  Order her a drink, she's going to need it.

She'll get a zillion calls and texts from the kids.  She'll respond to each and every one.  Doesn't matter where you've taken her or how much you paid for that dinner, it'll get cold while she listens to the play by play of the cartoon her kid is watching.  She isn't any more interested in that show than you are, but she'll take the call anyway... Be patient and understand that she is ignoring everyone else for you.

She won't introduce you to her kids right away.   Of course she likes you, of course she hopes it works out, of course she knows it would be preferable to not sneak out before the kids wake up.  But she will gladly shove you out the door if she thinks she hears the stirring of little yawns.  She'll take chances with herself, but never with those kids.  You have to earn that invitation.  And it's harder to get than a White House invite, so don't hold your breath...be patient.

4.  She won't trust you.  For a long time, if ever.  Single moms have been, by and large, hurt.  Badly.  By someone they trusted enough to commit a lifetime to.  Most single moms aren't in that position by choice.  They carry the scars of someone the way they now carry that person's burden.  And, they will protect their world by any means necessary.  If you want it to work, you have to be ready to prove yourself over and over and over and over.  It's not fair to you, no, but it's a fact of dating a woman like her.  She knows you aren't him, but she's even more sure of who she is now.

5.  She's loyal.  Single moms don't have time for games that don't include colored cards or hungry hippos.  If she says something, she means it.  If she does something, it wasn't an accident.  If she chooses you, you're in.

6.  She's strong, but not invincible.  She's proven she can restart.  She's proven it to herself, her ex, her kids, and everyone who doubted her.  She has absolutely no desire to prove it again.  She's shown the world that she can do it all on her own, but she wouldn't mind your help.  She may seem hesitant, but the shoulder you offer is the lifeline she needs.  She's not going to ask, but your humble offerings save the day.  

7.  She can appreciate you in ways others can't.  She's probably seen the worst of people.  She probably knows exactly what nothing feels like.  So, she truly and wholeheartedly appreciates every inch you give her.  Small, quiet, unassuming gifts of you will never go unnoticed.  She doesn't need everything you own - only everything you are.

8.  If you get her (and her kids), you've hit the jackpot.  Whoever was there before you is missing out on every level; and, more than likely, he's somewhere kicking himself for it.  She's strong and smart and capable and loving and good...and you got her.  Those kids are strong and smart and fun and loving and good... and you get to be a part of it.  There's not a luckier man than you.  

All that's left is to appreciate your prize and reap the benefits of stealing a single mom off of the market.  Congratulations....now go do that one thing she likes, she's had a long day!

Miracles

I had a complete, screeching, sobbing, incoherent, breakdown last night.

It was ugly.

And it was stupid.

A clogged toilet.  

But not over the fact that it was clogged.

Not that it's clogged at least three times a week.

Not that, once again, no one told me it was clogged.

Not even that, once again, at least one person used it after it was clearly already clogged.

No.  I was melting down because I couldn't pass this ridiculous chore on to someone else.  Because I've never been able to yell out "Honey, could you help me with this please?".  Because there's no one around to say "hey, it's my turn.  I got this".

And, last night, I just wanted to have a better half.  Hell, I'd have settled for a half-assed half.

But that's not my path anymore.  Instead, I pulled myself together, unclogged the toilet, and moved on to the next task.  The next chore I can't share.  The next problem I don't have the Y chromosome for.  The next insurmountable mountain.  

And I handled it on my own; without the benefit of that storied extra set of hands, I performed the next miracle.

Because, single mamas, we know miracles.  We are masters of the slight-of-hand magic that others never see.  We got this.

Not every miracle is one they name saints for.

Sometimes the miracle is holding our eyes open though the entire story our kid just has to tell us well past bedtime.

Sometimes it's the birthday present they were sure we couldn't get them.

Sometimes it's a feast we saved up weeks for.

Sometimes it's figuring out the air compressor that's been dormant in the garage for two years so that we can air up the ball for driveway soccer.

Sometimes the miracle is showing up at school with the homework that was shoved behind the dresser.

Sometimes it's getting dinner on the table in record time so that she gets to practice in time to show them how it's done.

Sometimes it's keeping a roof over their unimpressed heads and clothes on their ungrateful behinds.

And, sometimes, the miracle is unclogging the toilet for the third time in as many days.

We single mamas may not necessarily want to be miracle workers, and we may be failing 64.8% of the time.  But, it only takes one miracle to keep the ship afloat.

And, sometimes, the miracle is that we don't just jump off that ship and let ourselves drown.

Mistakes made right

I made a mistake tonight.  One I've never made before and was completely out of character for me.  We missed a soccer practice.  Anyone who knows me knows I am anally early to everything.  Whether I want to be there or not, I always arrive ridiculously early everywhere we go.  Until this evening when we were 57 minutes late to an hour long soccer practice.  I felt horrible.  It was Maya's first practice of the new season, and mama messed up.  

But it was a beautiful night.

And we were already dressed for soccer practice - Maya and I in cleats, Eva and Sofia in sweats and tennis shoes.

So I asked the coach if we could borrow one of the team balls so we could practice a little on our own.

And we spent the next 40 minutes having the best night we've had in a LONG time.

We took over half a soccer field and we ran that grass raw.  We never stopped laughing and smiling.  

At one point, I looked around at the other fields where teams of little ones were practicing.  The kids were running and smiling....the parents were standing around bored and tuned out.  And, all I thought was: "Wow.  What a wasted opportunity.  Smile, damnit!  Get out there and chase your kid down the field!  Laugh, for God's sake!  Kick a ball with the little one waiting for her brother's practice to end!  Stop rolling your eyes at me!"

Yep, Eva and I belly bumped every time we scored on her sisters.

Yep, I trash talked my six year old, edited for content of course.

Yep, we yelled like crazy South American futbol champs every time we were awesome (which was pretty frequent, of course).

And, yep, we were absolutely having a better time than you.

Listen, life is hard.  It's stressful and trying to carve out time to just play can feel impossible.  I get it.  On our way out the door this evening, I was yelling at Maya because she couldn't find the jacket she had just taken off.  I was ready to pull all of my hair out.

Then we were 57 minutes late.  And, I could've kicked myself all night for it.  I could've gotten back in the car and driven back home to get back to the colossal heap of responsibilities that await me.  

But I would've missed the flushed faces of three happy kids.  I would've missed the intense feelings that only come from those tiny moments of "I'm doing this right".  I would've missed the best night we've had in longer than I care to say.

And that, so much more than the missed appointment, would've been a mistake.

And, I'd bet my shiny new soccer cleats that every one of those other kids would've lit up the field if their parent had run in for a high five.  I know all I heard from mine on the car ride home was "mama, that was the best family night ever!  Let's do that again!".  

Who knows, maybe we'll be late again next week...

A friend of a friend

A friend of a friend grew some feelings recently.  She put down her gloves and she unlocked her door and she let someone step inside.  As soon as she did this, her fear overcame her.  The moment the extra feet passed the threshold, she invited them back out.  See, she tried and tried to clean up the mess left behind by the last intruder, but there was no bleaching away the marks of a brutal death. The guest promised to wait while she freshened up, though.  So, she took a breath and started to fix up the place.

A friend of a friend saw the chance to change her path recently.  She tried really hard to walk like the new crowd and talk like the new crowd and believe like the new crowd.  She looked around at all of the smiling faces and, despite never having been one, she made it her goal to blend in without anyone noticing her effort.  "These people", she thought "they have so much to show us."  So, she put her head down and guided her little posse into the stream.

A friend of a friend was reminded recently.  Reminded of what she already knew.  Reminded of the scars she couldn't erase.  Reminded of how unfair lessons can be.  Reminded of why she stopped believing in magic.  Reminded of people who dress themselves in the costumes of sincerity and promises.  Reminded by the unseen change of seasons and the way the air suddenly disappeared from the room.

A friend of a friend.  Yes, she was familiar by face but I forget her name.  This friend of a friend of mine was a stranger in all but the way her voice echoes in my head.  A friend of a friend whose face I don't recall, but the creases in her back remind me of a map I once memorized.  And, as she walks back down the one way road, I remember what our friend once said... "Sorry about her, she just needs to do it alone."

It will get easier, but it doesn't get better

I read those words today.   Well, I read a lot of words today.  Those stuck out though.  Not like a sore thumb... they stuck out like a neon sign on the darkest of nights.

See, there's a lot going on over my head right now.  A lot of struggles and pressures and storms.  I'm sitting at my kitchen table surrounded by papers that I can't handle right now.  Tired in ways I can't wrap words around.  Broken in ways I know too well.

And, I needed a day to try to pull it all together.  I really needed to spend some time on the floor while I worked on growing some more strength.  I desperately needed to put the mask down for a little while today.

But the phone has been ringing almost nonstop since they left for the weekend. As they always do, the girls have called a zillion times on my weekend "off".  To tell me they miss me.  To tell me what they're watching on tv.  To tell me the sky is blue.  To hear my voice.  They do this so many times that I start to let it ring a few times before I jump up to answer.  They do this so often that I almost turn the ringer down when I'm trying to sleep.  But I don't.  I don't because I'm theirs.  I don't belong to myself or a man or the world.  Three little people own every piece of me, including the few peaceful hours I had been hoping for today.  So, when the phone rang before 7am this morning, I rolled over to answer.  My Maya.  I could see her plain as if she were hovering over my bedside.  Crazy morning hair, rumpled polka dot jammies, and half opened eyes.  She wants to come home.  "Of course you can, my love".

After hanging up, I sighed.  For the disappointment I shouldn't feel.  For the day I needed to regroup.  For the coffee I wouldn't enjoy.  Then I remembered - I belong to her.  

I am home.  For this kid, my lap is where she pulls it all together.  For this kid, I am where no mask is needed.  For this kid, nothing else will do.

One day, she won't want to spend a Sunday curled up at my side.  One day, I'll be calling her at 7am... And she'll turn the ringer off.  One day, she won't beg me to come hold her hand.  She won't always want me to come have lunch at school.  And she won't rest her head on my chest in front of all of her friends.  One day, this kid will not need me.

Yes, it'll get easier.  I'll get to sleep and read.  I'll complete a thought or a sentence or even a day without being interrupted by an update on the happenings in Gotham.  One day, I'll get to the papers that overwhelm me and I'll be able to fall apart in the solitude I would covet today.  I'll be able to go for long runs and take short naps.  There will come a time when my full time, no day off, just be happy you were able to slam the coffee before the raven haired beauty peeked around the corner days will be easier.

But it won't get better.

Nothing is better than being homebase.  Nothing beats being the only human on earth whose voice can soothe a hurting heart or an upset belly.  There is no greater feeling than a tiny hand sneaking into the hands you've been clenching in stress and fear.  A full night's sleep would be nice and a break in the barrage of problems would be practically orgasmic, but opening the front door to find a relieved smile and the gentle eyes of a child come home?  It doesn't get any better.